by Dawn Green
I went into my room and checked my phone. I had over a hundred messages from different people. My FB page was covered with notes and questions asking if it was true/what had happened / if I had talked to you before / how was I? I just couldn’t deal with any of it then, so I turned off my computer, put my phone on silence, and went to bed. I’m not completely sure, but I think it was that night that I scrolled through all of our past texts to each other. I think I fell asleep right after that.
I still think about that night a lot. I wonder what would have happened if I had asked you to stay.
The truth is … the truth is … I didn’t want you to stay that night. You were being a total downer and, when you left, I remember that I felt … not happy, but relieved. With you at the party, I wasn’t having any fun, because I felt like I needed to stay with you, keep you happy and involved … I was drunk but I can remember you saying that you thought you should go—and I said, “Okay.” I didn’t say that I wanted you to go but, I think, when I agreed you should go, you knew that I didn’t really want you to stay. It’s just that … you weren’t any fun to be around. I never knew if you were going to be in a good mood or not. And in order to keep you happy, I was always careful about what I said, and I tried to do everything you wanted to do … and it was exhausting. I wanted to party with Loren and Drea without you. I wanted you to go home that night. I just wanted to have fun. And now I just feel like the worst friend in the world. The OC said that it was natural to feel guilty. That when something like this happens, we all feel like we could have done something more. What if it’s not something I didn’t do but something I did? I shouldn’t have said, “Okay,” when you wanted to leave. I was basically telling you to go. I should have told you to stay. I should have wanted you to stay.
I don’t know why I’m writing this. I feel like I had a point when I started, but now I don’t know what it was.
Sticks
P.S. It’s still raining.
February 22nd
Dear Stones,
So I made the track team! WTF … I know! I wasn’t planning on trying hard or anything but, once I started running, it just felt so good. I wasn’t thinking about anything or anyone, just how the cool spitting rain felt on my face. At some point, I was lapping other runners and they had to yell at me to stop, because I just wanted to keep going.
The coach asked why I had never tried out before—I don’t know. He said he was going to put me in the distance events, and he seemed pumped about winning the city championship this year. Whatever, like I care. My mom’s happy, which means she’s backing off a bit. There is no way I’m going to let her know that I actually like it.
Oh, and guess who is also on the track team? Hockey Jake! Apparently, he’s a really good runner, but I think it’s in the sprinting events. We smiled at each other once when I ran by. I think he was really surprised to see me running. He’s not the only one.
Sticks
March 3rd
Stones,
I just got back from a party. It was at Hanna’s house. I never thought I would go to a party at her house—especially after the whole throwing up on her shoes thing. I apologized for wrecking her shoes and told her that I’d buy her some new ones, but she said it was no big deal and that her parents already got her a bunch of new pairs. Then she asked me if I threw up because of the frog or because of you. She didn’t actually say “you” but I knew what she was asking. I told her that I didn’t really know why it happened … and I still don’t.
Anyway, it’s not like we’re friends but we talk a lot more. I think it’s some kind of athlete respect thing. She invited the whole track team over to her place and, since I’m on the team … I wouldn’t have gone but it was Jake who told me about it. And even with him telling me, I still wasn’t going to go, but then I talked with my bathroom friend about it and she told me, “You so totally have to go.” So, I went.
It was strange. Not the house, just being at the party. Everyone was pretty cool. At first, a few people gave me the “you’re the friend of that girl” look but, as the night went on, everyone just did their own thing and no one really noticed me. I mean, they noticed me. I wasn’t just standing in the corner by myself, but they didn’t notice me in “that” way. I was one of them. Me. A jock. As crazy as that is, it wasn’t why I felt strange at the party. It was just being there. With people. The music. The alcohol. I haven’t been to a party since … that night. I started to feel uncomfortable and I was going to leave, but then Jake saw me and pulled me outside.
Jake: What’s up? Are you okay?
Me: I hate that question.
Jake: Sorry. You must be getting it a lot, hey?
Me: It’s all anyone ever asks me.
Jake: What’s your favorite hockey team?
Me: (confused) What?
Jake: I bet no one’s asked you that lately.
Me: Noooo, they have not.
Jake: So?
Me: Ummm …
Jake: You don’t watch hockey, do you?
Me: Not really. Sorry.
Jake: Don’t be sorry.
I think I must have shivered at this point because …
Jake: Are you cold? Here.
AND he actually took off his jacket and gave it to me. I kept waiting for some light 80’s music to play or for John Cusack to come walking out with a ghetto blaster above his head.
Okay, John Hughes / classic 80’s movie marathon week may have skewed my view on high school romance.
