This is a true story, and it was not written very well, but when I type out things it helps me get over them. Thank you for reading. And this has excessive drug references and swearing.
It was the first home football game of the year: the white out versus Bothell. We were all supposed to only wear white. It used to be the black out game, before they decided it was too racist for us to be wearing all black. But isn’t it racist for us to wear all white, too?
Before the game I met up with a couple of people out in front of the QFC in the next town over. We sat out in front, making fun of the people who walked in, just bullshitting around. We didn’t have anywhere we needed to be, no real place or purpose in the world. But it didn’t matter; none of us wanted a purpose anyway.
Eventually my dealer pulled up in a nice silver Honda Element. He parked, rolled down his window, and I walked over.
“Since when is your mom letting you drive the nice car again?”
He laughed. “Not like I have her permission. I just stole the fuckin’ keys out of her purse.”
I laughed too, but on the inside I cringed. He was almost twenty, yet he still lived with his mom, and on top of that he treated her like shit. I could remember once when I spent the night at his house, and his mom knocked on the door softly, asking for something, and the guy yelled and cussed her out, telling her to get back to her room. But it’s whatever, not really my problem.
We exchanged our items, and I quickly shoved the dub sack into my pocket, looking behind me nervously.
“Ain’t nobody gonna get you in trouble,” he said. “I’m fuckin’ Nig Leitch!”
I laughed. “Shut up queer. You goin’ to the game?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “They don’t like it when people who got kicked out come back to school.”
“Ah, good point.”
“You goin’ to the game stoned?” he narrowed his eyebrows.
I shrugged. “Probably. Not like anyone’s gonna do anything. I’m just a nice little girl.”
“God, shut your mouth. I gotta go up to the Rim, though. See you around.” He started the car.
“See you.”
I ran back to the others as the guy drove away.
“You get the stuff?” Tasha, my best friend, asked.
“Hell yeah! Let’s go to the fuckin’ game!”
We all piled into the old Ford Explorer and tumbled along the Falls Road, down to the high school.
Now, I got to get some things straight. I’m not a bad kid at all. I get good grades, I take showers every day, and I’m nice to my mom. I used to be popular, too. Now I’m just sort of the kind of popular where everybody knows who you are, but you’re not cool enough to be invited to invite-only parties, homecoming groups, and such. I lost a lot of friends when I decided not to be a preppy girl anymore, but I’m helluva lot happier just being a kid. I do have a drug problem, though. I smoke the Ganja every day, and I get drunk a few times a week. But its not like I’m addicted to any of them or anything. The only thing that bugs me is that I can never remember anything anymore. I kind of have to make up how things went because I can’t remember my own past. And there’s some nights like this one that I wish I could remember better. Hell, I don’t even know if this is how it went down. Maybe this is just how I’d like it to have been. But I gotta stop lying to myself.
Anyway, we headed out to this little pond area behind the elementary school to smoke some of the twenty. I paid for it and got it for everyone, so I always took first hits. And I double-hitted it most of the time. I know it pissed everyone else off, especially because I still made them pay for part of it. But hey, you got to do what you got to do. It’s not like I’m a fuckin’ millionare.
The Leitch’s had home-grown weed, which means they actually took good care of it, increasing the quality and freshness. I was in my own world by the time we were at the game. We showed up slightly after half time. Spaces were cleared for me immediately in the student section, where everyone goes crazy cheering. I was next to a bunch of preppy kids, and they gave me hard looks. We all used to be friends, back in the day.
I suppose I got a little too high, and everyone could sort of tell. When I walked to the bathroom, people kept yelling my name at me, and I could hear them saying: “she’s so baked.” Kind of embarrassing, to be honest. I couldn’t remember how to really respond to people, so I just nodded at them. It pissed me off eventually, though.
I was on my way back up the stands when I saw one of my old buds. It was Cody, but I couldn’t really remember his last name. He was just a plain out-and-old good looking kid. I knew his family, too. His family was like mine: they’d both lived in this same town since the beginning of time. He was a state wrestler. He was in ASB. He was a lifeguard-swim-teacher-thing. I mean, this guy had it made. We’d hooked up forever ago, but I didn’t really talk to him anymore.
“What up?” he said to me, reaching a hand around and slapping my butt.
Normally I’d be used to this sort of thing, the kid was funny, but my social interactions were screwed up and I got pissed.
“Fuck off, Cody,” I said, glaring and running away.
He probably didn’t even know I was high.
We left before the game had even ended. I wasn’t a big fan of any of the football players, and all my cheerleader friends had been suspended from the team, so there was no point in staying. We drove back to QFC for a while, smoked some more weed at another park, then drove back to our town. I hardly remember any of the rest of the night. I was too busy poisoning my body.
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I woke up on my friends couch the next morning. A cool thing about me is that I don’t get hangovers. I feel good all the time. I reached into my bra, where I always stash my phone when I’m drunk, and slid it open.
I had thirty unread texts. Twenty-two missed calls.
“What the fuck?” I said out loud, opening them up to read them.
In an instant, my stomach turned inside out and I ran into the bathroom, emptying my stomach into the toilet.
Coming back into the room, I saw Tasha was awake. “You alright?” she asked.
I couldn’t control myself. Tears began streaming down my cheeks. “So effed up… So fucked up… Oh my fucking God!”
“What’s wrong?” She stood up, jumping up and down on the bed. “What’s wrong, what’s wrong, what’s wrong?”
“Cody killed himself.”
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I was high the last time I saw one of my old best friends die. The last thing I said was “fuck off.” And now we don’t know if he’s gonna live; he’s in a forced coma in the ICU, stuck in a state of hypothermia. He was the prime specimen of a high school kid. He had it made.
And what was I doing with my life? Fucking myself over. I mean, just look at the kid. He was gorgeous. He took care of his body. He didn’t spend the whole day pumping poisons into his blood.
Now the school’s in a riot. The counselors are setting up meetings with everyone who knew the kid. But I bet half the kids who show up don’t even know him. Everyone knows his name, but they don’t know what a good kid he was. And I missed out on his last years, his best years.
I know it’s not my fault. He didn’t kill himself because I cussed at him. He didn’t even kill himself because we weren’t friends anymore. It wouldn’t have made a difference, ‘cause sometimes there’s nothing you can do. You just gotta make the most out of your own life and be nice to everyone you meet, because you never know when it’s gonna be the last time you talk to them. I haven’t smoked in a week. I told all of my friends that I love them today. I haven’t insulted anyone. I even ran on my treadmill. I’d trade my own life for the life of his any day – he has easily marked more people’s lives in a positive way – but now I just have to carry on his legacy of kindness and excellence. And, I think, that if everyone does something like that, then our little town will be happier, and we won’t have any more Cody’s, or Tess’s, or anyone else who feels the need to take their own life. I suppose the moral of this whole shebang is the annoyingly hackneyed “Carpe Diem” – seize the day. Because you can’t change the past, but you decide your own future.
