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Moving to a new place isn't easy and Uncle Roscoe says you can stuff your suitcase all you want and still never remember everything you need. Uncle Roscoe came to Canada years before us and he's still not settled. Learning to be a good speaker is a big thing and I'm doing my best. I'm not the first one to do grade eight twice and I get to stare at a bunch of new girls. I like girls and I like to collect things.

I was seven when we moved. Canada is a big place on the map but I only know this valley where we live. It's small with a lot of trees and a lot of rain. First it was pine cones. I used to keep them in the woodshed, barrels and barrels of them. Then I collected bottle caps. I had seventy-three different caps and some people said I was a genius but most thought I was stupid. Collecting can be lonely. That's why I moved on to stamps. The best way to get stamps is to buy them cheap off someone who used to think stamps were worth collecting but found out they weren't. I went to my stamp collecting club every Friday night for a whole year. Stamp collectors may look different but they are the same in a strange way. If you went to a stamp collector's meeting you'd know what I mean. Stamp collectors are what my Uncle Roscoe calls "over the moon."

I gave up on stamps after the fire. My brother Brucy used to like my stamps and I'd get mad at him for licking them. I would beat him up and I'd take it all back if I could but you can't. A beat person's been beat and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Mom says not to sit around and feel sorry for things in the past. There's only one point to go on living from and it's right now. Mom's a survivor. Tough like a mean fist.

There were books of stamps from different countries all over my shelf and then the fire came like a big tongue and licked them off the earth. People tried to give me stamps to get me going again but I just couldn't do it. When you lose some things you never recover. It was time to move on and now I collect suicide notes.

I haven't been on earth for a long time. I've been floating and I feel so close to heaven I can taste it. I don't want anyone to feel sad tomorrow. I'll be watching you and I don't want sadness. Think of my safety. Think of me being pulled somewhere better. Think of me finally going to a place I belong.

your son, Trevor

I collect notes but mostly I don't have the real notes. Sometimes I get lucky, like with Trevor. I went to school with Bonnie, and Trevor was her older brother. He got to be seventeen and no more. They moved away somewhere but Bonnie gave me his note without her mother knowing because I was the kind of person who understood someone like Trevor. I hear about notes or read about them and copy them down. I listen closely to what each one says and I try to write down just like the real person would. I don't know how close I come but I think I come close. My teacher, Mr. Maxwell, says I have intuition for a guy who doesn't read much. I asked him is it true what the newspaper said about American suicide notes being written full of poor English and he laughed and said he would not be surprised. I don't always know the big things about language but I learn a lot by studying the little things. I haven't thought about my stamp collection for a long time.

One thing different now is my private life. Stamp collectors want more stamps or better stamps or stamps no one has seen for a long time. I keep my collection in a metal box under my bed and wear a silver key around my neck.

If people saw my collection they'd be sad. You can't help but be sad when you read them but sadness is only on the top. You've got to look underneath. This guy in school, Bradley, has his locker next to mine. His parents have big problems but they've got money. He tells me about his visits to a shrink called Dr. John Skull. I thought it was a joke at first but his name is in the phone book with a red box around it. I think Dr. Skull would be an all right guy if you went fishing with him, but Bradley has to sit there each week and let him chip away. I think I could do that. Sometimes I think I already do.

Boys are four times more successful at suicide than girls and most of my notes are boy notes. When I get a girl note it almost tastes funny. I get this creepy feeling and I don't know why. Girls should be protected, Uncle Roscoe says. Women and children first. I think about Mom sometimes and how tough her life is. I read my notes over and over and learn more each time. I've been reading Marsha's note a lot lately.

It must be hard for a mother to stand up when she's needed. Mother, I know you know what's going on. I know it. You never stopped him. You pretend everything is just fine, as if this kind of thing happens in every family. He's still after me, like last Wednesday when you went to your book club. If you want to do one thing right in this world, Mother, you'll take this note to your book club in June. Discuss it with other women. Pretend it's a novel. Learn something.

Shana, I love you.
The last thoughts of Marsha T.

