I couldn't think on the bus. The call had gone well. All I did was anonymously report her case. They said they would check it out.
The only problem was that I had lost a friend. No doubt she hated me now. She would thank me later...hopefully.
I got off the bus, not even thinking about it. I mechanically went to class, my thoughts elsewhere. I was thinking about how her face would look when she stared at me. Would it be filled with hate or thanks?
I walked into the classroom. She wasn't there. I panicked, and then reassured myself that she was probably going to come in a few minutes.
I sat at my desk and waited.
The bell rang and Mr. Paynes entered the classroom. I was anxious now. Abigail had never been late. Mr. Paynes had a solemn expression on his face.
I asked without even raising my hand. "Where's Abigail?" It only came out as a whisper.
"Class," Mr. Paynes said. "Abigail got into an...accident," he said. His voice broke on the last word.
I felt the lump in my throat as I tried to swallow. I was blinking back tears.
"We will all be attending the...funeral procession on Monday," Mr. Paynes continued.
I didn't even think. I didn't even hear what he said next, but all the mourning eighth graders got their reading books out. I had no interest in reading, so I got up and walked out of the classroom.
As my vision got more blurred, I walked faster. I ran, trying to outrun the pain. I didn't know where I was going, and didn't care either. All I knew was that my friend was gone.
I ended up at my house. I kept running until I came to Abigail's house. I knew exactly which one it was because it still had a SOLD sign on the front lawn.
I stared at it. It was empty. Nothing. The pain caught up with me. Abigail was gone, and she was never coming back.
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Days passed. Weeks, months, years. Many people say that time heals all wounds. I disagree.
Time doesn't heal wounds, it just makes you stronger. It makes you strong enough to bear the wounds. Bear the pain.
I never forgot the four days I spent with - what I can now say is, and was - my best friend. Her father was put into prison, but that didn't ease the pain, either. It just reminded me that my call was too late.
After that, I took each day one at a time. Cherishing every moment between me and my family. Me and my friends. They never found out why Abigail died. No one did. No one but me and the CPS.
I went through high school, college, and majored in psychology. I went back to high school, not as a student, but as a teacher.
Not even a teacher - a friend.
I help kids that are like me. I tell them my story and why they should call CPS. I talk to kids like Abigail, too, and why they should get help.
The night brings back the pain. It makes me vulnerable. I still cry myself to sleep every night, knowing that I could've saved her. That I didn't.
I help the children because I don't want anyone else to go through my pain.
Abigail's pain.
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