there’s a solution as easy as apple pie.
I hate my job.
I hate selling days of my life while barely
earning enough to sustain it.
I hate my boss who tells me I’m lucky to
find stable work in such an uncertain world.
I hate my friends who treat dreams like an
unfortunate symptom of youth that need to
be outgrown.
And most of all, I hate myself for not doing
anything to change.
I keep waking up at the same time everyday
to sit in traffic.
I read the same lines on the same billboard
with the same happy models leering down at
me.
I don’t think I could go on if I thought
that this was all there was, but if I’m
waiting then I don’t know what I’m waiting
for.
That’s why I started listening to self-help
tapes in the car.
Motivational speakers would tell me about
how I had the power to change my life, and
for a few minutes at a time, I’d believe
them.
That obstacles no matter how great were only
in my mind, and that anyone could be happy
if they just willed it hard enough.
And if I wasn’t happy yet, then I just had
to buy another book and keep trying.
My favorite speaker was a guy named John Fallow
who claims he used to be a day laborer making
less than minimum wage.
When there weren’t any jobs available his
fellow workers would play cards or chat, but
he kept going door-to-door, knocking on businesses
until he found one that needed work done.
Pretty soon John had enough clients and extra
money that he started hiring the other laborers
to work for him instead.
The more jobs he got, the more workers he
hired, until lo and behold he was running
a business of his own.
Then they had a second location, and a third,
and before you know it he was a millionaire
with five hundred stores across the country.
But it was never about the money, says the
guy selling $30 audiobooks.
He gave it all up so he could give motivational
speeches and help others achieve their dreams.
And sure it was a lot of hard work and took
many many years, but he was the man he wanted
to be doing the things he loved to do, and
that’s all that mattered in the world.
“Of course, hard work isn’t the only way
to solve your problems,” John said on one
of his tapes.
“In fact, there’s a lot of you who are
probably getting discouraged right now because
you were hoping for a shortcut.
Well I’ve got good news for you, because
there’s a solution as easy as apple pie.
You go on now and kill yourself tonight.
” I couldn’t believe I heard that right.
I had to rewind, but there it was.
“Are you too fat?
Well diet and exercise is a lot of work, but
you could put a gun in your mouth and never
eat again.
“Or maybe you’re feeling down because
your relationship didn’t work the way you
wanted?
No problemo.
Just slip on that noose and suddenly your
ex will be the one who hates herself, not
you.
” John’s warm, bubbling voice didn’t
miss a beat as he proceeded to list a number
of foolproof ways to die, 100% satisfaction
guaranteed.
“Now some of you are probably skeptical
that this is the right choice for you, but
don’t you fret about it.
I’ll be hosting live demonstrations around
the country, so check my website for details
and come see if suicide is right for you.
” Part incredulous, part morbid curiosity,
I visited his website and found he was hosting
an event in my city next week.
Sure enough, his website had a video of him
standing on stage with a man who hung from
the rafters by his neck.
The crowd was cheering like wild as the dying
man’s body was wracked with its final spasms.
John Fallow lifted the dying man’s hand
to reveal it giving a thumbs up, and the crowd
cheered even harder as though their team had
just scored the final goal.
I bought a ticket and printed out the confirmation
code.
I don’t know why I did it, but for the first
time in a long time I really felt like I had
something to look forward to.
John was a man’s man, rugged and handsome
as they come.
He wore a cowboy hat pulled low over one eye,
faded Levi’s, and a button up shirt the
day of the event.
He greeted everyone at the front door with
a firm handshake and a beaming smile, laughing
and carrying on with people he’d just met
like they were his oldest friends.
I expected there to be at least a little outrage,
but everyone who showed up seemed legitimately
happy to be there.
The feeling was contagious, and by the time
I sat down with the rest of the audience,
I already knew several people by name.
“Silly old me, I forgot what speech you
all came to hear,” John Fallow announced
from the stage.
“Was it the one about working hard from
morning till night, day in and day out?”
“No!” chorused a hundred voices around
me.
I was half surprised to recognize my own as
one of them.
“How about the speech about it being your
fault if you aren’t happy because you ain’t
trying hard enough?”
“No!”
“So you telling me all you fine folks showed
up just to hear how to fix all your problems
at once in less than five minutes?
That what you want to hear?”
The enthusiasm was deafening.
John Fallow mimed whipping out a pair of pistols
from an imaginary belt and rattled off shots
into the audience.
Everyone remotely close to the line of fire
made a dramatic show of taking the bullet
and collapsing back with great big grins on
their faces.
Then cheers again, an ocean of sound beating
against my eardrums.
“Well let’s get started then,” John
roared.
“How about a volunteer?
Come on now don’t be shy.
There ain’t nobody going to look down on
you where you’re going.
” A sea of hands like a flock of birds all
taking flight at once.
John stepped down from the stage and took
the open hand of a middle-aged woman to help
her into the spotlight.
He led her to a stool where she sat down.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked.
The woman swooned and mumbled something I
couldn’t hear.
“Katylin, is that right?”
John said in his booming voice.
“Tell me Katylin, what’s wrong with your
life?
Loud and clear, come on now.
” “I was supposed to get promoted this
year,” she said, her voice trembling but
audible.
“They gave the job to some young slut instead.
” “Well you aren’t getting any younger,
sweetheart.
It’s only going to get worse from here.
” She nodded and smiled as though that’s
exactly what she wanted to hear.
“I got just the thing for you though,”
John said.
“A little medicine for what ails ya.
” He produced a pill from a small leather
bag in his pocket and offered it to her.
She snatched it gratefully and clutched it
in both hands.
“That’s gonna take the sting right out.
Go on now.
One quick swallow.
