Too Much

         He sat there silently, not moving, not breathing, trying not to think. He hated his life. He hated being the popular boy that all the girls chased. What everyone thrived for, he had, and he hated it. He hated his girlfriend. The prettiest girl in the school. She caused him this pain. Fighting, smacking, humiliating him. Then saying she loved him. He hated his family. Always pestering him about how he was too focused on the things they felt weren’t important, but things he lived for and helped him through his pain. He hated being forced to play football because thats what “all the popular guys do.” He hated it all.
         Thats why he was standing here, in front of the sink, a glass filled to the top with water in his hand, 16 pills in the other. His mother’s pills. Pills she used for her back injury that happened when that drunk, bastard of a step father got into an accident with his poor, frail, helpless mother in the passengers seat.
         He lifted the glass to his lips, feeling the curve of the rim against his mouth. Water dribbled into his mouth and onto his tongue, rejuvenating his dry lips and parched mouth. He put the glass back down on the table. Did he really want to do this? Was it worth it? Would it get rid of the pain? Yes. It would get rid of everything he was feeling. He would be dead within the hour and never have to think about being hurt again. He had to do it. He had to down the sixteen pills left in his mothers bottle. Quickly, before his parents came home from work and before the baby sitter came for his little sister.
         He slipped a few pills into his mouth. He lifted the glass and poured a small amount of water in his mouth with the pills. He swished the mixture together before quickly swallowing the pills, before he had time to change his mind. He slipped 3 more pills into his mouth. The taste of them was horrible, so he quickly lifted the glass again to spill water into his mouth, this time a larger amount. He slipped the remaining nine pills into his mouth and poured water in slowly, swallowing each pill one by one and, feeling each one run down his throat.
         He sat down at the table with a pen and a small piece of paper. Writing a small note to the rest of his family would be helpful. He knew he only had limited time left, so he wrote as fast as he could as long as the writing was still legible. He filled the paper, so he flipped it over to the back to finish his note. He signed it, gave it a small kiss and put the pen down.
         He sat there waiting now. Waiting for his time to be over. For the pain to go away. He knew he couldn’t reverse what he had already done and kind of regretted it. He could hear the lock in the front door being fingered with and soon after heard the door open. It must be his mother, he thought. His mother was walking to the kitchen where he sat at the dining room table. Each step his mother took, caused his head to drift down onto the table. She rounded the corner and his head hit the surface and his heart stopped.
         “TOMMY,” she called out, “TOMMY! ARE YOU THERE? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Tears streamed down her frantic face and she bent down next to him, shaking his limp body. She caught a glimpse of a small folded piece of paper underneath his head. The top of the paper was addressed to the family with the small scrawling of the words “I love you” underneath. She unfolded the paper which revealed to her a long note with her sons handwriting.

“Mom, you might want to get a new prescription for your back. If you want to know I have taken 16 of your pain pills.  Don’t bring me to the hospital, I’m telling you right now I really am dead. I’ve taken myself away from you all. I’m sorry for all the pain I must be causing you but everything was just too much. I don’t want you to mourn over me too much. Go on with your lives peacefully and without regret. It’s not that I don’t love you guys, its just the stress of everything was too much and the easiest way to get rid of all the pain was to take myself out of the thing causing the pain. This world. Tell Cindi to keep up with her dance classes and that as much as I’ve made fun of her, I think she is an amazing dancer. Tell my REAL dad that I love him and to keep the farm going, even though I took no interest in it. Tell my friends, nothing was their fault, even though some of it may have been and tell the football coach that I never really did like football and that’s why I never worked as hard as I could for him.
Love you lots.
                Tommy               
         
         She put her hands to her head, letting the tears stream down her face and burn holes into her pants. She flew out of the chair and fled for the phone. Three numbers have never took her so long to type into the phone. She had never had to use them before. They were dreadful numbers. 911. She spoke with exasperating breaths and sobs barely able to understand what she was saying. She managed to say clearly, “Send an ambunlance.”
         Soon the neighborhood boomed of screaming sirens and flourescent red and blue lights spinning round and round. They arrived at the house and leaped out of the trucks into the house, stretcher in hand. The boy was carefully lifted from the table and placed on the red stretcher cusion. She was sobbing in the corner of the room, unable to speak. He was wheeled away through the house to the back of the ambulance. She followed slowly and silently and climbed into the back of the emergency vehicle with her son. The doors closed. The vehicle pulled out and left the house empty, with only his note on the table.