I thought about my conversation with Abigail at lunch. All my thoughts had been so scattered, I didn't know what to make of them at the time. My dad's going to kill me...can I make up the test?...my dad's just having a hard time right now...my parents got a divorce... I thought of her lame excuses for the black eye and the broken finger.
My dad's going to kill me...you don't even know...my dad's just having a hard time right now... I thought.
That was it! Her dad! I thought. Wait - her dad? Her dad was doing this to her? That explained her injuries! Why she hated talking about her family - her sister must've been going through the same thing! Her dad was - I couldn't even let me think of the word. It hurt too much.
I looked at this from a different perspective. Here I was caring about some girl I barely knew that was physically abused by her father. I shouldn't care so much! I barely knew the girl. It just seemed like Abigail and I had always clicked. Best friends after I first met her.
I had to figure out what to do. Should I call CPS? What would I say? What did Abigail want?
I decided after a few moments that I would wait it out. Figure out what was going on first.
--------------------------------------
The next day at lunch, Abigail sat with the boy again. I had found out earlier that morning that his name was Kevin. I hate you, Kevin, I thought as I sat alone. No one to talk to. No one to relate to.
Abigail looked worse. She now had visible bruises and scratches. Through her dark glasses it now looked like she had two black eyes.
Why didn't she tell anyone? Why didn't she call CPS?
There was only a little more lunch time left, so I decided to talk to her.
"Abigail! Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" I asked her casually after I had thrown my lunch away. I was too stressed to eat.
"Um...sure?" she said, making it a question.
We walked over to our table and sat down. I folded my hands and looked at her. It was silent as we stared each other down. It was hard to face her knowing what was going on. Knowing what she was going through.
I spoke first, "I know what's going on."
She flinched. I hated giving her more pain on top of what she was going through. I didn't want to be the straw that broke the camel's back.
"I want to help you," I continued.
She looked right at me and took a deep breath. It was quiet again. She said in a stone cold voice, "I don't want your help."
That was it. All she said. She got up and went to sit with Kevin.
Her answer hadn't eased my stress.
------------------------------------
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I thought of nothing, but still felt the uncertainty. Still felt the broken friendship. Abigail didn't want my help. She didn't want me to help her. She had never wanted a friend.
That's what friends do, I thought. Friends help each other. Friends support each other. Friends do what's right, even though it will break up their friendship, because friends know that their friends will appreciate it later.
If I was a true friend, shouldn't I pick up the phone and call CPS? Call someone? Shouldn't I want to help my friend?
How could I be selfish and what Abigail asked? Leave her to die! No, I realized. It wasn't that Abigail was selfish, asking me to mind my own business. I was selfish. I didn't want Abigail to have to leave. I didn't want her to go to a foster home. I didn't want my friend to go.
Yet, how could I call myself a true friend if I went against what she wanted? This was so confusing. I needed to talk to someone about it.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number I had dialed only once before in my life, and I prayed that someone different would answer.
"Hello?" said a voice.
I felt a swirl of emotions when she said that. It was Abigail. I was so glad that I didn't have to talk to her dad again. Yet, I felt sad, too. Her voice was pained. It sounded wrong, like someone had strangled her.
"What's wrong?" I asked. I heard that my voice was choked, too.
"I showed my dad my grade," she replied. Her voice broke in the middle of the sentence.
This was bad. I was calling at the worst time. I had to hang up quickly. Half of me wanted to hang up and force myself to let it go. The other half wanted to hang up and find the number to CPS as quickly as I could, and dial it even quicker than that.
"Do you want to come and hang at my house for a bit?" I said. I wanted to get her out of there. I didn't want him to break her jaw or anything.
The image of Abigail covered in blood sprouted in my mind again.
"No," she said. It was just a whisper.
What was I going to do? Over the phone I could hear someone banging on the door and yelling. It sounded like a string of profanity. This was bad. Really bad.
"I'm calling CPS!" I shouted, searching for the phonebook. I scrambled through my papers and finally found one. I flipped through it anxiously.
"No! Please don't! That'll just make it worse!" she pleaded, uselessly.
It was useless because I had already made up my mind.
I hung up the phone.
I was going to try to help her if it killed me.
