I read in a book once, that the feeling of grief cannot be described in words. The book included a pair of drawings.
The first drawing was of a square-shaped box, with a big circle inside it. On the left side of box was a red button. When the grief is new, the book explained, the ball takes up most of the box and is hitting the button, which represents constant pain, over and over again.
In the beginning, the ball is huge, the book went on to say. You can't move the box without the ball hitting the pain button. You can't control it – it just keeps hurting. Sometimes it seems unrelenting.
Over time, the ball shrinks — but every now and then, it still hits the button. Maybe you see an old photo of you and your lost loved one. Maybe a certain song plays on the radio. Maybe it comes out of nowhere.
I realize now that those drawings are a near perfect analogy of grief.
Pietro Hernandez's body was buried next to the entrance of the cave. The sun was emerging from the horizon, drenching the entire hillside in a golden glow.
Lorraine's car was parked on the side of the empty road, and she was placing the body inside the pit we had just dug. Nakia and Jared had gone back to the hotel to pack our things.
As Lorraine was about to pile the dirt on top of the body, I stopped her.
"Wait," I said. I took out the two Blood Orbs out of my bag and held them out to her.
"I tried to destroy them. It didn't work... so it's best to bury them. We don't want anyone finding it, do we?"
Lorraine nodded gravely and placed the two orbs on either side of Pietro's arms.
We had decided to take Ryan's body to his home. We obviously couldn't say that he was killed, Jared suggested we should say that he was killed by a bear during the school trip.
We felt really bad about lying to Ryan's aunt and uncle, but what choice did we have?
As soon as Lorraine had dumped the last heap of dirt onto the hole, we heard the sound of a car speeding up towards the side of the road where we stood. Jared opened the door and walked out, handing me my backpack. He then looked at me and Nakia.
"Do you want me drive you both to the campsite, or back home?"
Knowing that we wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of the trip, me and Nakia agreed to let Jared drive us back to our home town, right after he drove Lorraine back to the campsite.
"See you both in school soon," Lorraine said quietly, as she got out of the car and walked to the log cabin.
Me and Nakia sat at the back of Jared's car, as it sped down the highway, the sun setting, causing the orange and pink hues to gleam upon the craggy hills and trees by our side, as we drove back to the Sacramento Valley. It was the quietest four hours of my life.
Finally, as the last rays of the sun fell behind the horizon, Jared's car pulled up in front of my house. My parents had gone for a week to visit my grandmother in New York, and, as far as they knew, I was still in the school trip. Me and Nakia walked out of the car, as it sped away, holding our backpacks in our hands.
"Look, Nakia," I started, "I know you said you stopped making friends, but-"
"Sure," Nakia said, before I even finished the sentence. "Otherwise, we'll both be loners."
Suddenly, she looked as if she remembered something important, and reached into her bag and brought out a small folded piece of paper. She held it out to me.
"Gabe, I - when I was packing Ryan's things- I found this in his bag- I thought you might want to see it...," her voice trailed off, as I took the letter and smiled weakly.
"Thanks," I said, walking towards my porch.
"See you at school." Nakia said, and turned to go.
"Actually," I started, and Nakia stopped. "Can you read it to me?"
Nakia nodded and walked towards where I was standing on my porch. "That's probably a good idea," she noted, "I don't think you'll be able to handle it."
Nakia sat down on a small chair in the porch, unfolded the note, and began reading it quietly to me. The letter was dated October 14th, 2022. A week before the school fire. I recognized the handwriting instantly as Ryan's. With a deep breath, Nakia began reading:
"If you are reading this, it means that I am dead.To the aunt and uncle who took in a helpless child when he was brought to her;To the teachers who never truly bothered and ignored my problems;To those who never cared, never spoke, probably never even knew my name;To the one true friend, whose caring was the only thing that prevented me from writing this sooner;To all of you, goodbye;Please don't mourn my passing. I don't say this because I expect to be missed, but to allow those who truly didn't care go on with their lives with a clean conscience and dry eyes. I can only think of one person who will truly be sad at my parting. Gabe Coleman, my best friend, you talked me out of this decision once before. The one soul I will miss. Yours is also the only forgiveness I ask and beg for as I depart from this life."
With this, Nakia noticed the tears brimming in my eyes and asked, "Are you sure you want me to continue?"
I nodded.
"I'm just a broken, miserable shell of a human being.To those of you who have shown me kindness, thank you for putting up with me. I've tried to be a better person, but I realize I never got very far.-Ryan Carrelli"
At the bottom of the page, Ryan had signed his name in ink. The paper was crinkled up, as if he had thrown it away at the bottom of his bag, discarded, never to be opened or read again. I swallowed and blinked a few times, tears streaming down my face.
"Are you okay?" Nakia asked quietly.
I shook my head. My voice breaking, I said in a quiet tone, "No."
The death of a friend is a painful thing.
It is a tragedy so great that it cannot be described by mere words. It is a darkness that consumes, and a despair that permeates.