Even if the name is Turner I only put down T. because I know people are in a lot of pain. Statistics say it happens every seventeen minutes and more often in the spring. When I read about Marsha it makes me mad. I think about the torture she's suffered and it makes me want to be mean. I don't get that way with boy notes. Boy notes are clean and straight. Or angry.

My dad was a good man. He'd get mad sometimes, but mostly he was in a good mood. He used to play tricks on me and my brother. They were all in fun, like when he'd stick his finger in the peanut butter and grab Brucy's teddy and say the bear had an accident. My brother didn't play with his bear for weeks and he never ate peanut butter again. Dad laughed for months. Mom says she wishes he hadn't played so much poker with Uncle Roscoe until the sun came up. Uncle Roscoe's coming in one week and I'm looking forward to that. When he's here I feel strong and alive.

The world changed after the fire. We had to move and rent again. After a house fire things you miss aren't the ones you'd think. My stamp collection got really big, mostly foreign stamps, but I got over it. What I wish I had was the trophy my grade three teacher, Mrs. Dearholme, gave me for having the best disposition. I didn't know what it meant then, but I do now. I would go without shoes to have it back again.

Last week Mom suggested I sign up for baseball. Every month it's something new because she thinks I need to be involved. I spend too much time in my room with my thinking she says and she doesn't like my silence. I don't want to stand in right field two times a week and listen to parents yell about how to play the game right. In my room it's not my thoughts I'm thinking.

Some people try to kill themselves and if they don't get it right they keep trying. Jarett from Oklahoma was one of them. He tried to starve himself and was in the hospital on intravenous tubes, then he took sleeping pills but his brother found him and the doctor pumped his stomach out. I don't know if Jarett wrote a note the first time. He might have written more than one.

Mom and Dad, I don't want to write this. The last time was hard on you and I'm sorry. I want to stay but I can't. I was born stupid. God says there's a special place for me. I don't know what happens now. It has to be better. You always said third time lucky. I'm not afraid.

J.

I think about Jarett right after he tried starving himself to death. It's hard to make what's wrong go right. When you're born you want to live but not all ideas seem worth it. Some ideas aren't very bright, like killing yourself being against the law. Stupid as skunk cabbage. That's what Uncle Roscoe would say.

My dad was arrested drunk one night downtown. It was after the fire and they kept him behind bars all night. Mom went down to the police station and told them how my dad was hurting and they told her to go home. Some things can work their way to the edge of shame but not quite make it. That's how I felt that night. I felt sorry for Mom.

After that night my dad didn't get mad or drunk ever again. Mostly he got quiet. He used to watch European soccer on TV but he lost interest. It was the TV that caught fire and most TV's never catch fire. My dad was mad because he thought he should've rescued my brother and he tried but the firemen wouldn't let him go back in. Everyone got out but my brother and they said it was the smoke that got him and he didn't feel a thing but we heard him screaming for help. The TV isn't used any more and Dad doesn't collect anything. It's bad when people don't want something.

My collection tells me how different people are. I use a scale of one to ten to judge if people would kill themselves. Some people I don't think would do it. I think Uncle Roscoe would only be a one. Everything that happens to him is an adventure. He has owned seventy-two different cars since he came to this country and he has thirteen cars in his collection right now. Last year he rolled over twice in his sports car and got his picture in the paper holding onto the bar that saved him. He told people he wouldn't be in the news if he didn't roll over two times. No one I know is a zero, not even Uncle Roscoe. Something could easily push them up the scale. Uncle Roscoe will have new stories to tell when he comes this time and they will be good. Maybe the two of us will go fishing.

I apply my scale to people I meet at school. Most teachers are five. They're not happy but their show keeps them going. They make me work with Mr. McDermott an hour every day for English. I thought it was a stupid idea at first but now Mr. McDermott is the best part of school and my English is getting better. I talk with an Irish accent sometimes. Mr. McDermott moves around and he's always busy. He'll ask me an innocent question like what's my favorite hockey team and when I tell him he says, "Don't tell me. For the love of Pete, don't tell me that." If I say my favorite drink is orange juice he says the same thing. Sometimes we go outside and shoot on net with the road hockey equipment. "Holy St. Francis," he'll say, "he picks the top corner, with his backhand nonetheless." The two of us out in the sunshine while the rest are inside facing the blackboard. He says I read some words backwards and because of this we read The Three Little Pigs starting at the end. It makes us both laugh. On Fridays he makes up stories in Gaelic and tells them with a twinkle in his eye.

