by Dawn Green
I was hoping to start this year fresh. Maybe come back from winter break with some degree of normality. I hate how the start of every new year comes with some false hope that things could be different somehow. I didn’t make any resolutions or anything, I just … I don’t know, new year = new me. Stupid.
I was actually excited for school to start up again. And yes, that might have had something to do with the fact that I was going to see Jake for the first time since messaging with him. But when I saw him in English, he just smiled at me and said, “Hey,” and that was it. We never talked about New Year’s Eve … not that there was anything to talk about, I guess.
Anyway, back to me in the medical room. So, today we were dissecting frogs in science class. Not something I was really looking forward to, but also not something that I thought was going to bother me. A few students opted out of the dissection for personal / religious beliefs, or simply because they thought it would be “gross.” I didn’t really think about it.
Mr. Ross set us up with lab partners. I was partnered with Hanna Barton, the girl who won female athlete of the year last year. I think she’s some kind of soccer star. She’s seems nice, a little intense, and she was really excited about getting our frog.
So we got the frog carcass—where do they get these things, anyway? Do you think that the frog woke up from his froggy sleep one day and knew this was the day that he was going to be plucked from his swamp, killed, and then served up on a metal sheet for some teenagers to cut him open? Anyway … the first thing we had to do was pin it down on the tray. Hanna asked me to do it while she started to sketch its body on our lab report.
I had to put the thing on its back and pin the arms and legs down so it was ready for us to slice open. I did that with no problem. But then I looked at it. All splayed out like that. And I started to feel … I don’t know how to describe it. The room started to feel like it was closing in. Everything started to sound muffled. And then it passed. And for a few minutes I felt okay again.
But then it came time for us to cut it open. Hanna wanted to do it. She took the scalpel they gave us and started to cut a line up … I can’t even write about it. It’s starting to make me feel sick again. And that’s what happened. I got sick. I couldn’t control it.
I just threw up right there.
In the middle of class.
In front of everyone.
The room closed in again.
And I woke up here.
So, that happened.
I’ve never passed out before. Mr. Kline came in and said they were thinking about calling an ambulance. Can you imagine? That’s the last thing I need. To be taken away from the school in an ambulance. I’m already probably what everyone is talking about … again! I convinced him that I was fine and to let my mom come and get me.
I just can’t believe I threw up in school. And it hit me so fast. One minute I was fine, and then BLAH. That’s never happened to me before. EVER.
It was you. Something about the frog lying there like that. Helpless. Ready to be cut open. It had to be you.
Loren popped in to see if I was okay. She said I’m all anyone is talking about. Apparently I threw up on Hanna’s new runners. And I’m sure Jake’s heard about it by now. I think he’s friends with her.
So much for a new year = new me.
Sticks
January 10th
Dear Stones,
My mom made me go to school today. I wanted to stay home, and she nearly let me, but then she phoned the OC about what happened, and the OC told her that the best thing for me to do was get back to school and continue with my normal activities.
Continue with my normal activities?? Does she forget what school is like?
When my mom dropped me off, I almost took off, but then I heard you in my head, telling me that I couldn’t hide forever and to just get it over with. Pull the band aid!
Ya, I should have just left when I had the chance. I didn’t even go to science, because Mr. Ross thought it was best if I wrote a research paper about frogs in the library until the dissections were over. Weird Girl was there.
WG: You threw up during school yesterday.
Me: Yep.
WG: In the middle of class. With everyone watching.
Me: Yep.
WG: That’s gross.
Me: Yep.
WG: Are you okay today?
Me: (nodding) I think so.
WG: Good, because I don’t want to see you throw up, and my class is in the library for the rest of the block. If I see someone throw up it makes me throw up. And I had oatmeal and blueberries for breakfast, so that would be gross.
And then she left. The funny thing is, talking with her was actually the best part of my day. I saw Jake in the hallway, but he was with a group of his friends and, when they saw me, he just turned his back and they all started laughing. At lunch I went to buy a drink in the cafeteria but, as soon as I walked in, Drea pointed, said something, and then the whole middle table started laughing and pretending to vomit. And that’s pretty much how the rest of my day went. Pointing. Laughing. Staring. Whispers. I guess I should be looking on the bright side. It wasn’t about you this time.
Sincerely,
Sara Spew—that’s what someone called me today.
P.S. At this very moment, Hershey is digging her way through my laundry basket, looking for socks to chew. I wish you could see her. She’s pretty funny. And right now, she’s the only one in my life who doesn’t look at me like I’m some weirdo or charity case.
January 24th
Dear Stones,
I know I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been dealing with stuff, trying to act like things are normal, which they almost are. Most of the school has stopped talking about the “Frog Incident.” Some kid accidentally started a mini fire in the Home Ec room, and now that’s all anyone is talking about. Nothing major. There was only minor damage and no one was hurt but, thankfully, it pulled everyone’s focus off me for a while.
Right now, I’m in a bit of a rush. I’m sitting in the waiting room of the counselor’s office, trying to write so I have something to show her. She told me that from now on, she would look but not read. As long as I had something on paper, she would be satisfied. I feel like I’m trying to get my homework done five minutes before class.
