Still Here

33

It was hot, the day Cara killed herself. A blistering, slow, July day.

There was nothing to do at home. I watched movies and ate whatever I could find, out of pure boredom.

I was 13 years old, about to turn 14 in August. My friends were all on vacation in someplace cool and wet. I was stuck in my boring town, to sit in a pool of my own sweat. My t-shirt stuck to my skin, even though it was already evening.

At some point, Cara came into the living room. She was just 16, a soon to be junior. I was very jealous.

We had gotten into a fight the day before. I'd already forgotten what it was about, but I didn't forget my anger towards her. I made a face at her. She looked ready to hit me, she was so mad.

We started arguing. The words are now unclear, but they were definitely hurtful. We were both damaged by each other. I started screaming at her and she shoved me. Mom came in the room and told us both to go outside.

I'm sure that haunts her.

So we left the house, into the miserable summer weather. She glared at me and I glared back.

"Can you just go away?" I shouted at her.

Her bangs stuck to her forehead. She spoke with a frightening voice that was not raised, but low and wavering. "I hate you."

I will never forget that.

I kicked dust at her before I ran off. I never looked back. I sprinted into the heat, the sun setting slowly behind me.

I was furious. At everybody in the shitty, insignificant place we called the world. Maybe the whole entire universe.

At some point, I stopped running and started crying. I didn't know where to go - I couldn't go home. I had the idea that Mom would never let me come back. I felt like I didn't belong there, anyway. But I didn't belong on this street, either. For the first time, the thought had occurred to me that maybe I didn't belong anywhere.

It felt good when it got dark. Soothing. The moon seemed to relieve my world of heat and pain. Damp with tears and sweat, I decided to go home. It was far past midnight by the time I got there, and the opposite of how it had been during the day.

My tribulation waited for me on the porch of my old house. Several cops stood there, speaking to my father, who clutched a beer and looked upset. They ignored my mother, who sobbed while hugging herself in the front doorway.

They didn't see me, so I hid. I figured it was always better to hide. I crept behind a bush to listen in on what I had expected to be a normal adult conversation. That usual, exciting eavesdropping, which almost always results in the discovery of where your Christmas presents are or swear words you've never heard before.

But this wasn't exhilarating. Wasn't delightful.

It was the opposite, really.

Their words were devastating, life-changing, and tragic. They shattered me into a million pieces and I still cannot figure out how to put back myself together.

A policewoman spoke the words, her voice solemn. She said that Cara Summers' body had been found at the bottom of a cliff. She had jumped off.

It took a long time for me to make sense of these words. To comprehend their poisonous meaning.

And when I did, I screamed. It was louder than any sound I'd ever heard. I screamed just to stop hearing the adults speak.

I screamed so loud, I seemed to stop hearing anything at all. The noise stopped, along with everything else in the world.

It was like time, itself, had given up.

Everything spun and I staggered away from my house, my mouth open and lungs burning.

My parents must have noticed me running off, but I never looked to see if they had followed me.

I took off. I ran and ran, forgetting that I had the ability to get tired. I forgot about everything but her.

My sister.

Cara.

Cara. Cara. Cara. Cara.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Cara at the bottom of a cliff.

Cara in the ground.

Cara never talking to me ever again.

Cara saying, I hate you.

A million images of Cara popped into my head, forever etched into my mind. I tried running away from them, but they stayed.

And they never left.