by Dawn Green
Dear Stones,
I haven’t cried yet. I think that’s what everyone is waiting for. It’s not like I haven’t tried to cry. I spend hours in the bath trying to cry. I even bring my phone in and scroll through pictures of us sometimes.
I keep staring at that one of you and me in the food court at the mall. It’s the one where you’ve got a straw up your nose. There’s banana-chocolate milkshake slowly dripping out the end of it, and I’m pointing at you, laughing hysterically.
Then there’s the one at my sixteenth birthday. I wanted to have everyone over for a giant sleepover, but my mom made those reservations at that fancy restaurant on the water and rented us that limo. It wasn’t what I wanted but, I have to admit (although I’ll never tell my mom), the limo was fun. Remember? We looked for nice dresses to wear for, like, weeks? You couldn’t decide on anything, and then finally we found you the perfect one on that discount rack. It was blood red, and you said it would look good with black hair, which you didn’t have at the time, so we bought hair dye and came back to the house. You wanted me to dye my hair with you but I couldn’t. You were always so much braver than I was. Your parents were so mad, but you know what? You looked good, and you were right—I’m looking at the pic right now—the red does look good with black hair.
I’m going to do it, K …
… Well, I dyed my hair black. My mom is freaking out right now. I’m up in my room, and I can still hear her yelling at my dad about the whole thing. He’s telling her that it’s just a phase, but she’s afraid that I’m … she’s just worried about me. They’ve been arguing a lot lately. It’s usually about me. Whether or not I should go to school. Whether or not I should be seeing that obnoxious counselor. Whether or not I should eat dinner. Whether or not I’m spending too much time in my room.
Yesterday, my mom told me to put on a jacket, and I told her I didn’t want to, and then they started to argue about that. I knew that I needed a jacket—it was freezing outside—but when my mom told me to put one on, I snapped, “NO,” without really thinking about it. I still don’t know why. She just …
ARGHHHH!! … You know??!! I really wish she’d just leave me alone. This is why I hate being an only child. Anyway, I dyed my hair. I think it looks good and, like you told me, it really makes my green eyes pop.
I think you’d like it.
Sticks (with black hair)
October 18th
Dear Stones,
So the whole hair-dyeing thing has become … a thing. People are kind of going crazy because of it. Seriously, who would have thought that me dyeing my hair would cause this many problems? First, it was my mom, then the OC was all worried about why I decided to do it—I think my mom was talking to her. And then Drea cornered me in the school bathroom. At first, she didn’t say anything. I was washing my hands when she came in to fix her hair or makeup or something. She looked at me, made some kind of snarky huff sound, and then took out her lip-gloss. When I asked her what her problem was, she said that everyone was talking behind my back about how I was trying to turn into you, and then she said my hair looks just as stupid on me as it did on you … anyway, we got into a fight.
The whole school is saying that I punched her, but that didn’t happen. It was more of a yelling match, and I grabbed her purse and threw all her makeup in the toilet. That new student teacher, Miss Baker, heard us and came in. We both had to go to the office, but they let Drea go and I had to talk with Mr. Kline—of course.
Here’s how that went …
Kline: Sara … How are you doing?
Me: (shrugging) Fine, I guess.
Kline: Is it true that you dumped Ms. Sheppard’s belongings into the toilet?
Me: Yes, but she …
Kline: Look, Sara, we all know that you are dealing with something very difficult. However, that doesn’t give you the right to destroy another person’s property or act out in this manner.
Me: I didn’t destroy it. It just got a little wet.
Kline: Miss Stickley, what you did is serious. I hope you’re not amused by this.
Me: No, sir. (I admit, I might have said it with a little sarcasm.)
Kline: You’re putting me in a difficult position here. I understand that you miss your friend. What happened to Kacey was a tragedy. But you need to understand that there are others dealing with the same loss, and each of you is going to deal with it in your own way. You need to respect that some …
Me: Why hasn’t the school done anything?
Kline: What do you mean?
Me: A service, an assembly, something? And why are you taking down all her stuff? What did you do with her poem? It’s like you’re all just trying to sweep her away.
Kline: I’m sorry you feel that way. As you know, we have counselors available to any student who feels they need to talk with someone and help them to understand or deal with this difficult time. We are just trying to do what we think is best. Please know that an assembly was discussed by the administration, but it was thought best to keep things simple and not glorify what happened.
Me: Glorify?
Kline: Perhaps glorify is not the best word. What I meant to say was that we don’t want students thinking that something like this will gain them attention.
Me: What are you saying? You think everyone will start doing what Kacey did so they can be popular or something? That’s stupid.
Kline: No … I think you’re misunderstanding me …
Me: I don’t. I think I totally get it.
Kline: Sara, this is a complicated matter. We understand that a lot of students and faculty are upset by what happened, and that’s why we are trying to get through this with as little change as possible. Keep things normal.
Me: (mumbling) Normal? Whatever.
