by Dawn Green
Sticks
November 26th
Dear Stones,
I got into an epic fight about you with my mom. It was a few hours ago. I took Hershey and ran out of the house and came here, to the beach.
You should have seen me. I feel like she just unlocked some anger demon. Hershey hid under the couch, whimpering. I was raging. It was like I was one of those crazy people on those trashy reality TV shows. I even threw things!!
Things between us have actually been pretty good lately, but then today I heard her talking to my grandma on the phone about how good my grades are. She said she thinks it’s because you’re not here anymore. But she said it in this way that totally pissed me off. Like she was right, and you always were the bad influence on me. I know she didn’t mean for me to hear it and, when she saw me, she immediately tried to backtrack and make it sound like she didn’t mean it that way. I said … some pretty awful things. I feel bad but she totally deserved it. I said that she must be happy that you’re finally out of my life because it’s what she always wanted, and that it’s her fault for trying to pull me away from you. I said other things but that really was the worst.
She’s called my phone a dozen times, saying that she’s sorry and that she’s not mad. My dad even phoned and left a message saying how sorry she is. I know I need to go home soon but I like it here, and Hershey is having a blast, chewing on pieces of driftwood and digging random holes. Plus, I just want her to worry about me a little longer.
She did like you. She just worried about me with you sometimes. But she didn’t know you like I did. No one did.
Sticks
November 30th
Dear Stones,
You were my best friend. You were the only one who knew what my stupid parents are like, the only one I wanted to phone and talk to when I didn’t want to talk to anyone. You were the only one who really understood me. You got me, you know. You never cared about the stupid crap that all those other mindless freaks in the world think about. You and I could just be. I was totally dealing with the fact that you were gone … totally, and then, I don’t know what happened.
Today I walked by your locker and I saw that silly Smurf sticker that I gave you still stuck to the top of it, and something happened. I, like, couldn’t breathe. I’ve walked by your locker a hundred times since you’ve been gone, but something was different this time. It felt like one of the football guys was sitting on my chest. I had to run into the bathroom and lock myself into a stall for the rest of third block. I wasn’t crying or anything like that; I just couldn’t breathe. I think it was some kind of panic attack. Great, I’m having those now.
Anyway, at some point, this girl came in to use the stall next to me. I tried to be quiet but she heard me, and then she started to talk to me.
Bathroom Girl: Hey … umm … are you okay in there?
Me: I’m fine.
I was hoping she would leave but she didn’t.
BG: Are you Sara Stickley?
Me: That depends. Are you the weird girl who told me my friend didn’t go to heaven?
BG: No … That’s awful. Who would say that?
Me: It doesn’t matter.
BG: Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to get some help or something?
Me: NO! I’m fine. Really. I just want to stay here for a while.
BG: Oh. Well, is it okay if I stay here with you?
Me: I don’t want to talk.
BG: We don’t have to talk.
And then things were quiet. I thought for sure she was going to get up and tell everyone that I was in the bathroom having a mental breakdown, but she didn’t. After a few minutes, I couldn’t take the silence.
Me: Did you know her?
BG: Sort of … I mean, I didn’t “know” her know her, but my sister did, so, kind of.
I was going to ask who her sister was, but I actually liked that I didn’t know who she was. So I left it.
Me: I just miss her.
BG: I … I lost a best friend two years ago. She moved really far away with her family. We said we’d stay in touch but that never happened. I know it’s not like what happened with … anyway, I know what it’s like to miss someone. It sucks.
Me: Totally sucks.
Then two senior girls walked in and started gossiping about who was going to Winter Formal with who (or is it whom? God, I hate English) and what they were going to wear. After about five minutes, they left.
BG: I think the bell’s going to go soon. I should get back to class.
Me: Thanks for … sitting with me.
BG: No problem. Are you going to be okay?
Me: Yeah. I’ll probably leave after you.
The stall door opened beside me.
Me: Thanks.
BG: No problem.
And then she was gone. I still don’t have any idea who she was, but I guess it doesn’t matter. It felt good to have someone other than my parents or the OC to talk to.
I really miss talking to you. We used to talk about everything … almost everything.
Sticks
December 1st
Dear Kacey,
You killed yourself.
You killed yourself.
December 3rd
Dear Stones,
A few months ago, I was just another student. I was a “nobody.” Well, okay, you’re right, I wasn’t a nobody, but I wasn’t anyone that anyone else really cared about. I was friends with you, Drea, and Loren. I sat near the middle of the lunchroom, somewhere between the drama crew and the athletes. I was an average student who partied on the weekends, and sometimes skipped class to go to the beach with you and smoke up. Maybe I was a bit of a slacker but I was a happy slacker. When I ate lunch, sat in class, or walked down the hallway, no one cared who I was. Now they all care.
I’m no longer a nobody.
No longer average.
No longer just Sara Stickley.
