Honey Bun

TW: Discussion of suicide

The clock ticked painfully slowly overhead, counting the night down in bloated seconds as May’s anxiety about missing a call wired her tired eyes open. She didn’t much enjoy the busyness of the night shift, and as she swirled the dregs of her coffee around the bottom of her cup, she wondered if she had enough change in her wallet for a Honey Bun. Her eyelids drooped and her mind drifted toward glazed goodness when the landline across the desk started ringing. A clumsy hand slapped at the phone and lazily brought it to her ear.

“Hi, you’ve reached the Wesley Crisis Center, May speaking. How may I help you?” she asked in a chipper tone, sharply contrasting the look of utter exhaustion splayed across her features. Silence drew out on the other end of the line. That was standard. Often people called and never spoke at all before abruptly hanging up.

“Uh, hi. I’m Drew,” a deep voice croaked after a while. He sounded tired too.

“Nice to meet you, Drew. How are you doing tonight?” A yawn crept up her throat as she glanced at the clock. 3am.

“Would I have called this number if the answer was anything good?” he mumbled. May chirped a laugh, a single high-pitched note that came out like the cry of a strangled bird. The sound seemed out of place in the cramped cubicle that boxed her in with its placid gray walls. There wasn’t usually much to laugh about on crisis calls.

“You’re well enough to joke about it, at least. That’s a good start.” A grunt answered her. “What would you like to talk about?” The other end went silent again, contemplating.

“I don’t know,” the voice pondered, “I’m not even sure why I called, actually. Sorry.”

“You called because you’re not doing very well, right? Tell me about that, Drew.” She examined her nails, picking at chipped red polish as she waited. After a minute, a shuffling played across the speaker, then a sigh.

“It’s nothing in particular. I mean, no one is doing that well these days. I just don’t see a point in continuing to put myself through hell for no reason.” Someone left the sink running and a steady drip echoed across the quiet office. Usually there were more people populating the space, but in the interest of keeping things quiet for calls, everyone spread out across the building. The room seemed too empty now, haunted by the buzz of fluorescent lights and the occasional clunk of something inside the vending machine settling.

“What do you mean by that?” He made a sound of defeat and seemed to readjust the phone.

“I mean, living, you know? Everything about it is so hard. You get up every day to go to a job you hate and work all day to get home and do menial chores until you go to sleep. Then you do it again the next day so that hopefully, one day, when you’re too old and decrepit to do anything, you’ll be able to support your feeble existence with whatever pennies you managed to save for yourself. Meanwhile, you get to hear about how the world is crashing down around you, and everyone is suffering, and that you should care more about it when you can barely care enough about yourself to get up in the morning. Who wants to do that? It’s miserable.” May rubbed her eyes, trying to force the sleepiness out of them. He wasn’t wrong, per se, but it didn’t seem helpful to say so. Her eyes wandered over the “Effective Prevention” sheet pinned to the back of her cubicle. Describe the Problem and Its Context. Got that. The problem was...everything. Tough nut to crack, that one.

“Can you see any good outcomes from staying alive?”

“No.” She tapped the clip of her pen against her stapler, working out a simple rhythm.

“Nothing? Have you ever had a Honey Bun?”

“A...what?”

“I asked if you’ve ever had a Honey Bun. Or a McFlurry, even? Those seem like good outcomes.”

“Are you joking right now?”

“No, I’m serious. There’s got to be something you like about being alive. What about the sunset? Or the ocean? Or taking a long drive after a hard day at work? Or having a warm meal after you haven’t eaten all day? Or laughing so hard you almost cry? Something. Anything.”

After a prolonged period of soft static and nothingness, a sniffle crossed the receiver.

“Seeing my daughter. I enjoy that.”

“I bet so. What’s her name?”

“Hanna.”

“How old is Hanna?”

“About to turn six.”

“I’m sure she’s a very sweet girl.”

“She is. I love her more than anything.” Identify the Long-Term Goals. A kid was a pretty long-term commitment. Someone’s alarm beeped shrilly in the other room.

“I bet you do. I’m sure she loves you too.”

“Maybe. I think she’s better off with her mom, though. She doesn’t need me.” Tsk. May never understood the confidence people had in interpreting the feelings and needs of the people they loved. She was convinced most people didn’t even know those things about themselves.

“Do you believe that?”

“What?”

“That she’s better off without you?” A pause. “I don’t think any little girl is better off with no father figure.” More pausing. Sometimes she wondered if she was grateful or resentful that half her job was merely sitting through silences.

“I guess that’s true.” She relaxed and crossed her legs, rolling away from her desk slightly to lean against it with her elbow.

“I think so too. And one of the joys of being a parent is watching your babies grow up into adults. Talent shows and boyfriends and soccer practice and eventually graduation and college and marriage and grandbabies, if that’s what she wants. I’m sure you want to see all those milestones, Drew, because I know you love her, and I truly believe she’ll wish you were there for them.”

“Hm.” And that was it. The receiver clicked and a dialtone rang into her ear. The phone found its home on the hook and her wallet jingled as she pulled it from her purse. Thoughts of the call had already left her mind as she unsnapped the button holding it closed and dug through the change compartment. A banner emblazoned with the phrase “don’t carry someone else’s baggage” rippled gently overhead as the air conditioning kicked on. After some searching, a few coins fell out along with a wadded-up bill. A dollar, two dimes, and a nickel. Just enough for a Honey Bun.