Sadness can be the opposite of laughing but sometimes it's anger. There was anger in the note Molly left when she found her husband.

Ron when you read this I hope you get the message you are a complete fucking asshole your life is a big infected sore and you are the puss Ron and I'm not the first to tell you you're whole life stinks I'm glad Amy died at birth because I wouldn't want anyone to grow up and call you their dad you've fucked more women since you got out of the navy than you did when you were in and you don't care about anyone but your own fucking self you're the worst kind of Catholic there is just show up on Sunday and your slate is clean you could start saying your Hail Mary's and not stop until you die and God wouldn't listen look in the mirror and imagine what other people see and you'll take a gun to your ugly head fuck you fuck you fuck you

M.

Molly's note is full of hatred and I feel sorry for her. I also think about Ron. He's got problems and I wonder what he does with them. If you don't love a lot you leave room for hate. It doesn't stop there. Molly left Ron and drove to her twin sister's house and shot a hole in the roof of her mouth with Ron's gun. Seven days later, her sister did the same thing. A girl has to be pretty mad to use a gun.

Sometimes I think girls don't like me. Rebecca has beautiful long hair and I walk behind her on the way home. Every day I'd walk closer and closer but one day she turned around before her driveway and called me a bohunk. Then her older brother started kicking me. Mr. McDermott will know what bohunk means but I already know it's not good. Now I'm careful not to follow too close.

Mom's quiet most of the time but she can stand up to anything. She got mad at me because I tried to help with the dusting and I broke a picture on the mantle. The glass broke and cut my dad's picture across his face and arm. It was the one picture she had of us four she got from Uncle Roscoe after the fire. When she gets angry she throws things, but this time she just held the picture against her chest and cried. Pictures should be covered in plastic. That's a good idea. I like it better when Mom throws things. That's the saddest she's been since Dad left us.

I was the one who found him in the basement. I don't think he thought about it much except for the hanging part. Leather boot laces are strong things. You get to the basement from outside the house. He didn't mean for me to find him. He didn't know he'd be hanging there turning first one way then the other. A dead body doesn't know which way to turn. Uncle Roscoe came and held Mom through the night. I cooked breakfast.

So many things come to mind when you collect notes. I think of so many reasons and I ask people about suicide. Some say it's okay if you're in big pain and you're going to die anyway, but most people in pain can be fixed like cars. My dad didn't think he could be fixed so he hung himself. If my dad was still alive and our neighbor was hurting my dad would say fix him up. That's what I think. I think people have had enough. When I go fishing I go by myself and I can fish for hours. If I don't catch anything, after a while I've had enough. No one can fish forever.

There's a dance at our school and Mom says I should go. I told her most people ask someone to go with them and then you don't feel alone. I already asked two people and I still don't have a date. I'd like to ask Rebecca but I'm afraid.

Mom reads romance novels and it takes her a week to read a whole one. Reading a whole one I can't do yet so she reads me parts of hers. These people meet in places like the Eiffel Tower and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. So many towers. Last night she says Uncle Roscoe isn't coming for a visit because he met a woman on a big boat cruise. That's good for Uncle Roscoe and I can see his smile from here but now I'm sad he won't be at our house. Uncle Roscoe make us laugh around here. Mom says she doesn't want to talk about it.

The news about Uncle Roscoe makes me miss my dad again. I asked Mom if we should have done things differently. She says it's better not to talk about it but I want to know. Sabrena killed herself in Pittsburgh after she left notes for her mom and step dad every day for a whole month. Leon had eleven overdue library books because he was trying to figure out how to make a gas stove leak into the house. Willie R. from Goose Bay made a New Year's promise he would die within a year and then ate rat poison on Christmas Day. Did my dad plan like that? Sometimes people just don't see the signs.