Me: Ummm … thanks. (And then I laughed a little.)
Jake: What?
Me: I’ve just never had a guy give me his jacket before.
Jake: Oh. Kind of cheesy, huh?
Me: A little. But it’s nice.
Jake: So, you didn’t want to be at the party anymore?
Me: No … it’s just that … I haven’t been to a party since …
But I just couldn’t tell him the real reason. I don’t know why.
Me: … it’s just been a long time.
Jake: That’s okay. I get it.
Then he … it’s going to sound strange, but he grabbed my hand and just held it while we walked. At first I was going to pull mine away, but it felt kind of nice to have a hand to hold. Nothing else happened. I swear. We just held hands and kept walking around the house for a while. I’m not sure how long. At some point, a group of people came out of the house to smoke up or something, so we let go and went back in to the party. I don’t know what to think about it … about him. Boys are strange. First the New Year’s chat, then he practically ignores me at school, then this?
Anyway, I just got back from the party and had to tell someone. I realize that you’re not exactly someone anymore … but you are to me.
Sticks
March 8th
Dear Stones,
So, I’m already starting to re-think this whole track team thing. I know it’s only been a few weeks since I made the team, but I had no idea how many practices we were going to have. My mom wanted me to be busy, but this is ridiculous. I feel like all I do is go to school, run, play guitar, homework, sleep, and repeat. Oh, and fit in the weekly OC appointment. Can’t forget that!
I haven’t had much time to do anything, including keeping you updated. I’ve been so busy that some days I even forget to think about you. It’s not that I forget—it’s just that the whole day can go by and, before I know it, I’m in bed and too tired to think. It used to be that moment after going to bed but right before falling asleep that I’d think about you the most. But lately I’ve been too tired and, as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out. Is this what they all want? Me to be so busy that I can’t think about you? Is this what’s going to happen? I gradually stop thinking about you until I don’t think about you at all. Is that what it means to move on with my life?
Does moving on with my life mean forgetting yours?
I promise that won’t happen. No matter how much they get me to do, how busy they keep me, I won’t forget you.
Sticks
March 11th
Dear Kacey,
Did you do this because I said I was starting to move on? Did you?
Things were finally starting to feel—not normal, because I don’t think things will ever feel normal again, but better. I’m on the track team. Which doesn’t make me an “athlete,” but it does mean that I can sit with some of them at lunch now. People still look at me different in the halls sometimes, but there are fewer of them—in general, things were getting better. I was dealing. I was moving on … I was trying to move on and then … the note.
And it can’t just be a coincidence. It had to be you.
A note.
Your note.
Your suicide note.
To me.
It’s sitting beside me right now. You used that Calvin and Hobbes stationery I gave you, like, six Christmases ago. Why did you use that?
My mom said that your mom called and asked to see me. At Christmas, I told your mom that I’d come by to visit more. I meant it when I said it. I planned on coming by to see your parents and your brother so many times. I even walked over a few times, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s just not the same without you there. Obviously.
When my mom first told me that your mom had something “very important” to tell me, I thought maybe she was just saying that to get me over to your house. All the way over, I was hoping it was just that and nothing serious, but I knew even before I got there, it was something …
When your mom answered the door, she gave me a big hug. She seemed to be in really good spirits. I didn’t see your dad while I was there, but Owen ran down the stairs and tackled me as soon as I came in. He held me so tight … I feel really bad for not going to visit him. First you leave and then me. Anyway, I followed your mom up to your room. I felt like I was going to lose it, like that day with the frog.
I was shaking, dizzy. I thought I was going to throw up on the hardwood floor. Then Owen grabbed my hand and smiled. I smiled back. He pulled me down the hall and we went into your room.
Kacey, your room is exactly as you left it. It was trippy. I kept waiting for you to walk out of your bathroom or something. Your mom said that she couldn’t go in your room for months, and, when she finally did, she didn’t want to touch anything. I guess something changed. Maybe she’s trying to move on, too, because she finally decided to make your bed or wash the sheets … I’m not sure which one. She told me but I can’t remember. Anyway, that’s when she found them … notes. Three of them under your pillow.
One to your parents.
One for Owen.
And one for me.
She gave me the note, and she also gave me that picture of us when we were twelve and I went camping with your family that summer.
It’s the picture where we’re wading in the river, looking for crayfish. We’re both holding one up in the air and waving. I remember that right after that picture was taken, we made the crayfish fight each other. Mine won. That was an epic summer. That’s where “Sticks and Stones” got started. The picture frame still has some of those sticks and stones we found, glued to the outside. Mostly it’s just globs of dried glue spots where things used to be, but some stuff hung on.
