The Suicide Note by Nicholas Alderete (Work in Progress)

Apr 03, 2008 - 16:51 PM PST
It’s become quite obvious that I’m not the man I used to be, I have no heart, I have no soul, I am but a calloused ghost thickened by a shell of broken dreams. Thoughts of love and happiness have all escaped me I no longer feel joy, nor sorrow, pain, nor suffering; my only emotion is apathy and nothing more. A sour, bitter taste left in my mouth by the life which has preceded my present state, but still I do not feel it. I can only look back on that life with no feeling at all, and just see it as the life of someone else, someone who felt.

I was born Sean Cale on March 17, 1964 in the town of Quiet Creek, Massachusetts to Tom and Mary Cale, a teenaged couple that chose to put me up for adoption. I was then sent to an orphanage owned by the Sisters of the Holy Name of Mary. These nuns treated the kids who went there with a discipline that brought us nostalgia of the Roman Empire. The beatings on the back of our hands looked as though we had received forty lashes and developed the stigmata. By the time I was seven, “God damn it,” had become the most popular phrase in my vocabulary just to spite Sister Monica, who’d given me a beating that numbed my body from any pain I had received from any of the other nuns. Even with such a beating, she hadn’t broken me; no one there could they were all full of cowardice hiding behind their rulers and pointers afraid to lay an actual hand on me even if God was on their side. These nuns claimed it was their God given duty to take care of me even if that did include the occasional beating, I however argued that God did not intend for the beatings to be an everyday occurrence which left my body looking like I’d been crawling under barbwire all day. These nuns seemed to be a Viking horde that left my body like a monastery in the Middle Ages; pillaged and beaten with every ounce of life taken out of it.

At the age of twelve, my Savior came in the form of three different people. Margaret (Mag), Tim, and Father Derek. They were my refuge, I was able to tell them each anything I wanted to tell them, I could trust them more than I could trust God. After the brutality I had faced which began to occur now in bi-weekly intervals; these three helped me cope with the beginning of my teenage years within Hell’s confinement. Derek whom I’d been seeing everyday for a confession helped me understand who I was he’d tell me, “To be a rebel for a noble right is one thing, to be a rebel without a cause is another; find a cause Sean and when you find it, fight for it.” To this day I’d only found two causes.

Mag, my first and only love. I’d tell her anything and everything, but for a year or so we’d only seen each other as nothing more than friends. We attained an unconditional love which would never die. She was the only hope I’d ever possessed which actually meant something. She was a cause. The bi-weekly ravishing began to occur more frequently because Mag and I had become so close that every night I’d sneak out and into her room, to do nothing more than talk. Mag and I could go on all night about nothing in particular. We’d developed a partial insomnia where we’d both be able to go with only about an hour of sleep. I hadn’t been caught at night it was always in the early morning when Sister Patricia would come and awake all the girls, she’d see me on the floor with Mag’s sweater covering me and I’d receive a rude awakening and the girls would stand outside and watch just as the crowd watched Jesus‘ whippings.. Every second spent with her was worth an eternity to my young mind. She gave me something to live for within my torture, within that nunnery.

Tim, on the other hand, my best mate. I wouldn’t do as much to talk to him as I would with Mag simply because I wasn’t attracted to him. I’d finally realized I was attracted to Mag. It was through Tim that I was able to realize my affection for Mag. When I’d told Tim how I’d felt for her, he was ecstatic we plotted on how to get her to fall for me. But with Tim’s help it seemed as though Mag had already fallen for me. She confided in Tim that she had affections for me as well.

Father Derek was my haven from all those evil nuns whom had tried to pillage my back with their wooden whips. I’d confess to him everyday, but it wasn’t always for my sins, it was also simply to talk about life, Father Derek was the wisest man I’d ever met. He’d taught me so many things about life, especially how to treat Margaret. I saw him as my own father, not just as a father figure. Father Derek had agreed to marry Margaret and I as soon as we were of the appropriate age, and I felt honored that he’d do so. It was he that I could confide in because I believed he had the confidence of God.

The following year I entered into the high school phase of the orphanage’s schooling. I was a “freshman.” It wasn’t so great, but I suppose it was a lot better than being in grade school. By this time I’d made more friends because Tim and Mag had introduced me. Since I’d found out why I was given up for adoption I hadn’t really been open to meeting too many people. I don’t really know why but I’d found out at a young age. I suppose it was because I didn’t want anyone else to leave me, but that still doesn’t explain why I still let Margaret and Tim in.

With this new high school grade I gained more privileges for more excitement as well as the rest of my classmates because the ninth was the final grade within the orphanage’s schooling system. Beyond the ninth grade the students would then attend the local public school and attend catechism on Saturdays with Sister Hillary. The privileges we’d received were pretty basic ones we were allowed to stay up later and were allowed more free time after we’d finish our homework; naturally I’d mainly spent this time with Tim and Margaret. We’d also get to commune as a class one Saturday every month as sort of dance in the Cafeteria where they’d play music and we could dance.

Saturday October 15, 1977, I remember that nights as clear as ever and I’ll never forget it. That night changed my life forever as did many other nights in my life, but I believe this is the one that sparked the way my life should turn out. It was out monthly “dance” and it was reaching about 9 o’clock. I’d been dancing with Margaret for nearly two hours non-stop. The moon was so beautiful that night, but not nearly as beautiful as her. She’d worn her hair strawberry blonde hair differently that night it was down, but with subtle curls that fell upon her head like beautiful petals on a flower, her deep brown eyes were more brilliant than the light the moon, the stars, and the sun could ever produce as one. “Indian Summer,” by The Doors had come on and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and I placed my hands on her waist and we’d begun to dance. She stared into my dark brown eyes the whole time and mouthed the words, “I love you the best, better than all the rest,” quoting the song, just once but I knew it was directed toward me. As the song ended she kissed my lips softly and walked off the dance floor to her girl friends and sat with them the rest of the night and I sat with Tim, Christopher, and Matthew the rest of the night.

Later that night in her room out of the blue I climbed into bed with Mag and kissed her lightly on the lips and asked her, “be my girl?”

She slowly kissed me back and whispered, “yes.” She held me there for the rest of the night and would not let me free from her bed or from her grasp. In the morning, I’d received a beating equivalent to what Jesus had received in the scourging at the pillar. Sister Monica yanked me from the loving grasp of Margaret’s arms and onto the hard floor where she assaulted my back with a yard stick, a pointer from her chalk board, and then with a metal strip which came from behind the door. She left my back a deep crimson red and a burning sensation that was nothing compared to how much I burned for Mag. This burning for her would continue to be the greatest pleasure in my life, for the longest while.

The Suicide Note by Nicholas Alderete (Work in Progress)

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2 Comments

May 08, 2008 - 18:31 PM

littlemissd

THis is amazing!!! Great work... i'm really impressed.

Apr 18, 2008 - 12:48 PM

Hoffnungsloses

Definitely want to read more of this! Sounds like the summer camp years for me, only the dances always had 'Hotel California' by The Eagles.