I'm Sorry, Stefan

Chapter 3

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Stefan wandered, aimlessly walking, head down, hood up, hands shoved in his pockets. He didn’t know where he was walking to, only that it was away from here.

Thoughts swirled around his head, nonsensical, shapes and colors, because he was afraid to start really thinking again. The tears had long since dried on his cheeks, his eyes dry and lifeless, as if he had cried out all the emotion he had to give. Hands, tucked away inside his pockets, were clenched tightly into fists, nails digging into his palms. He didn’t even feel the pain.

He felt numb all over. He had cried himself to sleep the last night, waking up before the rest of the household. He had escaped the house just as the sun had started to rise, running out his front door, and avoiding the street across from his. The little brown house that he knew so well, what would he had found inside if he had gone? Where was her body? How were her parents?

Stop it. He thought to himself, forcing the thoughts out of his head and instead focusing on the simpler things. The sounds he heard. The crunch of his shoes on the gravel. With a jolt, he realized he didn’t know where he was. He could have been walking in circles in front of his house and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Glancing up and focusing, he saw the familiarity of his neighborhood, and relaxed. He was somewhere he knew. He started travelling back towards his house, unsure of where else to go. He didn’t want to go home, of course. Not to his sad, sympathetic parents, or his room, where every object reminded him or her. Looking out, through the bright sunlight, he saw his street. It seemed he had circled the neighborhood. It wasn’t that hard to do. It was tiny. Stefan froze, looking away from the house.

And out into the forest, with its trees green with summer, and the river rushing quietly. Where Maya had died. Then, Stefan knew where he wanted to go. He started with a light jog, heading towards the trees. It seemed too bright, too sunny, and too happy to fit his mood. He would have liked rain better, even snow, not the bright, peaceful sun shining down on him. It just didn’t seem to fit. Everything should be sad… Stefan thought, how can anything be happy when she’s gone?

He didn’t realize where he was until he looked up, tearing his eyes away from the grass, and looking at the knobbly, old, twisted tree in front of him. Their tree. Her tree. The one they used to climb, and lean on, and talk around, and sit on, and meet. What was he supposed to do now? This tree wasn’t important to him now. It only brought back now painful memories.

He almost turned away and walked back home. He almost didn’t notice, wedge d in the knothole on the side of the truck. But at the last second, he noticed the splash of white in the corner of his vision. Turning, he walked over, closer to the tree, and ripped the envelope free. He started at it, motionless.

Stefan, it said, in crisp, neat writing. He knew that writing. He ripped it open, sending white pieces of paper flying, lifting out the twice folded piece of paper. His breath, caught, staring at the neatly written words. With shaking fingers and wide eyes, Stefan read Maya’s letter.

It felt like a hole had been punched in his chest. A low, hard ache, deep in his stomach. Tears dripped onto the paper, smudging the words. He couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be possible. This had to be some sick joke, because that wasn’t something That Maya, the girl he had known for his entire life, could have done something like this. How could Maya have killed herself?

Why did Maya kill herself?  

Things were starting to make sense to him now. If he had thought about it, in a sensible, thoughtful sort of way, he would have seen the cracks in the story. Maya was too coordinated, to smart, and too agile to fall into the river by accident. And if she had just tripped, she would have landed in the shallows by the bank. She would have had to jump straight into the middle. This is clearly what she did.