To My Best Friend,

A Story by LadyFluff

I miss you. So, so much. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to wake up, because I’ll open my eyes and get excited because I’ll see you in front of my house… and then I’ll remember. I’ll remember that you’re gone. It hurts to live because I find myself looking at the spot where you sat, the spot where you stood in the mornings, at the front of my house. I keep expecting to see you with your goofy smile.

It hurts so, so much.

Well, let’s go on a trip down the memory lane. Maybe it’ll help me get all of my thoughts off my chest.

Do you remember the day you walked into my life? Fifth grade. You were the new kid. Not shy, but… nervous, maybe? Apprehensive? A little afraid. You were lonely, but there was something else. Not just that you wanted a friend. No, there was something dark underneath your smile. Something sad lingering in your eyes. Something I recognized.

That day, I went up to you at lunch and asked to sit with you. I remember you were… surprised. Happy. Grateful. You thanked me. And there was something so earnest, so sweet, so unexplainably relieved that almost broke my heart.

You were desperate.

We were inseparable by the end of the day.

You were cheerful, truly a ray of sunshine. Cliché, I know. But it’s true. You were always happy, always making everyone around you smile and laugh. And playful, so playful. Always jumping around, always being goofy and silly and making a general fool of yourself.

How I miss that.

After school ended though, something shifted. The smiles seemed more forced, you seemed more worried, more stressed, more anxious. I never knew why; I could never figure out why. I didn’t want to pry. I thought you would come to me when you wanted to.

And come you did.

You called, one night. I picked up the phone, not expecting much. It was the day before midterms. I was stressed, but I picked up the phone. I always picked up the phone back then. I was lonely. And what I heard shocked me.

You were crying. I had never, not once, heard you cry. You never teared up, never let go of your smile, not once. I’d never even seen you tear up before. You pleaded for me to come. I told you “I’ll be there soon.” You stammered out an address―did you think I wouldn’t come? I grabbed my coat, left a note on the dining table, and ran outside. It was a windy night. Freezing.

I got there… and you were shaking with muffled sobs. You were sobbing into your knees, trying to muffle the sound. I walked up, sat down next to you on the grass, and took your hand. You didn’t say anything at first. I just sat there, tracing circles on the back of your hand. You stopped crying after… five minutes? Ten? An hour? I don’t know. You just leaned back and looked at me with sad, grateful eyes. And said two words.

Thank you.

I just stared at you. You looked away, almost shy. I just waited. You could never handle silence. Never. And so you broke it. You told me about your family. That your father was abusive. That you moved because your little sister and your mother died in a car accident and you survived. That your father hates you. That your father is a drunken madman now.

You told me about when you were young. Your father played catch with you, taught you baseball, taught you to swim. Your mother loved baking. You loved her chocolate cookies. Your little sister loved the color purple, and strawberries, and you taught her the constellations when she was five. You loved swimming. You loved your sister, and she adored you. You hated your mother’s fussiness. How she was so overprotective.

You told me about how much you miss her and your little sister now.

When you finished, I stood up. Moved in front of you. Kneeled down. And hugged you. I had never hugged you. I’m not the touchy-feely type. But I hugged you in a way I hadn’t hugged anyone in a long time. A bone crushing hug that said all the things I could never say, never put into words. You were stunned. And I felt you hug back. Softly, yes, but there.

And so I could have told you my story.

How my older brother was so, so smart. How I had to meet expectations. How I had to be perfect, always. Never a 99, never second best, always 100, always first. Always the best. Always perfect, because anything less was failure. How I was too fat, too stupid, too rebellious, too loud. How my parents always said my brother was quiet and well behaved. How he never rebelled, was always obedient. How I wasn’t like him, how I should be like him.

How I was a disappointment. A failure

I could’ve told you that I carved lines into my arm to distract myself from the pain beating with my heart. I could’ve told you that it started with short, shallow lines that faded in day. I could’ve told you that they got longer and deeper, until they were two inches long and lasted for two weeks or more. That I carved the word “failure” into my leg once.

I could’ve told you that I cried myself to sleep because the expectations were too high, I was too stupid, too fat, too ugly, because I was worthless and not worthy of anything at all, least of all your friendship. I could’ve told you that I didn’t deserve you, never did and never will. How could I do anything to deserve an angel like you?

But I didn’t.

I never told you, and I’ll never get to now.

I watched you change. You didn’t think I knew, did you? It was slow, so slow, so gradual. You were becoming more and more distanced. You listened to what the others said, how you were fat and stupid and worthless. Too loud, too friendly, too clingy. You listened, and you changed.

Joined the soccer team. Never baseball.

Ate less. Ate nothing. Never touching chocolate cookies that were never quite like your mother’s.

Fading.

And one day, I realized you were just… gone. You weren’t hanging out with me like you used to. You had stopped waiting for me in the mornings.

Why did it take me so long to realize you had stopped waiting for me? How many excuses had I let pass until I realized that you had stopped giving them? Why didn’t I see the truth behind your lies earlier?

You weren’t playful, you weren’t silly. You were a ghost, a shadow, a mockery of who you once were. A whisper of my friend. And I could do nothing but watch as you grew quieter and quieter, as you came and left school with bruises covered by sweatshirts. As you tried so hard to fit in when you never could because you were so much better than everyone.

You deserved so much more, so, so much better.

And then I found that note. One line. One sentence. Two words.

I’m sorry.

I never knew the impact two words could have.

I knew where you were going. I knew what you were sorry for.

Because it wasn’t just bruises those sweatshirts covered.

Red lines, far worse than mine. Far deeper than mine.

Sharp bones, showing under your skin. I could count every bone.

You, falling to pieces before my eyes.

