Suicide Notes

by Michael Thomas Ford

people still think what you look like is who you are.” I looked at the tattoos up and down his arms. I’d seen them before—you can’t miss them—but I’d never really looked at them. When I did, I saw that between the flaming skulls and hearts were the characters from Alice in Wonderland. He has the Red Queen and the Dormouse on one arm and the Mad Hatter and March Hare on the other one. One forearm has that picture of Alice with her neck all stretched out from eating the magic mushroom. “Is that who you are?” I asked Bone, pointing to Alice. He laughed. “No,” he said, “this is who I am.” He lifted his shirt, and on his back was the White Rabbit, wearing his waistcoat and looking at his watch. It was just like the illustration from the book. Only standing next to him, back-to-back, was another White Rabbit wearing a leather motorcycle jacket and boots and smoking a cigar. “That’s me,” said Bone. “Always running. Always late. I had it put on my back because no one can see it unless I show it to them. The ones on the outside are for people to stare at. But I keep the one I really love hidden.” “Why two of them?” I asked him. “Yin and Yang,” he said. “Dark and light. One’s the good rabbit and one’s the naughty rabbit.” “Which one is which?” I asked. He laughed again. “Both,” he said. “It’s kind of a bipolar thing. Like me.”