Kline: In saying this, I noticed that you have dyed your hair.
Me: So? It’s my hair.
Kline: Absolutely, it is your hair … however, the color you chose might be offensive to some of those who are mourning the loss of Miss Anders.
Me: Offensive?
Kline: Distasteful—again, we need to be respectful of those around us.
Then he told me it would be a good idea to dye my hair back to normal, and you know what I said? “Fuck that.” I actually said that … to the principal!! I know. It just came out before I could stop myself. You should have seen the look on his face. Apparently, the whole school is talking about that, too. I have no idea how they know that happened. I apologized right away. But he suspended me anyway. It’s not a real suspension. It won’t go on my record or anything. He said I should just “take some time.” Time for what, I don’t know, but it lets me miss some school, so, whatever. And he gave me your poem. Said I could keep it. It was in a file. Your file. The “Kacey” file—which was actually pretty thick. I couldn’t see everything, but it looked like it was mostly full of your work … pieces of you.
Oh, and BTW, to top things off, on my way out of the office, I saw Weird Girl. She was in that room near the office where kids with special needs and learning disabilities go. Maybe that’s why no one has ever seen her before. Maybe she’s “special.” And if she is, I just feel bad for thinking she’s weird. Maybe she can’t help it. From now on, I’ll refer to her as “Glasses Girl.”
Anyway, back to what happened in the office. I can’t believe some of the things that Dictator Kline said. They don’t want to “glorify” what happened. And he tried to take it back but I know that’s what he meant. And “keep things normal”—really? Like any of this is “normal.”
How can things ever be normal again?
And, as if my hair has anything to do with anything. It’s like they all think if we just don’t talk about it, then it will go away. I’ve tried that. Doesn’t work. Not that I want to talk about it all the time (OC, if you’re reading this, I don’t want to talk about it). I just mean we can’t ignore what happened to you. It still happened. And it still hurts, whether I try to ignore it or not.
So now, with me h
ome and suspended, Dictator Kline can relax a little. He’d probably kick me right out of the school if he could. Get rid of the problem.
Being suspended doesn’t totally suck, except that I’m not allowed on the Internet. Also, my mom is too scared to leave me at home alone, so she and my dad have each taken turns to stay home from work. Today is Dad’s day. Thankfully, he’s downstairs watching some sport highlights or something. He calls up every now and then to ask if I want something to eat, but that’s about it. The truth is, we haven’t really talked since … since it happened. He’s never been much of a talker.
I really wish you were here for all this.
Sticks
P.S. I don’t care what my mom or Dictator Kline or anyone else thinks. I’m keeping the hair.
October 19th
Dear Stones,
Day two of my suspension. Today my mom is home with me. We’ve already fought three times and it’s only 10:34 am … this is going to be the longest day ever!!
The first time was over me not eating breakfast. I’m not hungry; leave me alone.
The second time was about why I threw Drea’s makeup in the toilet. She’s a bitch and she deserved it; leave me alone.
The third time was because I locked the door to my room and wouldn’t let her in. I want to be alone, SO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONEs!
Anyway, as I write this, I am sitting on the couch in the TV room, pretending to do homework while my mom watches some talk show about loser makeovers. Every now and then, she glances over to make sure I’m not doing “anything.” The truth is, I can’t do any homework because I already did it yesterday. How lame am I? So lame I’ve done all my homework and even read ahead in all of my classes. My best friend just died. It’s like the best excuse in the world to not do my homework and not care about school, and here I am getting ahead of everyone else. All the grief books in the obnoxious counselor’s office say that it’s normal for grades to start slipping, but mine have actually gone up. I’m like the worst grieving friend ever. I’m getting good grades and I still haven’t cried.
I just got a text from Loren. She says that everyone is talking about me at school. The new rumor is that I was cutting myself in the bathroom when Drea walked in. Apparently, I threatened her with a knife. I bet Drea started that. She’s such a Drama Queen. I don’t know why everyone is so worried that I’m going to start hurting myself just because you’re gone. That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think? They all think I’ve gone crazy but, really, they need to look in the mirror. Take my mom, for example—every thirty seconds she looks over at me to make sure I’m still here and not doing anything weird … she just looked … again … again … again … I mean, is this normal behavior?
Hahahahaha … I just got sent to my room for giving my mom the finger. I couldn’t help myself. You should have seen the double-take when she looked over at me.
Classic!
Sticks
Rain
Vapor formation
Cloud creation
Birthed of a storm
Life takes form
Ethereal particles plunging
Covert paratroopers with unknown orders
Crashing
Splashing
Causing uncontrollable ripples
Sinuous stream
Sinuous connections
Swept away in the flow
Swept away by the pull
Current takes hold
The battle-weary weaken
Just let go
Assimilation
Acculturation
Survival by any other name
would taste as bitter
Estuary respite
Ocean invite
Drop
- By Kacey Anders
You: What are you doing?
Me: Reading your poem. Did you really have to use such big words?
