A Comfort Blanket

Sib and Bill come over for a beer and a smoke, and when the beer's gone we switch to the wine and we talk about suicide. Sib starts it because Sib's like that.

"How'd you reckon's the best way to do it? I mean, if you were going to do it?"

"Christ, Sib. You got somethin' else you wanna discuss? Let's talk about cancer."

Sib fills his glass again. "No¦ I mean, don't you guys ever think about it?"

"What? Suicide? Only when you're here, buddy."

"I don't mean that. I mean, the people who do it. How desperate do you have to be?"

Bill passes me the roach. "You really want an answer to that?"

I take a suck on that little weinie. This is how I'd go if I tried it again. Head full of smoke and juice. Float off.

"I knew a guy once did it the hard way. Jumped off a building. Twenty-nine storeys. All that way to think about what was coming at the end. To see it coming."

"Jesus!" Bill takes it back.

"That's what I'm talking about," says Sib. "If you're going to do it, why do it like that?"

"At least you know it's gonna succeed."

"Fuck that," says Bill. "I'd have to be unconscious first."

Sib takes it from Bill. "So why not do it some other way? Some way less - you know, nasty. Less dangerous."

"Less dangerous?"

"Oh, Christ - you know. Something easier. Tablets, maybe. Cyanide."

The stuff's doing its thing. It's good.

"Where do you get cyanide from, anyhow?" says Bill.

"I dunno. A pharmacy?"

"What would a pharmacy be doing with cyanide?"

"Search me."

The bottle's finished. I open a fresh one.

"How does cyanide work so quick? Does anyone know?"

I fill our glasses.

How does booze work so quick? How does it go so quick?

*

Sib's face is starting to move involuntarily.

"What would make you do it, Bill?"

"Nothing," says Bill. "Not if you cut my pecker off, shoved a bung up my ass, poked my eyes out and stopped me from drinking. There's always something to live for. Even if it's just life."

Sib's making me think, which I don't want to do. His wife's left him and he's got some issues. He lives alone.

"Bill's right. There's always something. Nothing's worth that sacrifice."

The last time I tried to do it was 6 years back. I went up on a freeway bridge with a bottle of whiskey. Once I'd downed that sucker, I waited for the world to slit-scan around me. Then I climbed over the rail and let go. I felt myself land and I blacked out. Next thing, I was looking up at this woman in a nurse's uniform. She had a body I've never forgotten. I thought welcome to heaven, baby!

"You were very lucky, sir," she said.

I'd landed on top of a freight truck that was slowing for the turn off. I'd only fallen about four feet. Two broken fingers. Bruises. Mild concussion.

I looked at that nurse. It was all I needed to do. How could I die when there were women with bodies like that?

"Why are you so interested, Sib?"

His eyes are twitching. It's as much as he can do to keep his head up.

"I just wondered. How desperate do you have to be?"

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know. And I don't even want to think about it."

"Me either," says Bill. "There's enough shit to worry about without that."

The last bottle's empty.

"Who wants a coffee?"

"I just wanna get my head down," says Bill.

Sib's already there.

"I'll get some blankets and pillows, guys."

Sib looks up. "I should be going."

"It's okay. You can stay where you are."

"Sure you don't mind?" Bill asks.

"I'll get the stuff."

Bill lives alone, too.

*

When I'm clocking in one day, a couple of weeks later, Bill comes up.

"Did you hear?"

"What?"

"About Sib?"

"What about him?"

"Gone. Didn't turn up for shift last night. The office rang and got his landlady. Said he'd moved out. Just vanished, overnight."

"Any idea where?"

"Nope. Just gone. No notes, no forwarding, nothing."

"Shit."

"Right."

We walk over to the lockers.

"You think he'll do anything stupid?" says Bill.

"I dunno."

We both look at Sib's locker door. At the lock hanging there. What's in there's probably his work overalls, his boots, a comb, a mug. Maybe a photo of someone. Why would he need any of that?

"Maybe he's done the wisest thing any man could do."

Bill looks at me like he's not sure what I mean at first. Then he gets it.

We unlock our doors. We put on our overalls and boots. We pocket our combs.

We go through to the shop.

Once again... this