>
Rebecca Lobo sits for a long time grabbing bits of cantaloupe from her plastic cup and thinks about how love doesn't exist. “There is only compatibility and ease and conversation and convenience,” she says to herself. Rebecca Lobo has never known another definition of love. She thinks about her parents' divorce. She was five years old. Her teacher used to ask her how it “was,” and she didn't know that it was supposed to be awful. She thought it was new and exciting. Her teacher put her on suicide watch.
She was five.
“Suicide watch?” people would now say when she told them. “Really? For a five-year-old?” But no. She was never on suicide watch.
She just knew that her teacher thought differently of her—thought it was some sort of manic episode, a warning sign or something—and she needed a way to quantify that easily.
When people seemed surprised about this wrinkle in the story, Rebecca Lobo would say that it wasn't really suicide watch per se, but she got called down to the guidance counselor once a week and they always asked if she had ever thought about hurting herself. Then Rebecca Lobo would think about how good of a liar she is and feel proud of herself.
She was five.
“Suicide watch?” people would now say when she told them. “Really? For a five-year-old?” But no. She was never on suicide watch.
She just knew that her teacher thought differently of her—thought it was some sort of manic episode, a warning sign or something—and she needed a way to quantify that easily.
When people seemed surprised about this wrinkle in the story, Rebecca Lobo would say that it wasn't really suicide watch per se, but she got called down to the guidance counselor once a week and they always asked if she had ever thought about hurting herself. Then Rebecca Lobo would think about how good of a liar she is and feel proud of herself.