You: I like words. I like how they sound and how they roll off the tongue, like sinuous, and how they can feel almost as if you’re chewing them, like acculturation.
Me: I don’t know. It seems pretty …
You: Pretentious?
Me: Snobby.
You: They’re just words, Sticks.
Me: Are they?
You: What do you think you’ll find?
Me: Nothing. I don’t know.
You: I’m not in there.
Me: I know.
You: What you’re looking for isn’t in there, either.
Me: How do you know I’m looking for something?
You: Because I know you.
Me: But did I know you?
Dear Stones,
It’s still October 19th and still day two of my suspension. I’m up in my room, and I’ve been reading and re-reading your poem for hours. I had to look up what some words meant. Ethereal? Sinuous? Acculturation? Really??!! Who uses those words?!
I think I understand why they took it down.
One of the many things I hate about English class is the way they make us analyze everything over and over again, looking for hidden symbolic meanings and dissecting every little word, until all that’s left is nothing more than ink in the shape of letters on paper. That’s where you and I were so different. You loved all that arty English shit.
Before … I wouldn’t have seen anything. Just fancy big words on paper.
But now, after … I see things. I mean, I think I see things. Things that I should have seen before. Things that make more sense now. But maybe it’s also nothing. Just words on paper that I want to mean something—and this is why I hate English!!!!
Is this you?
uncontrollable ripples … crashing … assimilation … just let go …
Just. Let. Go.
Are these just words?
Sticks
October 20th
Dear Stones,
Apparently, I’ve gone crazy and threatened everyone in school … at least that’s what the new rumor is.
So here’s what’s going on. It’s day three of suspension and, today, they got my grandma to come and babysit. She’s cool, though. She tried to talk to me about you a little bit. She asked a few questions about how I was doing, told me some stories about how she’s lost a lot of friends, which was totally depressing, and then she left to go and make cookies. She says that she misses you, by the way.
Why does everyone want me to talk about you? You were my best friend and you’re gone now. I’m dealing.
Anyway, the really cool thing is that she’s letting me use the computer. I guess Mom and Dad forgot to tell her that I was grounded from the Internet. I went on FB and saw that people are trying to find out what happened at school. Drea’s page is covered with questions and concerns. Her # of friends just hit 400. From 98 to 400 in a couple of weeks—that has to be some kind of record.
I think the thing that’s bothering me the most is that she’s acting like SHE was your best friend. I mean, really? You two met in Grade 8. You and I have been friends since the first day of Grade 3. I know you would say that it’s not a competition, but it’s bothering me that she’s acting like she’s lost her best friend in the whole world when, really, it’s me.
I did have one friend request, though, and it’s so weird. It’s Jake Landry, that hockey guy who sits next to me in English class. We’ve never spoken to each other, and now he wants to be my FB friend?? What’s up with that? I accepted, so I guess we’ll see. Loren also wrote me a message. She wants to know if we can hang out this weekend, so I told her to come over for a sleepover on Saturday. We see each other at school and stuff, but we haven’t really done anything together since … that night. We’re not really “friends on” or “friends off” … we’re just kind of “friends paused,” I guess.
I also checked your page. It’s still there. It’ll probably be there forever. Your profile pic is the one I took of you two summers ago. We must have spent our entire vacation hanging out on that beach. You’re swinging off that Arbutus tree with the ocean in the background, making that stupid mon
key face that always made me laugh. Hundreds of people wrote on your page. It’s all good things. How much they miss you; what a nice person you were; how cool you were; how sorry they are; they hope you’re in a better place, etc. … Your last post was a quote from Dr. Seuss: Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one. You wrote that two days before …
I think it’s weird that you’re gone but your FB page is still here. And I guess it’s going to stay like that forever. Is that what is going to happen to all of us? We’ll all be long gone, but fragments of us (emails, blogs, texts, tweets, pictures, FB) will remain online like an immortal cyber-existence. And what if it all crashes? Then what will be left of us?
So that’s been my day. I’d ask how yours has been but you’re not here—you’re not here.
Sticks
Can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m actually missing school. Being home is giving me too much time to think. And think about you. And thinking about you makes me miss you more.
WHY??
Why the fuck would you do that to yourself?
You’re an idiot.
I really didn’t mean that.
No, actually, I kind of did.
October 24th
Dear Stones,
I don’t know what to say.
I stopped writing to you for a couple of days. I even threw this notebook in the garbage on Friday, but then Miss Baker found it, and I had to stay after school and talk with her … so AWKWARD!
Baker: How are you doing?
Me: Good.
Baker: Really?
Me: Yep.
Awkward silence
Me: I’m sorry about the other day … what happened in the bathroom.
Baker: That’s okay. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to deal with a disciplinary issue.
Me: (laughing a little) Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever been a disciplinary issue.
Baker: I’m sorry you got suspended. I think they were a little harsh with you.
Me: (shrugging) I probably deserved it. I did swear at Mr. Kline.