Butterfly

one

We were driving down the road; the same one we had almost every day since birth. I was in the back seat while Phoebe and Benji sat in the front; I always sat back there to avoid making Phoebe feel like a third wheel. She never did anyways. The three of us had been best friends long before Benji and I became involved, so once we started dating, nothing really changed. We were that friend group. We weren't mean or weird or anything, but we really didn't have any other friends. I mean, don't get me wrong, Benji had his guys from lacrosse and Phoebe had her buddies from choir, but they never even compared to the sacred bond the three of us had. We had known each other since pretty much forever. We all lived in this tiny cul-de-sac tucked away behind the right edge of the highway right outside of town; and when you live in what feels like the middle of nowhere like that, it makes sense to befriend the only other two kids who live there. We spent years getting to know each other from waiting for the school bus or carpooling with Benji and his mom because our parents worked too early. We went through everything together, simple as that.

Then, a week ago, we were driving down that road. The road where I saw Ms. Shephard walking her dog every morning, the road where the snow always looked fresh in the middle of January, the road that I could recognize by the way the grass looked and the flowers grew, the road that was never anything but safe. We were listening to a song that Phoebe had picked, I remember because she was singing it in choir and was excited to show it to us. It was something in Latin, which was normal for her choir songs, with an element that made it so peaceful and calming. The chord changes were so smooth, and every chord was the same but also completely different. But just as another chord was forming, just as another level of calmness was about to flow throughout the vehicle, a loud horn pierced through the sound.

I don't remember what happened next. They say that when traumatic things happen to you, sometimes your brain can't bare to remember it, so whatever happened in the seconds before I went unconscious I may never know. I hardly even remember the ambulance ride these days. At first, the horrifying memories and feelings felt like they would never leave me, they felt as if they would haunt me for the rets of eternity; but now it's all fading. Everything is fading. I feel nothing. I remember nothing and everything at the same time.

Today, I stand here at the funeral for my two best friends, and I don't feel a thing. When getting ready this morning, my mother told me everyone would understand if I didn't come, that nobody could possibly imagine the pain I'm feeling. I shrugged. Shrugged. What kind of person does that? I guess that's who I am now; the person who shrugs when talking about her two best friends who are dead. As Phoebe's father speaks in front of the sorrowful crows, I feel like shrugging. Shrugging because this all pointless, shrugging because most of the people here don't even know them, shrugging because none of this is going to bring them back. I take a deep breath, startled by the anger that has just risen from within myself. Maybe this accident did kill me, just not physically.

I feel for my phone in my dress pocket, clicking the power button as I pull it out. I click on the notification from 8 days ago; my last text from Benji. You need to sleep, you're never going to pass your Algebra test without a good rest. I love you, goodnight. I've been too scared to look at this text since the morning after the accident; it caused me to have a full-on breakdown, which was not how I had intended to start my morning. Now I look at it and allow it to bring a small, but relaxing, smile to my face. Benji always knew what to say, which is why him not being here is so frightening. As cliché as it is, he really did know me better than I did. He knew what I was feeling even when I didn't, he knew where I wanted to go for dinner when I couldn't decide, he always had the answers. I wish he was here to tell me what I was feeling now, or. better yet, tell me if I'm feeling anything at all.

I feel a light tap on my shoulder. It's my mom.

"Put your phone away please," she whispers in her delicate tone from beside me.

I nod my head, placing my phone under my right thigh, taking a few moment before deciding to speak, "I wanna go home."

I can see the heartbreak in her eyes as she stares at me for a moment, digesting my proposal.

"Okay," she finally responds, handing me her keys from her petite hand bag, "I'll ride home with Kelly."

I know she doesn't want me to leave, I know that leaving will break her just a little bit more, but my brain is telling me I can't stand being here; that it's too much to bare, and while I don't actually feel anything, I listen to my brain.

-

I've been laying in bed for five hours now, not having any perception of time expect the analog clock that sits on my nightstand. My brain has been going on and on about the most meaningless things; the color of my room, the way some guy I saw on TV yesterday was wearing his headphones. I pivot my head to take a glance at the time again, but the photo behind the clock seems to catch my attention instead. It's my favorite one of the three of us. It wasn't even taken that long ago; just a few months. We had taken a little road trip to the state fair for my birthday. I had always treated my birthday like any other day, which drove both Phoebe and Benji nuts, so they told me enough was enough and dragged me three hours away to some big fair. I protested at first, telling them they didn't have to do that for me, but we all knew I was secretly excited. That was the first time I realize how loved I was. No matter what happened, no matter how I felt or what I lost, I knew there would never be a moment where I felt like I wasn't loved by at least two people.

But maybe that's just it. Maybe that's the reason this happened. Me.

I'm not blaming myself entirely, I know that things like this just happen, but I can't help but think; if they had never met me, if they had never loved me, would this still have happened? They loved me so much, and showed me in so many ways, but did they even know how much I loved them? How much I still do love them? Benji and Phoebe came to pick me up that night because I had decided to stay after school for some extra credit, because I would've rather had a fun car ride with my friends instead of a boring one with my mom. There was no reason for them to be out of the house that night except for fulfilling my stupid needs!

I'm suddenly filled with rage. Why didn't I ask my mom to pick me up? I punch a pillow. Why did I stay after school in the first place? I slam my door. Why wasn't it me!? I chuck an old sports trophy across the bedroom, not caring about the sound of my mirror shattering and the shards of glass all over the carpet. I'm shaking. It all feels so unfair. They didn't deserve this. If they had never met me, they would still be here, alive.

I shrink to my knees feeling my lip quiver as tears run down my face, this feels impossible. I start to sob as I eventually make my way to the floor, curling into a ball as I lie there.

"If only," I say through my sobs, "If only."

-

The sun wakes me; it's bright like beaming through my closed eyelids. I'm still on the floor, confused by the unbroken mirror in front of me. I use my hand to block the sunlight, slowly rising to my feet. There's something off about my bedroom; something missing that I can't seem to put my finger on. I feel defeated from the emotional breakdown last night, so I lie down on my bed, looking at the clock on my nightstand for what feels like the 100th time. 9:30 AM.

"Joey?!" I hear my mother's voice coming up the stairs, "Joey, are you awake?"

She abruptly enters my room, a questioning look upon her face, "Joey, what are you doing?! You should be at school!"

"W-What?" I say, puzzled by the lack of treating me like I'm an emotional time bomb.

"It's 9:30, school started two hours ago, honey," she places her hands on her hips.

"I know, but what about..." I don't finish my sentence, hoping she's able to put two and two together.

"Are you sick?"

"What?"

She rolls her eyes, obviously annoyed.

I scan my room to avoid looking into her stern eyes. I turn my head to my nightstand, hoping to take a look at the photo from my birthday, but instead finding that there's no longer anything that stands behind my analog clock.

"Are you okay?" my mom asks, her irritated look fading.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I respond, taking a second to consider what might be happening, "I'll get dressed for school."