h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

This Journal Entry is somber and contains graphic images; be prepared, or stop reading now.


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Jimmy had just climbed into his Ranger and was about to start the truck when he got her text message.

[Need U 2 pick me up @ home can U swing by??]

He heaved a sigh and responded.

[Broke up remember]

There was a moment's pause, then another incoming message.

[IMPORTANT one last time I promise]

[K B there in 5]

He stuck the phone in his pocket and cranked the engine. He pulled out of the driveway, skirting around his Dad's truck and his Mom's van. He could make it to Beth's house easily in five minutes and have both of them to the High School on time for classes. "As long as she doesn't start another argument about me dumping her," he thought. "I'll just keep it quiet, even if she wants to talk, but this ~better~ be the last time she asks for a ride."

He navigated the few streets between their families' homes and arrived in less than five minutes. Beth's parents were already at their respective jobs, even this early in the day, so the driveway was empty. He pulled in, stopped the truck, and got out, leaving the motor running. "This better be quick," he grumbled.

With a rising deliberation to get this whole thing over with, Jimmy marched to the front door of the house. The lilac colored and flower print stationary sheet taped to the front door stopped him from rapping his knuckles on the door. He read Beth's handwritten note addressed to him.

{Jimmy,
I really really wish you would've reconsidered breaking up with me.
I thought we were so good with each other and I thought you felt the
same way. I can't forget some of the things you said to me and I can't
forgive how you've thrown away our love. Since you've decided to throw
away all we've had together, I'm going to throw something away, too.
If you want to save anything, come find me.
--- Beth}

Jimmy stood dumb-founded for a moment, then knocked hard on the front door. There was no answer. He tried the doorknob at the same time he banged his fist harder on the door, and shouted, "Beth! Beth, are you there? Open the door, Beth!" He paused and listened. No sounds of anyone even attempting to come answer the door. "Oh, not good, not good, not—" He dashed around the side of the house, flew across the back lawn, bounded up the steps of the wooden deck, and practically collided with the door frame. He snatched at the handle of the sliding glass door; it moved an inch, but his fingers slipped off, so he had to try again.

His second attempt caused the glass door to rattle in its tracks when he flung it open. He made a beeline for the stairway in the center of the house. He took three stairs at a time. Beth's bedroom was just at the head of the stairs, one door back to the right. Jimmy grabbed the upright of the handrail and slung himself around to head for her door. He saw it was ajar, so he ran headlong at it, slamming both palms into it. It slowed him enough so he stood panting in the doorway.

There was blood. Lots of blood…and other things…on the wall behind her bed, on the side tables, in the corner of the ceiling and a few feet toward the air vent. Beth's body lay back upon her bed, her arms and legs flopped in odd angles. A shotgun sat with its butt upon the floor and its barrel resting against the calf of her left leg. The scent of cordite and gunpowder hung in the air.

"Beth-oh-Beth! No-no-no-no-no…" Jimmy rushed to the bed and pulled her lifeless body to his chest. He looked at her face, her beautiful young face that had always worn a smile and graced the world with sparkling bright eyes. Her eyes, though still open, were already dull and lifeless. Now her mouth was pulled slightly to one side because the muzzle flash and pellets yanked things askew on the way through. Jimmy noted that her hair, normally brunette and combed straight, was disheveled and tinged in red. As he looked down upon her head, he saw a portion of the back of her head was completely gone, hair and all. He glanced up and saw strands of it clinging to the wall above the headboard of her bed.

"Oh no. Oh no. No-no…" He let her slip from his grasp, back onto the bed, and fished out his cell phone. There was now blood around his pants pocket and on the casing of his phone. Jimmy activated his contacts list and slid down to Beth's parents' name. He tapped the entry and saw it begin dialing, though the clear touchpad was now fingerprinted and smeared in red streaks.

"Oh, please." The return tone rang once. "Oh, Beth." It rang a second time. "Oh, God." It rang a third time, and her Dad answered. "Mister-- Oh. Mister Stev--"

"Jimmy, is that you? What's wrong?"

"There's been an accident…at your house…it's Beth…" he whimpered the last bit, and broke out in sobs.

"Son, stay right there. I'll be there in minutes. You stay put, you hear?"

"Yessir…" It was a plaintive cry and ended in another round of heaving sobs.

"Do I need to call an ambulance, Jimmy?"

"Oh. Oh, Mister Stev--. Oh, it's so… No… It's too late…" Jimmy began to wail uncontrollably.

"Oh, Lord… Jimmy. Jimmy? Jimmy! Be still. I'm on my way and I'll call 9-1-1 on my way, but you stay with her, you understand?"

"Okay… I will. I'll stay by her… Oh. Oooh-hh-hh…"

For the rest of the morning there were sirens and flashing lights around the home of a young high school student who never had the chance to graduate, to go to college and learn a career, to marry a good husband, to raise a family of her own, or to enjoy the blessings of grandchildren.

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This is a true story from the town where I live, right in the Heartland of America. It happened in September of this year, just as the school year was starting. Beyond the obituary in the local paper, I've gotten the gist of this from a young man I work with, who knew both these kids and some of the details of that morning. I must advise you the dramatic details I've added hit very close to the mark, though they are my rendering of the incident.

