I was her friend.
Not that they’d know. As far as they were concerned, she was a nobody. A nobody that they could throw cruel words at, like ‘emo’ and ‘lesbian.’ If they ever saw me with her, they would just assume I was talking to her for my own amusement, like they did; entertainment at her expense. People like them; they don’t take anything into account except for themselves. Human feelings, the capacity to feel hurt and victimised and utterly hopeless, wouldn’t ever cross their minds. All they saw was what was different about her, the things they didn’t agree with, the things they thought were weird.
When I looked at her I saw a beautiful uniqueness that always left me in awe. I took a mental picture of the first time I saw her smile and I’ve locked it away in my brain so I’ll never forget it. I’m sure she had smiled before, but I suppose her life was hell. She didn’t have a whole lot to be happy about. Yes I’d been her friend, but I’d also failed her. I’d had ample opportunity to stand up for her, to take a bullet for her and tell all those people who gave her shit on a daily basis exactly where they could go. The one time I had tried, she’d told me to stop. She told me she could handle it. But I don’t think she could, in the end. Because she killed herself.
I suspected something was wrong when she wasn’t waiting on the corner for me so we could walk to school together. She was always there. I knew where she lived, so I walked down her street to her house. That was when I became certain that something was wrong. Parked outside her house were an ambulance and a police car. A police officer came out of the front door, and I rushed up to him. “What’s going on?” I demanded. This didn’t go down well with the officer. “I’m going to have to ask you to step off the property”, he said gruffly. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Then the stretcher came out the door, carried by two paramedics. I knew it was a dead body, because of the white sheet pulled right over it. If the body were still alive, they wouldn’t do that. I’d seen enough medical dramas to know that much. I also knew that the body belonged to her.
An assembly was called the next day at school. I don’t know how I made it through to the next day, but I did. I felt numb from my head to my toes, and I didn’t tell anybody what I had seen. They didn’t deserve to know. It was her last secret, and I was going to keep it. Until our headmaster stepped up onto the podium and told everybody in the auditorium, with well mustered solemnity, what had happened. He used the phrases ‘took her own life’, ‘tragic sadness’, ‘a young life lost.’ He talked to them like they had been her friends, when really it was their fault that she was gone. I wanted to stand up and scream at them all, scream that they were the reason, that I hoped they felt guilty for the rest of their lives. But just like I hadn’t screamed at them when they were tormenting her, I held my tongue. And I knew, this was my fault too.
A guidance counsellor was made available to all the students ‘to help them cope with their grief over the tragedy.’ It made me sick to see those people who had caused all of this having to leave in the middle of class, overcome with tears. One of them even got on the evening news, talking about how sad they were and how much they missed their friend, how close they had been. The girls who she had hated, all those fake and preppy girls who had devoted themselves to causing misery for anybody they didn’t approve of, volunteered to help organize the memorial service. My blood boiled. I spoke to her at night, when everything was dark and quiet. I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry... But I know that you’re in a better place now.