I just grabbed this pamphlet on the five stages of grief. Let’s see …
DENIAL. Been there, done that. When Drea phoned and told me, I thought she was playing some cruel prank. Then my mom told me and I think … I think I told her to shut up, not in an angry way, but in an I-can’t-believe-you type of way. It all gets kind of fuzzy, but I remember going to your house and sitting on the front porch while my mom talked to your mom. Even when I saw your mom sobbing, I still didn’t believe it. Even when she told my mom how she found you … I still didn’t believe it then. I’m not sure when it got real. I’m still not sure it has.
ANGER. I’m sure my mom would say that I’ve been through this stage. She probably thinks I’m still going through it. I guess I have been angry, with Drea, with Weird Girl, with my mom, with the obnoxious counselor … with you.
BARGAINING. Really, bargaining? I don’t know who I’d bargain with or what I’d bargain for. The pamphlet says it’s like when someone gets cancer and they bargain with God to get better or to let their loved one get better. How can I bargain with someone who chose death?
DEPRESSION. Uh, no … I’m not so upset that I feel like the world is coming to an end or anything. I’m not you.
ACCEPTANCE. You’re gone. I “accept” it. The OC is waving me in.
Sticks
P.S. I can’t wait for this to all be over … will it ever be?
February 4th
Dear Stones,
I’ve officially made a bathroom friend. I’m really not sure what to call her. I don’t even know what she looks like. I know it’s weird but I kind of like her. After the first time we talked, I snuck away to the bathroom a few times and just w
aited for her. I sat in that bathroom stall, waiting for hours. I’m sure all of my teachers think I have some kind of stomach problem. Although, after the whole “frog” thing, no one questions when I ask to go!
One day, after I had been waiting for two blocks, I thought she came into the stall next to me. I really thought it was her, so I said, “Hey.” Then, whoever it was answered, “Hey,” so I just started talking, about how happy I was that she finally came back, how I had waited in the stall for her to come … I must have talked for two minutes non-stop before whoever it was flushed the toilet, laughed, and called me a “freak.” Which I have to admit I kind of am. I stopped waiting in the stall after that. I still snuck away to the bathroom every now and then, hoping she’d be there, but she never was.
I was starting to think that I had made her all up. Like maybe she was a figment of my imagination or a ghost or something. But then yesterday, when I went to the bathroom—to actually go to the bathroom—she was there, in the stall next to me. I know it was her because she talked to me first. She just asked if I was Sara Stickley. I didn’t think it was her but I answered back anyway, cuz I was hoping it was her … and it was.
I told her how I’d waited in the bathroom for her a few times. She thought that was weird and we both laughed about it. Then I told her about how I talked to someone I thought was her, and how I was starting to think she was a ghost, and we laughed again.
It felt good to laugh.
We couldn’t talk for long because she was working on a project with a group in her class, but she agreed to come and meet with me again during second block tomorrow. She asked if I wanted to meet her some other place, face to face. I couldn’t answer. I don’t know why I couldn’t, why I didn’t. It’s just that … I don’t know what she looks like, and I like that I don’t know. I don’t have to see her in the halls or in class or at lunch. Anyway, I didn’t have to answer, because she said she understood and that she’d meet me in the bathroom any time. And that’s why I like her. She gets me. Like I said, I know it’s weird, but talking with her is as close as I’ve felt to normal in a really long time.
Sticks
February 10th
Stones,
I think you’re haunting me. Not in the ghostly “boo” sense of the word but, like, I can feel you sometimes.
All the places we used to go together. Places we’d hang out, like our ocean spot, or the 7-Eleven on the corner where we used to get bags of five-cent candy and Slurpees almost every Friday after school. You’d always buy sour keys and blue whales and then drop a blue whale into your Slurpee. Then, once you slurped every last drop from the bottom of your cup, you’d harpoon the whale with your straw and eat it last.
The frozen yogurt place in the mall food court.
Pages—your favorite bookstore. I’d always find you curled up in the classics section with some huge novel you could barely lift.
Sips—the café with that hot artsy coffee barista who you loved to flirt with but was way too old for you.
The movie theater.
I feel you everywhere. It’s like you’re still here.
Sometimes I can look at a chair you used to sit in, and I think I can see you there … or a faint outline of you. Sometimes I swear I can hear your voice or your laugh coming from somewhere, and sometimes I even look to see if you’re there. It’s like a reflex I can’t control.
And we have conversations. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes just in my head. But I talk to you, like you’re still here. And I know you’re not, and I know you can’t talk back, but we still talk because I know exactly what you’d say if you were here.
You: Maybe I am haunting you … Ouuuuooooooo …
Me: You think I’m crazy?
You: I think you miss me.
Me: You think?!
You: You don’t have to get snarky.
Me: I know you’re not actually here.
You: I know you know. But I like that you feel me sometimes. And that you see my outline … the evanescence of me.
Me: You would use some fancy word for it.
