The street I live on has lots of kids. On either side, the families have at least two. When we drive down the street-the same street, in fact, Blake and I would walk down on Friday nights- I stare at the children playing happily outside with each other, oblivious to what is happening in any other world but their own. More people are walking, riding bikes, or simply sitting in porches, oblivious. The old man sitting next to his wife on the bench, oblivious. The woman running, oblivious. The little girl and her dad walking their dog, oblivious.
The teenage boy sitting in a car on his way to a funeral, oblivious.
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The car pulls into a church driveway. Across the street is a cemetery with a set-up shelter and an empty casket stand. I stare at it for another moment before my mom asks me to open my door to lock it. I step out of the car and my feet feel like cement, keeping me glued to the ground. I can see some of my classmates shuffling around awkwardly; some cry, some talk in circles, others just sit in silence, staring off into space. I walk right by them and they avoid my eyes. Poor guy. I wonder what's going through his head?
I hope he's doing okay.
For the first time since I was five, my mother takes my hand in hers and squeezes. I turn my head to see her face, already streaked with tears and red.
Finally, I look to the front of the church and begin to feel a lump in my throat.
In the front, dressed in a blue dress, lying in a casket of brown, is Blakely.
We wait in line while other people give Blake's parents their condolences. Her mother, pale and crying, hugs another woman. Her father stands quietly with red eyes. Her brother and sister cry and hug their grandma in the front pew. Pictures of her are in frames around the altar along with beautiful flowers. One picture, however, stands out to me while I'm shuffling up to the front. It's of me and Blake on her birthday last year. She's sitting on my lap with her dark hair pulled into a ponytail and my sweatshirt on. I'm kissing her on the cheek and she's laughing, her green eyes sparkling. I feel tears spring into my eyes.
Promise you'll never leave me?
I promise I won't
My heartbeat speeds up when I'm the next person in line. I close my eyes until the man and woman in front of me move.
Her skin is so pale, yet flawless; rosy cheeks, red lips, dark eye shadow. So beautiful, even when the life has left her.
Tears roll down my face and sting my eyes. She I promised her I wouldn't leave her, so why did she leave me? Why didn't she stay? Why would she do this?
Blake's mother waits for me. I hug her as she cries into my shoulder. She whispers to me, "I'm so sorry Tanner."
"I am too."
YOU ARE READING
Letters From The Dead Girl
Teen FictionIt's been two days since Tanner's girlfriend, Blakely, swallowed a handful of pills and was rushed to the hospital. On the way, she died holding her crying mother's hand. Tanner hasn't come out of his room in those two days. On the third day is her...
