On the edge of everything

Part 6

Vien's sister, Lena, and her friend Eliza's memorial was on the last Friday of August, just a few days before the first day of Senior year.. We were sent an email the previous Sunday, telling us what had happened. They didn't say much in the eloquently written letter sent to all the students and guardians-- it just said that they were gone. Of course, I already knew that. I was at Vien's the Friday before, witnessing an agony I had yet to discover. The moment that I read it, my mom holding the laptop out in front of me, my heart sunk even more. I hadn't known that there was someone else with her when it happened. Not just someone else, it was another SC alumna. It was their last weekend together on their summer breaks before heading back to their respective colleges. They were friends brought together through SC, and were taken from the earth together.

Until that point, the only memorial I had attended was for my grandpa-- that early Spring day in May with the black tulle dress and rosaries and stained glass windows. I remember my mom and aunt and uncle and cousins in black, bathed in tears. I didn't wish to experience that with Lena and Eliza and, apparently, that wasn't what the school had in mind either.

In the email we were sent about the memorial, we were instructed to wear colorful clothing. While the families were not going to attend the memorial, they had expressed to SC that they didn't want this to be a tragic, sad affair; they wished it to be a celebration of these lives that were beautiful, though they ended too quickly.

I wore a light red dress in the late August heat. I arrived alone, vaguely smiling at the sophomores handing me a program with two glowing senior portraits on the cover. The crowd was dense with friendly faces, most of which struck me as concerned rather than sad-- concerned about our own reactions to the memorial proceedings, concerned about how our dear friends might react, concerned that some of the seeming immunity that these halls seemed to have from the sadness and despair of the outside world has been shattered. This place is no longer solely a beacon of light, not the beautiful safe haven that I always used to think it was.

I think that my greatest concern, the worry that consumed my thoughts, was that of Vien-- wondering where she was, what she was doing at that moment. I could only imagine what thoughts might have been invading her mind. Simply the power of my imagination made my heart ache; her reality was quite likely beyond the pain that I could fathom. When I think of Lacey, I shudder and have to quickly change the thought to avert the tears.

I sat between Samantha and Elena during the memorial and I didn't shed a tear. While this memorial was not a liturgical service, we began with a hymn I knew for as long as I could remember: Lead Me, Lord. The lyrics were printed in the program distributed at the entrance to the auditorium, but I didn't look at the paper once. I spent the entire song and service clutching Elena's hand, staring up at the enlarged senior portraits projected on a large screen. By the end of the hour-long service, I felt like I could recall every blemish and freckle on their faces, every highlight of their hair and speck in their eyes.

Once we walked out of the school to the bright sun shining on the front steps of the school, Elena hugged us in farewell before leaving for work. As I was about to walk towards my car, prepared to say goodbye to Samantha, she hooked her arm around mine. "Want to go for a walk?" I agreed, moving my arm as we walked away from school and towards the fountain a couple blocks away.

For a couple minutes we just walked in silence. I felt like I could see the wheels turning in her head as they attempted to keep up with the movements of her mind. I waited for her to speak first, once her mind stopped twirling with such vigor.

We stopped at the fountain and she picked up a stone, tossing it into the shallow water. I felt more than concern radiating from the water.

"Why did they have to die like that?" I can tell that she must have read the same overly descriptive articles that I made the poor decision to peruse. "No one deserves that much pain and agony." she throws another stone. "No one deserves that death, especially not two twenty year olds." My heart sinks at the mention of their age, the part that I find most difficult to wrap my head around. Samantha's shoulders began to shake and I moved towards her, wrapping my arms around her waist and letting her head come to the crook of my neck.