Paper or Plastic a novel in progess

Chapter 1

The Death of Chris

I remember the summer of ’74, watching the morning show out of Tampa in my Speed Racer pajamas and waiting for mom to make me breakfast on the living room floor.  My legs were cross, waiting for the host to say something funny, like they always did.  The bacon was sizzling and the toast was burning and the birds were chirping.  It was a perfect day to play outside.  It was a bright blue day and I was tucked in the dark corner of the living room, waiting for my meal.  Suncoast Digest was on the tube and Chris Chubbuck began my day.  She fingered through her papers on the desk and read, “In keeping with Channel 40’s policy of bringing you the latest in”—she stared at the camera and grinned, reached back to her script and tightened her grip on the words that followed “blood and guts and in living color.”  She looked down on her script, her left hand shook just a little.  Her right hand stiffened.  “We bring you another first.”  Her voice shuttered.  She stared at the camera, eyes flickering from side to side for just a moment as if a thief about to commit a crime.  “An attempted suicide.”  Her right hand rose from below the anchor desk with a revolver to the lower back of her head.  She pulled the trigger.  It was cartoon-like as her head exploded.
            “Honey, come to the table.  Breakfast is ready.”
            I went to the table like I did every day.  I sat down and turned the cornflakes box around to see what game was on the back.  I had to find my way out of the maze.  This day I didn’t bother to find my way out.  I just sat there and ate my breakfast as the thought of Chris as my eyes passed over my plate of bacon and eggs and I stared and stared at the maze without even trying to figure a way out.  I wanted a way out even though I pushed the box away from my plate; I wanted to find a way out but my head was on Chris and her last thought.  Why, why, why?  Why did she do it?  I chewed on some bacon and sipped some orange juice.  What made her do this in front of me?  I didn’t do anything to her.  Did she want some purpose to come from her death?  I stared at the maze and got half way out before mom pulled the box away.  She was cleaning up, and I made a big mess.  Bits and pieces were here and there and everywhere else.  I was done and ready to run and play outside.
            I got dressed, brushed my teeth and combed by hair and ran outside as fast as I could.  But there was no one but me.  Where was everybody?  Did they see what I saw?  Which way do I turn now, left or right?
            I waited for a long time for the kids to come out to play, but no one showed.  I got tired of throwing rocks at lizards, so I went back inside and turned on the tube for simple entertainment.  That was the day I knew I wanted to die.
            I was only seven.