It was forty two minutes after I had last seen you that your sister called me in hysterics. It was another eleven minutes before I stumbled through your front door, barely able to see through my tears. It was an extra twelve seconds until I made it up the stairs and burst through your bedroom door, praying that it wasn’t true.
It took the ambulance twenty two minutes to get there.
It took your parents an hour.
Since that day I’d often imagine that perhaps if your parents hadn’t been so preoccupied with their ‘extra – curricular activities’, you would be sitting here next to me; we would be singing boy band songs as loud as we possibly could. We would be going through the cupboard and eating all of my food until we were so full we would almost throw up. We would be having Harry Potter movie marathons.
We would still be best friends.
I can’t walk down the hallways at school without wanting to burst into tears. I spent ten years walking down those halls with you – some people say that we didn’t decide to be friends. The gods did. How could two young girls possibly have a connection like we did without some sort of interference from the heavens?
Your sister and I walked together after it happened. People stared, but we ignored them. We were the only ones that really knew why you succumbed to the voices in your head. It hurt, so much, to know that I didn’t anticipate it. I should have been with you that afternoon. I should have prevented anything from happening.
I should have done my job.
Your parents didn’t speak at your funeral. That was my job. I made a speech about how beautiful you were and how your skill with a paintbrush was unprecedented. And I spoke about your dedication to your dog walking business – I was so proud of you for keeping that going for three years. That speech was meant to represent what I thought about you. But it didn’t. It represented what everyone else thought about you. If I was speaking honestly I would have included how I still laugh when I remember that time in fifth grade that you put skittles up your nose. I would have mentioned how I believed that you were your most gorgeous when you did that snort just before you started laughing. I would have. I would have.
I should have.
It was seven thousand and two hundred minutes before I realised that I couldn’t live without you. It was another thirty before your sister found me on my bathroom floor, tiles stained with my blood and photos of you.
It took the ambulance twenty two minutes to get there.
It took my parents an hour.
