The Wakeup Call (Re-Write)

My name is Talia. Today is my eighteenth birthday. Today I plan to end my life. I am average in every way except for my ability not to be noticed. Not tall, not short, not fat, not thin; mousey colored hair and pale skin. My life is one of insignificance. My parents lost interest in me at an early age. School life gave me hope in the beginning. I was lucky enough to be bullied for a time by my classmates, but they too forgot about me. My teachers never noticed me or called upon me for answers. I’m like a shadow, with people and events moving around me and never with me. I’ve had enough. In the drawer beside my bed is a small bottle. Tonight this will be my release.

Over the preceding weeks I’ve been giving away my possessions. Today is my final task. I’m going to the bank to withdraw my savings and donate it to a children’s charity. I hope they realize that they are not forgotten.

The bank is busier than normal. I am waiting in the line with several others. Tellers are handling the ebb and flow of customers with speed and efficiency… except for teller three. A tall heavyset man wearing a dark blue woodsman’s jacket and faded jeans is standing in front of her. He has one hand thrust deep into his coat pocket and he stares at her in a predatory manner.

I move out of the line and head for the exit. I don’t need this. I decide to use the automatic teller outside… but too late. The approaching sound of sirens alerts me and the man standing by the door. He is a ‘twin’ to the man intimidating the teller.  Bank robber number two pulls a gun from his pocket and advances on the aged security guard.

“Okay Grandpa, I want you to move to the front doors and lock them. Nothing stupid and you’ll get out of this alive.”

The low raspy voice of the man freezes the guard in his tracks, until a violent shove puts him in motion. He turns and spies me moving towards the door. A look of surprise blossoms on his face. He hasn't noticed me till then. Typical.

“You. Girly. Move yourself back with the others. Now!”

He swings the gun towards me. I follow his directions. I will decide the method of my demise, no one else.


From the front of the bank come a yell and a scream. Bank robber number one realizes that the teller has triggered a silent alarm. The loud flat ugly retort of a guns detonation shatters the fragile silence. The screams and gasps of the queued customers bounce around the walls of the building. From the stunned look on the robber’s face I can see that the discharge was accidental; but this does little for the teller. She clutches her arm tight, as the blood seeps around her fingers. Shock has silenced her for a moment, but a mounting cry of pain soon drowns out all other sounds, as everyone turns to look at the source.
For convenience sake my mind has labeled the robbers B1 and B2; just like the bananas.
The panicked voice of B1 lashes out at the frozen staff members.

“You lot behind there; help bring her out to the main floor.”

With a surge, the manager and the two other tellers lift the third teller of her feet and carry her into the main area. B2 herds the security guard, me and the other customers over to join them. He returns to the window to watch the arriving police erect a barricade outside. B1 hovers over the group surrounding the wounded girl. My mind is in overdrive. I can be ignored and stay on the fringes or I can force them to acknowledge me. Pushing aside two of the tellers I kneel beside the injured girl. My voice is steady and calm as I talk to her.

“Hi, my name is Talia. I’ve had first aid training. I’m going to examine your arm.”

The girl raises her tear-stained face, looks deep into my eyes and nods. I’m not used to such close inspection. If I had known that this was all it took to get someone’s attention, I’d have shot someone years ago. I lifted the sleeve of her blouse. It was not a deep wound, only a graze. Taking off my long white scarf, I wrap it firmly around the wound. It will ruin it, but I wasn't going to need it after today.

“Is she going to be okay?”

B1 sounded more upset and panicked than the injured girl.

In a subdued tone I said, “I’m not a doctor and she definitely needs to see one. For the moment though, all we can do is make sure she’s comfortable.”

He turns around and waves his gun at three of the male customers.

“You, you and you. Lift the girl and lay her on the couch. You… Talia. You go with her.”

He steps back as they maneuver her into position. Once she is settled, he orders them back. I go to her. He joins B2 at the window. I shiver. He remembers my name.


A heated argument ensues between the pair, with much finger-pointing, yelling and blame being thrown around. B1 was thoroughly and deservedly browbeaten by B2. Their loud recriminations tail off and a sullen silence hangs between them. The other hostages are watching with mixed emotions; shock, horror, amazement and in some cases humor, at their captors antics. The strident and insistent call of the manager’s phone breaks the silence. Heads snap around and focus on the source. Another argument breaks out between the robbers as each urges the other to speak to the police. Finally B1 turns to look at us. His gaze travels over the scared group and finally comes to rest on me.

“Talia. We want you to talk to them. Tell them we have hostages. Tell them to play it cool and no tricks.”

He tries to sound tough, but he is as frightened as the rest of us.
Everyone’s eyes are on me. I am out of my depth, but I am relishing it. I nod and go behind the counter to the phone.


A voice barks out at me, as soon as I pick it up.

“This is Detective O’Halloran. Who am I talking to?”

“My name is Talia. I’m one of the hostages. B1 and B2 want me to negotiate with you on their behalf.” There is silence.

“Like the bananas?” Confusion sounds in his voice.

“I’ve just labeled them that for convenience. What are you doing to get us out of here? I do have plans for later.”

In a softer tone he says, “Talia, calm down. Can you tell us what the situation is?”

“There are fifteen of us, plus the two robbers. One of the tellers is wounded. Her injury isn’t serious but we are all scared and that includes B1 and B2. I don’t think they meant for this to happen.”

“Talia, can they hear you? Are they listening in on the line?”

I glanced behind me. “No.”

“I need you to talk to them. Find out what they want. If they want us to negotiate with them we need a sign of good faith. Try to get them to release the wounded hostage. I know it’s a big ask, but you sound confident and I’m sure you can convince them.”

“I’ll try. I’ll leave the line open, so you can listen. I’ll be back soon.”

My head is spinning. Few people have ever listened to me in my lifetime. If people start doing this now, then my plans are pointless. What am I to do? I put these thoughts aside and concentrate on what Detective O’Halloran has said. I go back to talk to B1 and B2.


In unison and as if rehearsed, they ask, “What did they say?”

“They want to know what you want.”

They turn and look at each other blankly. ‘Clueless,’ is the best way to describe them.

“Can I make a suggestion?  It would be in everyone’s best interests if you released the injured girl… and maybe a couple of others to help her.”

They turn to each other and once more go into their routine. Arms wind milling, fingers pointing, they launch once more into arguing and blaming each other. The only danger I can see from these two would either be another accidental gun discharge or being poked in the eye. Like a clockwork toy, they run down in a few minutes.

“Okay Talia, we’ll do it your way. We’ll send out the injured woman and two others to support her. Tell the Law to play it cool and hold off. We need time to think.”


From then on, things progressed. With the release of three hostages the atmosphere was far more amenable and relaxed. I convinced Detective O’Halloran that B1 and B2 are not hardened criminals and that given time, they will surrender. I even arranged for pizzas to be sent in. When I was not passing messages, I mingled with the other captives; just talking and keeping things calm. After six hours, B1 and B2 did surrender. I filed out with the others and managed to slip away. No one noticed me. This time though I wasn't complaining. I needed time to think.


I have sat back for years accepting and not reacting to what was happening in my life. I have allowed others to control and dictate my actions. That is my fault. This afternoon was a real wake-up call. I feel more alive than ever. I crave more and I deserve more. I decide that I do not need the little bottle beside my bed.

A life is only as good as what you are prepared to put in to it.