I’m the girl whose best friend killed herself.
Everyone knows it … everyone. There are Grade 9’s who know who I am. I’m like a circus freak to them. Everyone, look! Feast your eyes on the girl whose best friend killed herself!
At first, everyone just kind of gave big sympathy stares. Some just looked at me with total curiosity. Others smiled, trying to get a smile out of me and make me feel better, cuz they didn’t know what else to do. I’m getting fewer and fewer smiles and more looks of curiosity.
I know what they want to ask me. I’ve heard the whispers. I have ears but people seem to forget about that. Sometimes, like, it’s a dare or just plain curiosity, someone gets the nerve to walk up to me. I usually see them coming and have enough time to either pretend I’m busy or didn’t see them and leave before they get to me. I get that they want to know.
It’s like when people drive by an accident and they slow down to look. They want to know what happened, how it happened, how bad it is, if anyone is hurt, and, if they’re hurt, how bad it is. The funny thing is, they think they want to see it but, if they actually do see something real, like blood and bones and stuff, they turn away like they weren’t expecting it and they can’t believe they saw it. They might even wish they hadn’t looked in the first place, because now the gruesome image is stuck with them for life.
It’s the same thing with you. They think they want to know but, if they ever find out, it will haunt them. They’ll fall asleep at night, dreaming up scenarios and images in their mind that probably didn’t even happen … but that I they can’t help but think about, anyway.
I get that they want to know. To be completely honest, it was the first thing I wanted to know. How awful is that? I didn’t know how to ask your mom. I didn’t know if I should, but I didn’t have to, anyway. It was one of the first things she told me. I don’t know why she told me. She said it so matter-of-factly.
“Kacey swallowed almost every bottle of pills that we had…
“She got into the bath …
“She was still wearing her clothes …
“The coroner believes the pills knocked her out and then she drowned.”
I still can’t think about that day. There are lots of rumors as to how you did it. Some are way off, but one of them is true. Besides your parents, a few cops, and some doctors, I’m the only one who knows the truth. They didn’t even tell your brother Owen. Maybe one day when he’s older.
How could you do that to him? Just leave him like that? You made him an only child like me. At least I never knew what it was like to have a sister, but he is going to have to live with it for the rest of his life. Did you think about that before you …
Did you think about anything? I’m trying so hard to not be mad at you.
But I am mad!!
You killed yourself.
Sticks
You know what? No, I’m not done yet. I’m so fucking pissed off at you, you have no idea.
“See ya later.” That’s what you said!!
But you had to have known what you were about to do. The police and counselors all say that you must have planned it out for a few weeks, maybe even months before. And it’s not just the “See ya later” that pisses me off, it was your stupid fucking text message. I still have it.
Do you know how many times I’ve read and re-read that text? The police checked your phone. I was the last person you sent a message to. WTF? Seriously—HAVE FUN FOR ME???
How could I not have seen it?
How could I not have known what you were saying?
You knew exactly what you were doing and you didn’t let me help you … you’d never sent me a ♥ before. I just thought you were being cute. I didn’t even text you back.
I remember my phone buzzing. I remember reading your text, but I was talking to someone, I can’t even remember who, and I just put my phone in my pocket.
I didn’t even text you back.
Sticks
December 4th
Dear Stones,
I’m still mad. The worst part about being mad at you is that you’re not here to be mad at and you can’t argue back. I’m not going to feel guilty about being mad at you … I’m not.
I’m not.
Sticks
OC: Would you like to talk about why you haven’t been writing to Kacey?
Me: Not really.
OC: Your parents are worried about you.
Me: They’re always worried about me.
OC: Should they be worried about you?
Me: (rolling my eyes) You mean, should they be worried about me downing a bottle of pills, cutting my wrists, tying a noose, jumping off a bridge, pulling a trigger …
OC: You’re angry?
Me: (crossing my arms and saying nothing)
OC: Are you angry with your parents?
Me: (nothing)
OC: Are you angry with Kacey?
Me: (looking away)
OC: Are you angry with yourself?
Me: Why would I be angry with myself? Because I wasn’t there when she needed me? Because I didn’t respond to her text that night? Because I didn’t see what she was going to do to herself? Or because I did see it but I didn’t think she would do it? Because she and I weren’t really best friends anymore—because I started to pull away—because I could see her drowning and, instead of throwing a life jacket, I left so she couldn’t pull me down with her?
OC: Is that how you feel?
Me: Is what how I feel? Stop trying to counsel-psychoanalyze me.
OC: Do you feel that you saw her drowning?
Me: No—I don’t know. She was different. She’d been different for a while.
OC: (saying nothing, waiting for me to say more)
Me: I don’t know what to tell you. She just wasn’t herself. If you want to know about Kacey, talk to her parents. They should know more … they should have.
OC: Do you blame her parents?