Cyanide tastes just awful if you let it dissolve
in your mouth.
” I watched with horrified fascination as
Katylin tossed the pill back and washed it
down with a water bottle that John offered
her.
She gave a feeble smile as her face flushed
bright red.
The room watched in anxious silence as she
started panting for breath, each labored heave
more desperate than the last.
“Almost there, ‘hun,” John whispered,
his microphone washing the sound over the
audience “Let’s see those bastards at
work take this one away from you.
” Katylin fell off her stool and began rolling
on the ground.
The audience began to woop and whistle.
Within seconds Katylin lay still.
Two men wearing ’Staff’ shirts hustled
out to drag her off stage.
There was a brief silence when she stopped
moving.
I had the sense that everyone was trying to
read the room, unsure of whether or to scream
or cheer.
Then the applause began to ripple, tentative
at first, but growing by the second until
the whole auditorium vibrated with its intensity.
I felt sick.
An anxious feeling flooded my body, but the
cheering confused me and made me think that
it was alright.
If we were doing something wrong, then surely
someone would have said something by now.
Unable to shake the uncertainty, I left my
chair and headed for the bathroom to clear
my head.
Outside the auditorium I saw the two men wearing
‘Staff’ shirts exit a side door.
The woman wasn’t with them anymore.
Was she still back there?
Was she alive, or dead?
Maybe she needed help.
One of the staff noticed me, his face screwing
up with suspicion.
I snatched a nearby trash bag and made to
enter the door they’d just exited from.
“Hey, where you think you’re going?”
one asked.
“Bringing some more rope for John,” I
said, hefting the trash bag.
“Back stage is that way, right?”
The staff nodded and I slipped inside.
I could hear the audience cheering again through
the wall and felt the urge to cheer with them,
but I thought better of it and stayed quiet.
The hallway skirted the perimeter of the auditorium,
and I was able to track my progress toward
the back of the stage by the sounds coming
through the wall.
Another uproar—perhaps a second demonstration
has concluded.
Another body to be dragged off stage.
Not just a body.
A human being.
A father or a mother, a son or a daughter.
That thought should have horrified me, but
it didn’t.
They didn’t ask to be alive.
They didn’t make the world the way it was.
So why shouldn’t they leave when they’re
ready?
“Looks like we’ve got a bleeder here,”
John’s voice carried.
“That’s it, boy.
Let it all out.
You’re the lucky one—the rest of us have
to clean up that mess.
” I must have been directly behind the stage
at that point.
The place was dark and cluttered with electrical
and sound equipment.
I saw no sign of the woman’s body.
The thought of stumbling across her splayed
out on the ground nauseated me.
I shouldn’t be here.
A shaft of light tore through the room as
the stage curtain was pulled aside.
The staff were dragging a college aged boy
by the hands.
His throat was cleanly slit, and a sheet of
blood soaked through his shirt and drained
onto the floor.
I hid behind an upright speaker and watched
the staff prop the boy against the wall before
turning to exit again.
“Let’s all take a break while they get
this cleaned up,” John said from the stage.
“Fifteen minutes, then you’ll all get
your chance.
” The boy was still alive.
Spitting and gurgling blood, he panted with
feeble wet gasps.
His red-smeared teeth were locked in a vicious
grin.
I started to creep toward him, but another
blast of light made me scramble back to concealment.
John Fallow moved through the shadows to stand
over the dying boy.
The boy’s grin twisted into one of agony.
He struggled to stand, but John put a boot
on his chest and forced him back down.
“Shh shh,” he held a finger to his lips.
“Don’t fuss.
Lot of folks are dying to be you.
” He laughed at his private joke.
The boy tried to answer, but the wet sucking
sound which escaped his lips carried no words.
“You did this to yourself.
You wanted to fit in so damn bad that you
didn’t care what you had to do.
Now look at you.
” It was too late to save him.
The boy was barely breathing now, and the
pool of blood encompassing him was still growing
by the second.
John dropped to his knees to bring their faces
level.
“It don’t matter what other people expect
from you,” he said.
“The government wants you to make a lot
of money to pay taxes.
A holy man might tell you not to make any
because it corrupts you.
The people who sell burgers want you to be
fat, and the people who sell diet pills want
you to hate yourself for it.
They all want something different from you,
but you don’t belong to them.
You belong to you.
The boy had stopped moving.
I couldn’t make out the faintest sign that
he still drew breath.
“So what if you flunked out of school?
Does that make the stars any less bright,
or the taste of strawberries more sour?
Will you no longer feel your lover’s caress
or the ocean lapping your bare feet?
Fear, pain, doubt—they’re just passing
clouds, and floating in front of the sun don’t
mean the sun ain’t still there.
“So I’m going to give you another chance,”
John continued.
“You get back up and go outside and tell
me what you see.
And if it’s nothing but clouds, then pick
one and call it beautiful and love it forever,
because it’s all part of the same sky.
” With that John Fallow pulled out a syringe
and stuck it in the boy’s chest.
He began to buckle and squirm, but John held
him down while wiping the blood from his neck
with a handkerchief.
It came off like makeup, leaving clean fresh
skin below.
“Get out of here,” John said, “and don’t
let me catch you back either.
” The boy scrambled to the door and disappeared.
“You too,” John said, looking to where
I hid.
“Or it won’t just be blood capsules and
a temporary paralytic for you.
” I ran for it.
Outside I saw the boy with his head thrown
back, looking straight up.
Beside him was the woman who’d taken the
fake cyanide pill, head back and staring with
wild eyes.
I don’t know whether they thought they’d
really died and came back, or whether they
knew it was a trick, but one thing I’m pretty
sure is that neither of them had ever looked
at 
the sky like that before.
I know I hadn’t.
