sheila’s been locked in the bathroom for a couple of hours now. i called mom and she’s on her way, but i don’t know how to keep sheila from, i don’t know, killing herself. she was wailing and crying for a good forty-five minutes and now it’s just silence. should i break the door down? i should break the door down. except, the door is solid, i remember dad buying that door at home depot when he was building the house, it’s oak or something, there’s no way i can just bash it down with my shoulder. what should i do? i’ve knocked, i’ve pleaded with her to open the door, i’m about to call the police. should i call the police? i should call the police. the last thing any of us need is sheila to be dead, right? … why aren’t you answering me? nobody hates sheila, don’t get it in your head that she deserves to hurt herself. sure she’s difficult to deal with, and she’s stolen money from us on several occasions, and … she’s a drug user, oh shit, what if she overdosed? i thought she’d been sober for months now, what if she went in there and did heroin or something? shit now i gotta call the police. anyway, your silence is a stern statement of not giving a shit about our own sister. i get that. i still thought you’d help at least a little bit. but, you’re not, so … i’m going to call the police now.