In the front of the room, behind a podium, a man was speaking to an audience. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. His words could not reach me; it seemed that my eardrums had disintegrated. That was okay, though. I had escaped from pain, and if my eardrums were the price for that, then so be it.

People were sitting in foldout metal chairs, some shaking their heads, some crying in Kleenex. There were twenty or so listeners and they were seated in a neat semicircle around the slightly raised platform that held the man, the podium, and a huge, fancy box. I knew what was in that box, but I had no desire to see. I had a feeling it could ruin my “peacefulness.”

But it was inevitable that the feeling would wear away, for after a moment, I recognized the back of my mother’s body. I couldn’t just stand there; I had to see my mom.

Slowly I walked out of the doorway towards the half-circle of people. No one took notice of me. I guess that since I couldn’t hear them, they couldn’t hear me. So as not to disturb anyone, I walked around the chairs and then approached my mother, who was seated in the very center. I didn’t like seeing my mother in pain, and I could read her thoughts in her eyes.

With her legs crossed, my mom had a tissue in her hand that was soaked through with tears, but there weren’t any more left in the box for her to get. I never imagined a person could have that much in them to cry, but then again, my mom always exceeded my expectations. My father had his arm around her shoulders, but she wished he would take it off. I wanted to tell him he was only making it worse, but I couldn’t speak. Playing over and over, exactly the same each time was: “It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to go first, then her.” Once, I thought she was looking right at me, but when I began reaching out to comfort her, I saw she was staring through me, not at me. And then I remembered I couldn’t comfort anyone, and if my mother of all people couldn’t acknowledge my existence, no one could. I decided to move on.

In the next seat was my father. His mind was moving so fast that I could hardly make sense of it. The one thing I did understand was that he didn’t think it was fair. “How could she?” I saw him say. I guessed he mumbled it for my mother did not react. He didn’t think it was fair that I did this to my mother. That I did this to him. Oh, the injustices of the world. I knew all about injustices. At least I finally got a break.

Working towards the end of the chairs, I passed in front of various relatives…aunts, uncles, grandparents…none of them noticed me either. Everyone was staring intently at the talking man or was buried in a handkerchief. Then, I came upon the last chair of the semicircle, and there sat my best friend Kristie.

Never had I seen my friend look so vulnerable and alone. Her eyes were red and puffy, although there were no tears flowing; there were no more left. Kristie was afraid; even if I hadn’t been able to read her eyes, the fear was unmistakable. She was afraid to live, afraid to die, and afraid of herself. Most of all she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to go on. And whose fault was it? I wouldn’t allow myself to think things like that.

Kristie’s body seemed smaller than usual. Now she wanted what I had always wanted…an escape from the pain. She looked in disbelief at the box on the platform, and as much as I hated to tell her, it was really there. I could tell that Kristie hadn’t been sleeping, and every now and then she could cough and gasp for air; no doubt because of the relentless crying that sleep, it seemed, didn’t keep her from. But she’d be okay after a few days. She was only gasping because she wasn’t used to not crying, but she’d be all right.

After watching her for a few minutes, I began to think that maybe she wouldn’t be okay. I realized she wasn’t just staring in disbelief at the box, but she was looking at everything that way, like she was trying to deny reality. Not only that, but she looked distant. It was quite obvious she wasn’t listening to the man in the front of the room, even though she looked at him occasionally. At one point, one of my uncles leaned over and whispered something in her ear. I could almost see the words go right through her, and she didn’t even notice. He had asked her if she wanted a Kleenex; I knew this because in response to her silence, my uncle took one and put it in her hand. I saw her absently mouth the words “thank you;” my uncle patted her on the shoulder, and turned back to the podium.

Guilt began to creep into my mind as I stared at Kristie. I could see what she was thinking, always starting over again when she was finished. Three days ago, Kristie had been hit harder than she ever had been hit before, and it was my fault. I could have prevented it if I had tried harder. Kristie’s mind hit rewind, preparing to drag her through the trauma again, and even though I had been avoiding watching it with her, I decided to see it this time. And she went back to the very beginning and watched it in silent horror to the very end, but this time, I was horrified with her.

Kristie’s day had started out like any other. She woke up late and had to convince herself there was something to get up for. Her meal that was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch went down reluctantly. Soon she started to feel sick because her stomach wanted to reject the food, which was caused by too much worry and stress. She didn’t mind, though; it seemed that was what her life was about.

Next, Kristie called a friend (that’s exactly how she thought of it, a friend) to make sure they were still supposed to meet. And amazingly, delving deep into Kristie’s thought, my hearing returned, and I heard the telephone conversation.

“Hello,” Kristie said.

“Hi.”

“Am I still coming over?”

“If you want.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

A brief pause. “Have you done something?”

