Lost Bottle

The suicide note found me when I was out for my walk.

It barrelled along with the morning breeze and caught on my shin. At first I was inclined to discard it quickly and keep going however I noticed after I had bent down to retrieve it that it was a parking-fine. Living near the beach meant discarded parking fines were our version of the tumbleweeds that blew past in poetic moments in bad Westerns.

I could see the indentation of writing on the back and turned it over.

In unsteady writing it read: “If you are reading this note I am probably dead…”

I’m sorry to say I laughed. How clichéd – a suicide note on a parking fine that started with ‘If you are reading this I am probably dead.’

A party of five walkers huffed annoyingly around me as I had stopped solid in the middle of the narrow walking track. I watched them re-align themselves quickly and disappear around the bend. I could hear the roar of the crashing surf. The ridiculous thought struck me that suicide notes are never read in context. It was a nice, sunny day, why would anyone want to kill themself?

I looked behind me quickly and then moved off the walking track.

“…it’s late and I’ve been drinking…”

Christ, I wonder if the body is lying around here somewhere? I looked around sharply and then back to the track sheepishly for fellow morning walkers. Did I really expect to find the corpse just here?

“…I just can’t write another infomercial.”

I laughed again. Despite the fact that there might be a dead body at the end of this, this was gold – a suicide note from a writer of infomercials? I had always had the talent of being a smart-arse at the most inappropriate times – I thought immediately that there was going to be no hope of getting a refund now if he wasn’t completely satisfied. My second thought was that if he was any good at it, maybe he was just able to talk himself out of it…

“Janet, you’re right. I don’t have the courage to see if I can make it outside the agency.”

I wondered about Janet, it was Saturday morning – was she waiting for this guy? Was she sitting on her balcony with her knees under her chin? Barely containing the rage about this guy not coming home on a Friday night? Did she know what she was going to say? What she would throw?

“I have drunk too much but I can’t find them. I’ve lost my bottles.”

I half smiled and then frowned. The breeze curled a corner of the note over my finger. I was slightly put out that it had ended this way. In….confusion. Shouldn’t it end with a bit more purpose? He was about to kill himself after all.

I pondered what to do next – getting the newspaper now was out of the question of course. I’d have to get it at the supermarket later on. I conjured up the face of the policeman whom I would give the ticket and explain that: “I think this guy may have killed himself.” “Why’s that?” he would ask and I’d say “Well it says if you are reading this I’m probably dead…” There would be silence. He would look at me thoughtfully still holding the note in his hand. I’d think: “See you idiot…just because you dropped off the note doesn’t mean they’re now all off to the beach to search for this guys body.”

“Oh well,” I’d conclude – “I’ll leave it with you then.” I would walk out sort of woodenly. I’d stand on the front step and wish I gave him my number and asked them to call me if they found this guy. But I wouldn’t go back in. I would go home and sit down with a cup of coffee and an infomercial would come on and I would wonder.

The End.

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