Me: Oh, I see what you’re doing. Do I blame myself? Do I blame her parents? Do I blame Kacey? Well, I don’t blame anyone, okay? Life is shitty. Bad things happen.
OC: Is that how you really feel?
Me: Is what how I feel? I’m done with this. How do you feel? How do you feel about me asking how you feel? Pretty annoying, isn’t it … I’m outta here …
OC: Sara, please sit down. I’m sorry. Please …
Me: (sitting back down and looking out the window, wanting to be anywhere but there)
OC: Do you feel … do you think that what happened to Kacey was just life being shitty?
Me: Obviously not. My dog peed on my bed this morning—I stubbed my toe when I was trying to clean it up—my mom found out and started to fight with my dad about taking her back to the pound again … that’s life being shitty. Is my reaction to kill myself over it? NO. Kacey killed herself. That wasn’t life being shitty, that was Kacey being … stupid and selfish and being … Kacey …
OC: And you’re angry with her?
Me: Is that what you want me to say … okay, here you go. Of course I’m fucking mad at her. How could she just do that? If she was really feeling that bad, why didn’t she just talk to me … tell me … did she think I wouldn’t listen? I would have listened. I would have listened better. How could she just leave me like that? Leave me like this …
So I cried. Finally.
The OC is pretty proud of herself. She even hugged me. Pretty sure that’s against the rules but, whatever.
December 17th
Dear Stones,
I’ve been seeing the OC again … and again, and again. Remember her? She hasn’t gone away yet and, right now, she is making me write to you again.
I kind of stopped writing to you for the past couple weeks. But she told me I could stop for a while. I thought I was done with all of this. But now she says it’s been long enough and I need to finish this. Finish what? This whole journal? It’s too long. I thought I had my breakthrough. I cried! Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that what they all wanted?
I was actually starting to think she wasn’t all that bad, but now that she’s making me do this again … I HATE HER all over again. Okay, I don’t hate her, but seriously … ENOUGH WITH THE JOURNAL, ALREADY!!
Right now, I’m sitting in her office while she taps away on her computer. She said I can either sit in her office doing nothing or I can write to you. I can’t believe my mom is paying her for this shit. I have nothing else to say to you.
You’re not here.
You can’t hear me.
You can’t read this … this is stupid. STUPID—HEY, OBNOXIOUS COUNSELOR WOMAN. IF YOU'RE READING THIS, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I THINK THIS IS STUPID.
Sticks
Still December 17th
Stones,
I guess the OC actually does read some of these letters because, when she was flipping through the journal at our last appointment, she saw my note to her. I probably shouldn’t have written it in capital letters. She was pretty pissed off that I wasn’t taking her exercise seriously, and then she told my mom and she totally freaked out. We had a fight; my dad ended up leaving the house for a while; and I slammed a door in my mom’s face. I got mad because they said that these letters were private, but I knew she was reading them. I’m the one who should be angry. Invasion of privacy, much?!
“Her exercise”—nice to know that’s what this is to her. I lost my best friend and she’s mad that I’m not following her fucking exercise properly. I love that everyone has an opinion about me. They all think they know what I’m going through, how I should be feeling, what I should be doing. Everyone’s got an opinion, but no one cares about mine.
I just want things to go back to normal. As normal as they can be. It’s not that I want to forget about you. I’ll never forget. I just can’t stand the way people tiptoe around me anymore. Everyone’s worried that they’re going to say the wrong thing or do something that will upset me. Like the other day in English, we started a Shakespeare unit. You know how I hate Shakespeare. I can never understand anything that guy writes. I don’t understand why they are stil
l teaching this. It’s not like we even talk like that anymore. Shakespeare was your thing, and now I’m going to have to suffer through it without you.
Anyway, we’re doing Romeo and Juliet, and when Baker started talking about the themes and giving an overview of the play, she said something about their deaths at the end and mentioned suicide—and then she paused. It was super awkward. Not only did she pause, but she looked up at me, I guess to see if I was upset, and the whole class turned around and looked at me, too. I think everyone was waiting to see how I would react. If I would react. If I’m going to have some kind of breakdown—they’re all waiting for it. When will Sara finally lose it? Tick-tock, tick-tock … It’s not going to be during Romeo and Juliet. It’s not like the end of the play is coming as a surprise. Even a Shakespeare hater like me knows how that story ends. The whole world knows how it ends.
What did she think? It was the first time I was going to hear about it?! Surprise, Romeo and Juliet don’t get to live happily ever after. Two star-crossed lovers take their lives—duh, that’s why it’s a tragedy not a comedy.
We have a quiz on literary definitions tomorrow.
Tragedy
1. a play / novel / literary composition dealing with tragic events that has an unhappy ending.
2. a drama in which the protagonist is destined through a flaw of character or conflict to be overcome by social and/or psychological circumstances, usually ending in disaster or downfall.
3. an event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress.