This is a fictional story about the suicide of a friend. It addresses domestic violence briefly, as well as a number of other difficult topics. I've let it sit in my drafts for months, but now it is time to set it free. This story is dedicated to Henan Zaaeed, who loved from her core.
The eulogy wavers, blurring as soon as recognition crashes into Finn's mind.
Sweltering summer heat filled the small 3rd floor apartment, though the sun sank hours ago. The friends sit, limbs spread out like the heads of resting mops on the floor. The only piece of furniture in sight is a coffee table, a forgotten card game scattered on the particle board surface.
Finn has made one dumb joke or another; it doesn't matter. Henan is laughing. It is a hoarse sound which is known to choke her a bit. It booms from her tiny body like she gathered everything she has in her gut. It unleashes from her with a gusto her frame can't possibly possess.
The deep golden tone of her skin glows as the joy builds in her, taking her breath away along with everyone else's in the room. The sunlight is blinding here, even at 2 am. It's infectious, the seemingly endless giggles build and grow simply because of Henan.
Finn had no doubt about that, her take on his jokes made them funny. Her take on everything made it funny, she fought her woes with an open mind that made it so. Reflecting on this in the very same living room, Finn sat on the furniture that time had brought him eventually.
The room had a navy-blue rug that was borderline budget, but his. Pictures lined the walls now, and a bookshelf was stuffed to satisfaction in the corner. Yet, the room would never be full again, not like it was that night. Henan...
It was the middle of winter, snow falling down in fat flakes which stuck together the moment they touched. Snowman daydreams had floated through Finn's head as he trudged through the fresh layer of white that covered the sidewalks. Recalling the text from Cora hastened his step, the crunch of snow becoming a repetitive beat that was nearly musical.
Or maybe it had just been late, Finn a bit intoxicated; the resting world allowing a bit of silliness to thrive. "Ricky broke up with Henan again." He remembered why he was out here so late. Fuming, Finn fought the pushback of dense snow against his feet, snowmen forgotten in the haze of the unknown. Any text regarding Ricky came with an implied "Come if you can".
Cora is singing, her voice floats over to the entryway from the back bedrooms. Finn hears her as he turns the key in Henan's door, soft against the wreckage of the living room he walks into. The fuzzy purple couch that had made Henan scream in excitement when she found it at the thrift store is smashed in a way that stops Finn in his tracks.
"Finn? Is mommy okay?" a small voice shakes him from the capacity for violence that is suddenly consuming every fiber of his being. Ricky must've taken something to it, the couch is nearly split in two down the center. And here is Layla, six years old and worrying about her mother.
I'm going to kill him, Finn thinks, as he scoops the little girl up in his arms. Layla leans into him as he carries her back to bed, desperately searching for the words you say to a child in this situation. "Everything is going to be okay honey." Finn lands on, both he and Layla know it's a cop out. She accepts it though, sweetly asking for a story in lieu of substance.
Each story is followed by the request for another, but Finn is happy to read. He takes her to Venice, to worlds made of meatballs, he carries her on dragons, and swims with her next to mermaids. He has taken her to Paris, where 12 little girls live in two straight lines, when he realizes she is asleep.
Transferring her head from his shoulder to a pillow is a challenge. One he takes on slowly, as he tunes back into the other room. "I can't do this anymore." Henan is saying, her voice shaking as she sobs. It is so quiet, he almost didn't hear it at all.
Everyone said stuff like that sometimes, right? Brought back to the present briefly, Finn isn't so sure. He remembers the car ride. The night she told him how she came to the USA.
At the age he was hanging out at the skate park as a teen, she was getting married at the request of her parents. She tells him about her marriage, the birth of her son, her secret plan to flee. How she did, shortly after her 18th birthday; emigrating from her home country with a 2-year-old in tow. She states it all in a sterile manner, as if this were another young woman's story.
Henan had hoped her family that was already in the US would help her, but instead she was disowned. Finn reeled, understanding that everything she had, and everything she was, came from this period of nothing. Gasping, the hot gush of tears traced his cheeks before he realized what was happening. He had tried to mask it, embarrassed.
"It's okay Finn, everyone cries." Henan said kindly in the dim light of the moving car. Silence stretched, lengthy but not uncomfortable. As they passed under a streetlight, her illuminated face was made of stone. The words no longer made her bleed, but Finn bled for her.
Henan, she texts you to say she's outside your house. "It's okay if you can't hang out, but I was in the neighborhood and wanted to drop off food." Finn thinks of this, and knows without searching too deep that he never cooked for her.
Finn thinks of each party he attended for her kids, where the promised guests often didn't show. Then he thought of all the ones he also meant to go to, but didn't quite make it.
He thought of Cora, bright eyed and helpless, braiding Henan's hair the night Ricky smashed her furniture. Her terrible off tone voice the only soundtrack that could ever fit the moment. He had pushed open the door to Henan's room, and tried to say anything that didn't address her whispered words.
He made a joke, and she let him believe she never said it. "I can't do this anymore." forgotten, until just now. The eulogy refuses to change its contents.
She knew what it was like to be hungry, so no one ever was around her. Maybe that drew the coyotes to her, sensing an opportunity to grasp a bit more than what was offered.
Ricky, he had come on thick and sweet like honey, slowing Henan down. As the tears poured down Finn's face, he thought of every time he should've answered Ricky with a kick to the teeth. Each obvious moment stacking up only now that it was far too late. The recollection of the night he read to Layla grips his heart with waves of agony.
"He's just going through a hard time, leave him be." Henan had said. Why would Finn believe that was the right answer? She had thrown away her couch and made Ricky dinner the next day. And as months gathered into a year, things got much worse. The pain in his chest is nauseating, Finn can't hold it in. He rushes to the restroom, and heaves it into the toilet between sobs. Henan.
He begs her again in the empty bathroom, "Please, stay away from Ricky. You deserve so much more..." maybe it is a reminder. Did Henan deserve the way Finn had slowly lost his empathy, hardening himself against her plights as the months went by? "Please..." Finn can't unsee it, each increment of influence he gave away, "Well, if he makes you happy..."
It's summertime, and Finn is walking from one job to another. His phone buzzes in his pocket, it's Henan. She would never call again, but he didn't know that. She follows with a simple text, one he would have jumped at a year ago. "Ricky emptied my bank account, I don't know what to do." Finn was late for work, an empty gesture his last response.
He had sent something like 50 bucks on PayPal, it hardly mattered now, he didn't say anything. He thought he would have the chance later. He thought she would wake up and leave Ricky when she was ready. He thought she knew what she was doing, didn't she always? He thought.
He thought about everything except the fact that Henan needed people around, yet all she had was Ricky. He had done his best to scare each of her friends away, and he had succeeded. Finn saw it now, the last wave his friend had the strength to swim against, taking her under in front of them all.
Cora comes over, and they don't say a word for hours. She tosses her coat on a chair, and folds her body into his on the couch. As if they are alone, together. Their limbs intertwined, Finn felt the ice surrounding each of their hearts against his bones; the sharp points of a hundred knives.
"She sent me a meme that morning." Cora says, her voice croaks after the long silence. "She made a meme about Ricky stealing her money..." Cora's voice completely cracks, "Told me she was going to clear her head for a few days... don't I know her well enough to know she'd never just leave her phone off?" She's sobbing, but it isn't her fault.
It's everyone's fault, and it's no one's. It just is... this glue which sticks to each fact in retrospect. The reeling feeling of reaching for something that isn't there over and over, unable to understand why it is gone. Suicide, it rages through the room like a hurricane, tearing the future apart. Yet no falling bricks or crumbling walls shout it out, a world simply ends in deafening silence. Henan.
I can't write a happy ending to this story, or even a satisfying one. I can say that Henan's 3 children are well as far as I can tell. They celebrate birthdays and family events in photos on Facebook. They have gotten big. They look loved. Yet, in each photo I cannot help but see the massive gap, the missing smile of my beautiful friend.
Instead, I'd like to end this with a poem that resonates with me. And a plea: If you are suicidal, PLEASE reach out to someone. No one can help, if no one knows. Don't suffer in silence, please.
