September 18, 2010
“You where my best friend Bethany, you knew me at my best, and you held me up right at my worst. So why on your birthday am I dressed head to toe in black? Well I’ll tell you Bethany it was our usual Friday night us two over at your house, fake ids in hand, getting dressed up for a party, just the usual, so how did it go so wrong? MY best friend six feet underground, and she hadn’t even turned 16 yet! I don’t blame you Bethany for getting in the car that night, it was Anthony behind the wheel after all , I don’t blame you, but the problem still remains I’m completely alone in the world now, I hope your happy sitting up there in heaven. Is it nice? HA maybe I should join you Beth! Is that what you wanted?”
I lift my head from the paper, I feel tears burn hot down my face, it’s the thirteenth time ive read my own words, they roll over and over in my mind like a reel of film flashing forwards and backwards “SARAH! Its 12’30 you better start walking” moms voice gives me a sudden jolt, I remember how kind bethanys parents had been, even though they had lost there only child they had called only a few days ago to say I could come pick up a few of Bethany’s things for sentimental reasons, its been exactly 3 months since Bethany died and everyone has been realy nice I guess, but secretly I think they all think im gong crazy, you know what I even think I am, I do talk to myself a lot, and it’s the 3rd time in three weeks ive cut my wrists, the doctors tink ill pass by this ‘rough patch’ in my life, I like to keep them happy with my pretend stories of recovery telling them how im starting to play sports again and how my friends are supporting me.
As I arrive outside Bethany’s house I realize that its actually the first time since she died ive been to her house, its still exactly the same, one smashed window thanks to the Robinson twins over the road. The same pale blue door and even Beths old gumboots by the door a tall withering sunflower stands in them. I knock, in me and Bethany’s special way of course , the old comedy knock, I wait knowingly, and after what seemed like hours someone knocked back, and then that pale familiar door opened…
“SARAH! Its 12’30 you better start walking”.. “SARAH?” Sarah’s mother knocked on her door that day, just like she had on every other day Sarah usually refused to get up, she always was lasty, but what was different about today? “BOB, BOB!” foot steps echoched up the stair case, “Its Sarah, Bob, she’s done it this time” surly enough sarah seemed to have gathered the nerves to actually kill herself this time, and as she lay there her hand clutched onto her letter to me.
-Cherry Topping