You: Uh, you’re the one imagining this conversation, so actually, you’re the one who thought up the word.
Me: Whatever. Only you would point that out.
You: True. I wish you weren’t so bitter with me.
Me: I’m not.
You: You are.
Me: I’m trying not to be.
You: What is it, Sticks? What do you want to ask me?
Me: Were you really sick?
You: If that’s what they’re saying.
Me: That’s not really an answer.
You: I wish I could give you a better one.
Me: Me, too.
I don’t know what bothers me more, the idea that you’re haunting me, and that I can see, hear, and sense you all around me … or the idea that you might stop, and I won’t see your outline or hear your laugh anymore … that one day you’ll just be gone.
Sticks
February 13th
Dear Stones,
I’m trying out for the track team. Can you believe it? I feel like I can hear you making fun of me again. I didn’t really have a choice. Ever since my mom found all that depression/suicide stuff I was looking up on the computer, she’s been worried about me. Even though the OC told her that things are fine, they both agreed that I should be doing more with my time.
My options were:
Yearbook Committee—I’m already a big enough loser, thank you.
Spirit Squad—Even my mom agreed that wasn’t for me.
Drama—No way I’m going up on stage; I’d rather be … never mind.
Sports—I used to like cross-country and, besides, I figure I can go out for the team, and when I don’t make it, my mom will feel bad and leave me alone. Tryouts are next week, so I’ll let you know how that goes.
I’d write more but Hershey’s nuzzling into me like she wants to go out. She’s getting bigger and bossier. The other morning, I woke up and she was under the covers with me. I didn’t even feel her crawl in. My mom wants her to sleep in the laundry room, but she cries when she’s alone, so I usually go down and sneak her up when my parents go to bed. Truth is, I kind of like having her beside me at night.
Okay, she’s getting really pushy, and last time she peed on my favorite hoodie, so I better take her. And yes, the hoodie I’m talking about used to be your favorite purple hoodie, but you never asked for it back, so …
Sticks
February 17th
Dear Stones,
Today’s been a crappy day. The weather sucks. It’s been super dark out all day, and it hasn’t stopped raining since last night. Normally, I like the rain but, today … today, I can’t stop thinking about you. Sometimes it’s like this. Some days I don’t really think about you too much, and others, like today … I can’t stop thinking about you.
When you left, I was still at that party. I mean, I was there when you left the actual party, but I think I was still there when you, like, “really” left. I heard the police tell your mom something about your presumed time of death. And if it really was between 1 and 2 AM, then I was partying and having fun when you died. I know I couldn’t have known what you were doing but, still … I was partying.
I walked home with Loren, Drea, Adam, Mateo, and Rebecca. I remember it was Drea who convinced us to stay out longer. Take the long way home. She was in a fight with her parents and didn’t want to go home until she knew they were in bed.
We walked through the tennis courts near your house. We were laughing and throwing empty beer cans over the nets in the court. We made a game of it and wanted to see who could throw the farthest. Was that when you were killing yourself? Were you dying? Were you already dead?
I remember sneaking into the house so I wouldn’t wake up my parents—and so they wouldn’t find out that I’d been drinking. I checked my phone and texted with Loren about Mateo. Texted with Drea about her parents. Then I fell asleep.
I woke up when Drea p
honed. I was mad that she was calling because I still felt sick and I just wanted to sleep. I almost didn’t pick it up.
She’d heard from someone who heard from someone that there were police at your house, and that they had put a body in the back of an ambulance.
“Everyone is saying that Kacey is dead.”
That’s what she said.
That’s how I found out.
My mom came into my room and ripped the phone out of my hand. But it was too late. I think I got mad, and all I kept yelling was for her to shut up and that it wasn’t true. Over and over again, I kept saying the same thing. My mom told me that you had committed suicide. Committed suicide. She had just gotten off the phone with your dad. He asked if she could come over to be with your mom, because he was taking Owen to get some ice cream.
I went with my mom to your house. Your mom was sitting on the porch outside. We never went into the house. Our moms just sat on the porch and talked.
I remember sitting on the steps, thinking about how tired and hungry I was. Your mom was crying but she was also weirdly calm. Tears were falling but it wasn’t like she was sad, there was, like, no emotion to her voice at all. It was weird. I listened to her telling my mom about how she found you. How you looked like you were just sleeping. I don’t remember being sad or upset or any of that. Maybe that’s what she felt—nothing.
When your dad came back with Owen, I asked my mom if we could go out for dinner. I do remember feeling guilty for wanting to eat. Like maybe the right reaction was for me to be crying in a ball on my bed or something. But I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before.
We went for burgers. My dad watched a football game on the big TV. I don’t remember talking about anything. I remember I had only eaten about half my burger, when I asked if we could go home. I’m pretty sure my parents weren’t done eating, but we all left anyway.
I wanted to have a bath, but then I thought about you. I couldn’t stop seeing you. I had a shower instead, and I remember that I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I kept turning the hot water up, until all I could think about and feel was the heat turning my skin bright red.