“No.” A tired sigh.

“You sound weak, sort of sick.” Kristie started to sound worried. I saw her face change from being excited about the get-together, to her familiar worry face. “I think I should come over early. Sure you’re all right?”

No answer.

“You there?”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah.”

“I’m coming right over.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Plans were already made. See you soon. You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Bye.”

I hadn’t realized the ominous sound of the conversation until afterwards. Kristie ran and got her shoes on in a hurry. She was frightened, but when she told her mom she needed to leave early, she hid the fear well. Her mother agreed easily enough.

Kristie’s mind played through the car trip quickly, almost skipping it altogether. Before I knew it, the twenty-minute car trip was over and she was kissing her mother goodbye. As soon as she saw her mom drive away, Kristie turned to the house where she’d been dropped off. She took a deep breath, looked at the house while remembering her friend’s tired voice, and then jogged up the driveway to the front door. After a moment’s hesitation, afraid of what she might find out, she rang the doorbell. And she waited.

I almost couldn’t bear to see Kristie waiting patiently outside the door, waiting for an answer she would never get. She stood, trying to remain calm, trying to convince herself her friend was in the bathroom or had the music turned up loud and couldn’t hear. But after five rings, Kristie tried the door.

The knob turned easily in her hand, and it set her panic into motion. I watched helplessly as Kristie slammed open the door and ran into the house. She knew something was wrong, but kept trying to convince herself she was overreacting, that she’d look in her friend’s room only to find her asleep…

But she wasn’t in her room. Kristie started crying and began yelling her friend’s name as she ran towards the bathroom. The door was shut, and the light was on, but she burst through the door without knocking. I wanted to tell her not to, to leave the door shut, but I was only watching a replay, and I couldn’t stop her. And as soon as she opened the door, she ran in and dropped down beside the bathtub.

I didn’t want to watch anymore, but try as I might I couldn’t turn away. I couldn’t leave Kristie alone, not this time around. Even though she would relive it countless times without be being there, even though she didn’t know I was with her this time, even though I couldn’t change it, I had to watch.

Kristie’s worst fear had now come to reality. Her friend was in the bathtub, her clothes soaked through with her own blood. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, and a razorblade was next to the tub. On her friend’s arms were cuts so deep they looked like they had reached the bones. They criss-crossed several times, and Kristie was afraid she’d be sick. Then she saw the cordless phone had been dropped onto her friend’s chest. Kristie screamed.

Kristie had been talking to her friend while she was dying, and she hadn’t known. She should have called 911 as soon as she hung up. Why hadn’t she?

Kristie picked up the phone, oblivious to the blood, and hoped it would work because she knew she wouldn’t be able to move. As she dialed the numbers, she noticed her friend’s bloody fingerprints from when she answered the phone. Kristie stared in disbelief at the phone, the last thing her friend had touched. Suddenly she was brought back to reality by a knock at the door. Then she heard an unfamiliar voice on the phone.

“Hello? Are you okay? Hello?”

“Who is this?” Kristie asked wonderingly.

“This is 911. Are you okay?”

More knocking at the door. “My friend’s dead,” she answered. “She did it herself. I could have stopped her…”

“I’ve already dispatched someone there. Why don’t you see if they’re there? I hear the door.”

“Okay…” Kristie said, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. After a minute, she broke down on the phone. “What have I done? I could have stopped her…”

“Please go let the officer in…”

“Jesus, why didn’t I stop it? Damn it!” she screamed. She dropped the phone into the tub again, and at that moment a deputy broke down the door and ran into the bathroom. He looked in the tub, and then he looked at Kristie.

“Come with me. I’m going to get some help,” he said.

As he helped Kristie out of the bathroom, she kept saying, “What have I done? I could have stopped her.”

Then Kristie’s mind hit rewind again, and I had to turn away. I couldn’t stand to watch it again. She had called when I was almost gone. I wish she hadn’t. I probably shouldn’t have answered the phone. I turned back to Kristie and saw her staring distantly, making that fateful call once again.

Suddenly the man at the podium closed a book and stepped down. The lonely quiet had enveloped me again as my eardrums seemed to be gone. Then the whole room got up and left, except for Kristie. She came out of her dazed state momentarily and walked up the platform to the fancy box. I followed her to look. She glanced inside the box and began to cry again. She stared down at a pale arm. I looked at Kristie; she just couldn’t believe the blood and criss-cross marks were still there, only covered by make-up. No one except her could see that mess; the cuts were hidden extremely well. Then Kristie stopped staring at the arm and began her movie where she had left off. She gasped again. I reached out to embrace her and remembered as I had with my mother that I could comfort no one. She shivered and stood, still gasping, and left the room with a dazed expression. And all at once I realized that I had made a mistake.

1998