The Night Before

To the window on the 6th floor,

I’m supposed to be studying for my midterm. I open my 11th edition Fundamentals of Anatomy and Physiology textbook. Chapter 10: The Cardiovascular System. Lines of red weave through lines of blue. Lines of black criss-cross and point to terms I should be memorizing. Internal jugular vein. I slide my finger to the internal jugular vein. Carotid artery. I slide my finger to the carotid artery. Will memorizing all of this make things right?

I take two fingers and place them by the side of my neck right below my jawline. I feel a pulse. It has a rhythm. 1-2, 1-2, 1-2. I am alive. I trace the other blood vessels in the diagram. They’re all connected. I don’t know when to stop tracing. I brush the glossy page with the tips of my fingers and lock eyes with the two-dimensional version of me. The human body. Male and female He created them.

I slam the book shut. Now all I see is the list of authors. Their names then letter after letter: R, N / P, H, D / M, D. So many Ms followed by Ds. I want letters at the end of my name. Like them. Will having those letters make things right?

I stand up, turn around, and bury my face in my comforter. It’s white with purple flowers. I don’t know what kind of flowers they are. I don’t know the names of all the blood vessels. I should be memorizing. I always make by bed. Tonight, the edges aren’t tucked in evenly. The pillow isn’t propped up. I don’t smooth things out. I don’t pat things down. I can’t sleep tonight. This is not my bed. This is not my body.

I walk to my window, pull the smooth black latch towards me, and push it open. I look straight. I see nothing. I look down. I imagine my body there on the grass-lined pavement hidden by the shadows of this building. Lifeless. Like the diagrams in my textbook. I see blood flowing through their bodies but there is no life. Will ending my life make things right?

A gust of wind—cool and crisp—hits me. I lean into the darkness with my eyes closed, wanting more. I feel my lashes dancing on my skin. I straddle the window ledge and release my right leg into the night air. Half of me is hanging from the 6th floor of Harnwell College House. Is this high enough?

Another gust of wind. I think. I wait. When can I stop thinking? When can I stop waiting? I hear laughter. The sound of mirth creeps into my body and echoes. My lips tighten into a frown. I look down. I see nothing. Tonight will not be the night. I should be memorizing.

I pull in my right leg, shut the window and push down the latch. I open my textbook. Page 834. I find the next blood vessel. Pulmonary artery. Pulmonary vein. Each line of red, each line of blue takes me closer and closer to the heart. There, things are not right.

Sincerely, Esther