You told me about a place you always went to when you needed to escape your father or the voices lingering in the wind and your head. A river in the forest by your home. So far from school. You told me you loved to just sit and listen to the birds singing and the river flowing.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I didn’t help you, I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you the things that should’ve been said. I’m sorry that I never pulled you away from the edge. I’m sorry that I never told you that you were perfect, not to listen to the others because they wanted to ruin you, make you like them. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good enough friend. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough. I’m sorry I didn’t help you.

I’m sorry for not running fast enough.

I saw you. You were leaning against a tree. The forest was lush and green and alive. The birds were singing, the river was making the soft gurgling noise you loved, and you were crying. Silently, not unlike that night so long ago. I saw you drag the razor over your wrist, wincing and letting out soft cries. You cut deep, so deep, too deep. I saw you repeat the action on the other wrist. I saw the blood dripping down your wrist and getting soaked up by the rich soil.

I heard you sigh.

And I saw you slump to the ground.

I was too slow, too far away. I couldn’t do anything, and I’m sorry, so sorry. I couldn’t help you, and part of me died with you when I saw you there, slumped on the ground. You were my best friend. Still are.

And I lost you. I lost you. I was right there.

You died smiling with tears on your face.

I knew you wanted me to be the one to find you. You were too smart not to know I would come running if you left that note.

I knew, even before they took the note out of your pocket, that you wanted to be cremated, and you wanted your ashes scattered across the river.

You were always a dreamer. You loved a happy ending, even if you thought you didn’t deserve one. Your father did what you wanted. Did you see? He screamed and collapsed when we told him. Starting sobbing. I don’t think he realized how his actions affected you.

He loved you, deep down. Your father, the one who played baseball with you, he was there In that moment. And he paid for your cremation, and he gave me your ashes. In a beautiful blue and silver jar. He said you would have wanted me to do it. And he stood and cried when I threw your ashes over the river.

He vanished after. Moved, I suppose. But he watched, and he cried.

He loved you.

I hated you after. I didn’t know why you listened to those boys, I didn’t understand. I didn’t know why you cared what they thought, why you changed for them. Wasn’t it enough if someone, anyone, loved you just for who you were? Why did you need everyone to love you? I’m starting to understand now. I realize that you needed approval, love, acceptance because you didn’t get it from the most important person in your life.

You knew I hated being called stuck up, selfish, vain. I always tried to be selfless. I know you’d be miserable here, but I don’t want to be selfless. I want to be selfish, and I want you back. More than anything. I want you back, I want my friend back, even if you were still a ghost of my friend, because then I’d know you were alive, and one day you’d be happy again, once you got out of this hellhole called school with devils all around you. I wouldn’t care if you hated me. I just want you back. I want you back so badly.

Why did you have to leave me?

I catch myself looking at your old seat in class, or at the door after you left. My brain can’t seem to get that you’re gone, you’re gone. You aren’t coming back. You’re gone, and you won’t ever make me laugh, or want to tear my hair out because you’ve done something stupid again. I won’t ever hear you laugh again. I’d give up anything to hear your laugh just one more time, just once.

I think I’ve figured out why you hated the silence. Because in the silence, you couldn’t block out the voices of the world telling you that you were worthless, stupid, fat, ugly, a failure. Because you couldn’t block out the sounds of your mother and sister screaming. Because you couldn’t block out the sounds of your father screaming at you. Because you couldn’t block out the sounds of your father crying at night when he thought you were asleep.

I was watching, always. I know you think I wasn’t, that I let you go. I was always there. I was there when you twisted your ankle playing soccer. I was there when those boys beat you up in the parking lot. I was there when you cried after. I was there, watching, and doing nothing.

I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. I thought you didn’t want my help. You wanted to prove yourself somehow. That you didn’t need anyone’s help. You didn’t want to burden anyone.

They locked me up, you know. That stupid guidance counselor saw the scars and locked me up. Stuck me in a clean white prison room. I hate psychiatrists. They think they know so much, and they know absolutely nothing. Life is different now from when they were kids. They don’t understand me, will never understand.

They can never understand the pain of watching your best friend, your family, the best person in the world, die in front of you.

Do you remember your birthday, your last birthday? You were with some of your new, popular “friends.” I brought you a slice of cake and a gift. You accepted it, but those “friends” sneered and mocked me. You whispered a “thank you,” soft enough that only I could hear it. I nodded and left. Later that day, I found the cake in the trash. There was a little note written in pen on the container. “Sorry,” you wrote. The next day, I found a slip of paper in my locker. You just wrote two words. “Thank you.”

There wasn’t anything more than I wanted from you. Just that thank you.

Your face is blurring. I can’t remember the little details about your face. I can’t remember your smile. I can’t remember the exact pitch of your voice. I can’t remember your laugh. I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up, and I won’t remember anything about you.

Please don’t take my memories too. You’re already gone, my memories of you are all that’s left of you. Please, I can’t forget you Pictures, videos, they’re not enough, I need to hear your voice, your laugh. I don’t want to forget, please don’t make me forget.

But then again… sometimes I wish I could forget, and I hate myself for thinking it for even a moment. If I forgot, then I’d forget all this pain. Sometimes I think it would be better if I didn’t remember you. But then i remember all the happy times we spent together, and I wouldn’t trade those for the world.

I’m going to burn this letter. Right where you died. I hope you get it.

I’ll end with this. I don’t want your apology. I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I know you’re happier wherever you are now. You were always too good for this world anyway. And I want you to know that I don’t hate you, not anymore, and I miss you. I’ll miss you forever, but I can’t join you yet. I’ll see you one day, I promise. Even if scientists offer me something to make me live forever, I won’t take it. I’ll see you again. I promise. And I promise that I’ll remember you forever.

Always missing you