The Other Side of Me. Sidney Sheldon

       ONE

      At the age of seventeen, working as a delivery boy at Afremow’s drugstore in Chicago was the perfect job, because it made it possible for me to steal enough sleeping pills to commit suicide. I was not certain exactly how many pills I would need, so I arbitrarily decided on twenty, and I was careful to pocket only a few at a time so as not to arouse the suspicion of our pharmacist. I had read that whiskey and sleeping pills were a deadly combination, and I intended to mix them, to make sure I would die.

      It was Saturday—the Saturday I had been waiting for. My parents would be away for the weekend and my brother, Richard, was staying at a friend’s. Our apartment would be deserted, so there would be no one there to interfere with my plan.

      At six o’clock, the pharmacist called out, ‘Closing time.’

      He had no idea how right he was. It was time to close out all the things that were wrong with my life. I knew it wasn’t just me. It was the whole country.

      The year was 1934, and America was going through a devastating crisis. The stock market had crashed and thousands of banks had failed. Businesses were folding everywhere. More than 13 million people had lost their jobs and were desperate. Wages had plunged to as low as a nickel an hour. A million vagabonds, including 200,000 children, were roaming the country. We were in the grip of a disastrous depression. Former millionaires were committing suicide, and executives were selling apples in the streets.

      The most popular song was ‘Gloomy Sunday.’ I had memorized some of the lyrics:

       Gloomy is Sunday. With shadows I spend it all. My heart and I Have decided to end it all.

      The