We're seeing too many of these incidents in our present day. It seems to me the younger generation is in such a hurry with ~everything~ that they convince themselves there's no time for ~anything~ to go wrong without it jeopardizing "life as we know it." Have we, as parents and as a society, missed imbuing them with even the slightest bit of patience? Do we allow them to think that ~every~ activity in their lives hinges on their instant gratification? Haven't we instilled in them the understanding "everything that humans do takes time" and some processes take years, not the interval between commercial breaks, to run their course? Have we told them often enough, "things have a way of working out?" Maybe we should do so.

Perhaps it's more a matter of social stigmata or peer pressure that caused this young girl to consider suicide. Why not do it, if your whole world is dependent upon what others think of the image you present in public? How could one reasonably want to live, knowing a drastic change in their lifestyle would generate all sorts of unkind rumors; the kind one would be too embarrassed to ever deal with or to set the record straight? After all, who'd want to have to explain a family set-back to their friends; how could one mitigate a shift in their parents/ economic status without feeling like a laughingstock? And, Lord please, never let them have to try to rationalize why their dating relationship didn't work out because the personalities involved didn't work well together!

I have a confession: I almost committed suicide when I was a teenager. When I thought to "off" myself, I was feeling down and out about a whole slew of different things. Do I remember what issues were troubling me so much at that time in my life? No. I do recall it seemed too much to bear, though. I sat in my room late one evening, at my desk, and made a list of all the things bugging me. I wrote them all down on a piece of lined school notepaper, and the volume of perceived unconscionable issues filled it from top to bottom. I had a red felt-tip pen at my desk and I used it to doodle a "cut" across my left wrist. I set my arm down on the desktop, then drew a trail of blood that grew wider across the list of grievances. I sat there for a long time, considering what to do next. From somewhere, a very quiet still small voice asked this question: "What happens tomorrow?" I didn't have a ready answer. All I knew was I would never find out if I didn't stick around to see the next day. I threw the paper away, so I'd never have to think along those lines again, and I washed off my wrist. I've never been back to that place again.

Shock you? If you're a bit older it might have, because suicide didn't seem to be as prevalent in "my day." If you're very young, it might have sounded like "just par for the course." Am I making wild assumptions about the difference in generations here? Look, I recognize the teenage years are kinda tough, no matter what era the youngster grows up in. Yet in every day and time, we can expect to have problems with parents, with friends, with finances, with love relationships, with people at school or at work, with strangers who vent upon us for no apparent reason, with events or situations wherein we have little or no control. And it's never a matter of what just happened to us that counts; it's how we react to the situation that determines the outfall of the tribulation.

There are, after all, consequences to our words and actions. But the thing that comes ~first~ is our thoughts. If we'll simply rein in our thoughts and guide them properly, we're less likely to make an egregious mistake that affects many people (including ourselves) in a bad way. Think of the detrimental outcome to your closest loved ones, to the friends who won't understand why you chose this route, or to the gaping hole your absence leaves in the "possible history" of this intriguing world we live in. It still comes down to "what happens next…"

Consider for a moment, what H2G2 would be like without the presence of B4, if I'd actually gone through with killing myself. Who else would've done the silly "tagline pun" like I do it? Would the Salon at Lil's Atelier ~ever~ have been stretched to twice the width of a normal monitor screen? Would Titania's keyboard need to have been replaced with a virtual keyboard, if not for the off-color humor that caused a spray of wine? Who could possibly have played Toasty the Snowman with such icy light-heartedness while Fetching the Goo Spruce? Burl Ives wasn't available. Who else could've pulled off the massive five-persona "reveal" during the Holiday Pantomime's award ceremony as well as I did? Only TJ, and he is me. Who else would have been the "one more voice of consolation" for Hypatia, who also launched a bundle of balloons in memorium of her loss? Yes, you're starting to see the pattern. Who else could have an "on again/off again" relationship with HooToo for almost nine years, to finally determine it is one of the most intellectually stimulating forums for on-line conversations and, therefore, should bear more attention and cultivation? Me. And…wait for it…You. What would "we" be without our interactions here? My gut tells me it would be something less. Without You, without me, it wouldn't be the same.

We need to help all our friends—young, old, in-between—who even suggest an 'inkling' they might consider suicide as an option versus living in adversity. Let's "be there" for them, to discuss it, to find out why, to dissuade them, to help them persevere and prevail to the other side of tribulation, so they see "what happens next."

B4welose1moreprecioussoultoahastydecision

It's easier to get what you want these days.

TV, for example (I realise this is a horribly trivial example after this story, but bear with me). In my day, I had the option of a very few channels and if I missed a programme, that was it. These days, if my son wants to watch, ooooooh, Peppa Pig at 2.40pm in the afternoon he can. DVD, Sky+, the Internet (if we had all of those things and if I didn't lie to him and say the TV isn't working. This will not last much longer I expect though).

I do wonder whether it's healthy, sometimes, all this tailor made indulgence in our every whim.

Or perhaps I have too much a hair shirt mentality.

Sad story though.

Sad story. At that age, even though she was old enough to have a boyfriend, it seems she wasn't old enough to consider the absolute finality of death.

Not quite so final, but the attitude to divorce is similar. Nowadays: "If it's not working out, put an end to it." Whereas our parents would have said "If it's not working out, we'll have to grin and bear it or put some effort in till it does work out." I'm not condoning either end of the scale (I'm sure that for centuries women were putting up with some horrific stuff in the name of matrimonial duty) but in the past few years values do seem to have changed radically.

you've given me an idea for a future journal.

What a very sad story.

What you have here very often these days, is that the dad exterminates the whole family because *he* has got some problems. That makes me so angry!