The Kiss of Death

          It is a reoccurring nightmare. Bailey and I hop the tall black gate of the amusement park and rush toward the roller coaster. Adrenaline running through our veins, we have the entire park to ourselves.

         “Come on! What are you waiting for?” Bailey says, her pale blue eyes widening at the sight of the roller coaster. It is a monstrosity: crisscrossing bars reaching upwards as far as we can see. We leap into the first car, pulling down the massive bar protecting us, and brace ourselves for the ride. Bailey squeezes my hand, her legs jiggling up and down with excitement.

         The ride begins with a series of light ticking noises as the car makes it way up the first steep incline. We are forced back into our seats as the car climbs agonizingly slowly upwards.

         “What goes up must come down.” Bailey reminds me, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth to add extra emphasis. I feel a mixture of terror and thrill rising in my throat with each click upwards. Before I know it, we mount the curve, and begin our descent downwards.

         Wind rushes by me, pulling my hair back. This is the closest I’ve ever come to flying: pure recklessness and exhilaration pound through my veins. My mouth flops open and I scream into the roaring wind, my skin flapping back as we gain speed. I raise my arms into the air in triumph as the ride finally comes to a close.

         Bailey and I jump out of the car, speechless with wide eyes and wind-blown hair. Finally she turns to me.

         “Let’s do it again.” She says, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Together we make our way back to the start of the ride, imagining a day of pure bliss and simplicity: the same roller coaster ride over and over again.

         Then bile rises in my throat. This is where the dream all starts to fall apart. I reach for Bailey, trying to protect her, but she is too far away. Her blonde hair streams back into the wind as her long athletic legs bound forward.

         “Bailey, wait!” I yell, knowing the action is futile. She turns her head back to me and raises one eyebrow.

         “What, scared?” She taunts, and soon her entire face morphs to pure terror as the entire world tilts on its axis: a cruel trick of nature. The ground rocks back and forth, as we struggle to keep up. Finally, the ground tilts at an impossible angle, a series of spider-web cracks making their way towards us. Bailey tumbles forward, finally catching herself on the edge of the amusement park: an amusement park that now is separated from the earth, levitating several hundred feet off the ground. Her legs dangle helplessly, knuckles white as she tries to hold on. I grab her hand and try to pull her upwards, but my fingers begin melting before my very eyes. What used to be my hand now rains down on Bailey’s face like a series of paint splatters.

         “Keep holding on!” I yell, turning to the deserted amusement park in desperation. I whip my head back towards Bailey, and take one final look at her. “Just promise me, you’ll keep holding on.” I beg, my voice cracking in the middle of the sentence.

         “No, no. I just can’t do it anymore. I have to let go. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She cries, her voice faint, all energy haven been taken out of it. Her fingers release the edge of the cliff, and she falls to the ground. Her eyes open wide in a final plea for help as her arms reach out to meet thin air.

                                                                 •        •        •

         I wake to my Mom shaking me: a tangle of limbs attacking my shoulders.

         “Quinn, Quinn, wake up. You have to wake up. It’s Bailey.” I scramble in the darkness, blindly finding my slippers and jacket. Bailey, who coached me through everything: from learning how to ride a bike to the first day of high school. Bailey, who held me and rocked me to sleep when my dog died. Bailey, who stood up for me in the awkward days of pre-adolescence. Bailey, my best friend who had always been there for me. It’s Bailey.

         We sprint to the door and speed through the neighborhood in a blind state of panic. Finally, I burst through the door of the ER, shoving the white-coated nurses and doctors out of my way and trying to see through my wall of tears. A doctor stops me in my path, his eyes full of pity.

         “She swallowed 26 pills last night. Her parents found her like that, on the floor of the bathroom. We pumped her stomach, but her chances aren’t good. I offer you my full condolences.” He says, offering me a box of tissues. I through the box at his face, but he ducks at the last moment. I blindly struggle forward. He may be able to dissect a pig or give an autopsy but what did he actually know about life? Sure, he could dress up in that fancy white coat and pretend he understood what I was going through, but it was just an illusion.

         I push back the doors of Bailey’s hospital room and find her lying there, nearly motionless aside from the erratic rise and fall of her chest. Her normally radiant hair and skin is ghostly pale, and her eyes look forward, unmoving and unseeing. I half sit, half collapse in the chair by her side.

         “Why?” I demand, spitting the word in her face. Why were we not good enough for her? How could she do this to herself? How could she commit the most selfish act possible to those she loved? Her eyes remain forward, and clearly her mind is a million miles away, thinking its last thoughts. Tears well up in my eyes, and soon free fall down onto her.

         “Why?” I repeat, my voice now a faint whisper. Finally her eyes meet mine, glassy with tears, and she takes my hand, flipping over her arm in the process. Jagged scars crisscross up and down the pale skin, scars that I had either never noticed or refused to see. A sole tear trickles out of the corner of her eye, splashing onto one of the many deep gashes in her arm.

         “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She whispers as her eyes close in an eternal slumber.

                                                        •        •        •

         Numb. That’s how I feel. Doctors tiptoe around me, sending pitiful glances my way. I sit in the same chair, my eyes staring at where Bailey died before my very eyes, even though they removed her body days ago. And as the world crumbles down and rebuilds itself around me, all I can think is:

                                                                                                           We could have saved her.