You’d always called me “Sticks,” ever since we were little. Then we met those boys that summer, the ones who camped across the river and tried to take our swimming hole. They heard you call me Sticks, and they started making fun of us, chanting something about sticks and stones. I wanted to leave, but you just threatened to throw a big rock at them and yelled, “That’s right. Now get out of here or you’ll really find out that sticks and stones CAN break your bones.” OMG, I’ve never seen boys run so fast. They stayed away from us the rest of the week … that was awesome.
I can’t open it.
Not right now.
Forever, Sticks
March 12th
Stones,
You left me a note, and then your little brother blabbed about the note to his friends, and then they blabbed about the note to their older siblings, and then they blabbed about the note to everyone else, and now everyone in the world knows that you left me a note.
So much for things being semi-normal. So much for “moving on.”
Why couldn’t you just let me move on?
It took a really long time but, finally, after all these months, people weren’t staring at me when I walked down the hall or tried to eat my lunch. That’s how I knew something was up today when I came to school. I got my books out of my locker and walked to first block, and I could feel everyone staring at me and doing that whisper thing as I walked by. I didn’t know what was going on until Drea cornered me before English. She had to know if the rumors were true and if you had left me a note. Me … like, how could you leave a note to me and not her? She didn’t say that, but I know that’s what she was thinking.
We had a fight. I called her a bitch, and then I said that of course you left me a note, because as much as she wants to pretend that you two were best friends, everyone knows that you were my best friend, and she is just using your death to get popular. And then I said … I feel so bad about this … but then I said that you didn’t even like her, and that you only hung out with her because you felt sorry for her when she first came to school and didn’t know anyone else.
I know I went too far. And I know I shouldn’t have said it. I don’t know why I did. Drea ran off crying, and now everyone knows that you really did leave me a note. This just happened, by the way. Like, ten minutes ago. I’m sitting in that little room beside English class that they use for test writing and trouble students, because Miss Baker heard the whole thing and her supervisor was there, too. Her supervisor is this really old lady, who smells like tea and spearmint gum and sometimes sits at the back of the class and writes notes about Baker’s teaching, while she annoyingly clears her throat every two minutes. Anyway, Baker got really mad that we caused a scene in her class, so she put me in this room for the rest of the block. I feel kind of bad that I got her in trouble. It’s Drea’s fault.
So, you won’t believe this, but Jake just came to see me. He said that Baker sent him to give me today’s work, and to tell me that she wants to see me after class. As he was leaving, he stopped and asked me …
Jake: You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But, is it true? About the note thing?
I wouldn’t have told him but it was the way he was asking. He wasn’t prying to know the latest gossip like everyone else. He was just … genuinely asking.
Me: Yes.
Jake: Whoa. Did you …
Me: Not yet. I can’t.
Jake: Ya, that’s some pretty heavy stuff.
Me: (I didn’t say anything. I just nodded.)
Jake: I wish I had gotten to know her better. We sat next to each other in science sometimes. She seemed pretty cool.
Me: She was.
Jake: And, hey, don’t let Drea get to you. She can be a bitch sometimes.
Me: I know.
Jake: So, uh … Baker has just assigned this final project for Romeo and Juliet. Do you want to be partners?
Me: With you?
Jake: If you want.
Me: Yeah, sure, okay. What is it?
Jake: Cool. (And then he smiled like I just agreed to go out on a date or something.) The project topics are in the sheets I just gave you. I’ll let you pick the topic. I better get back to class.
Me: Okay. I guess we’ll talk later.
Jake: Later.
I don’t get him. He’s cute, athletic, and he could be the most popular guy in school, but it’s almost like he’s above it all. Not in a snobby way, just in a “this place is really lame and I got other things to do” type of way. And he’s always so quiet. It’s like he’s taking everything in, always thinking about stuff. Maybe’s he’s trying to be that cool, mysterious guy. Or maybe that’s actually him. And no, I don’t have a crush if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m just … curious about him, that’s all.
Well, I better get some work done so Baker doesn’t totally lose it on me later.
Sticks
It’s only been a few hours since I wrote you last, but soooo much has happened since. After the bell, I went back to class to apologize to Baker. Her supervisor was still there, and Baker must have told her something about me, because when I walked in, she was leaving and she hugged me when she walked by. Awkward, much!! I apologized to Baker. She was pretty understanding about it all, but I could tell that she was a little angry, which was kind of refreshing. She asked what the argument was about. I told her about your note. I feel like she’s the only person in the entire school, maybe the city, who didn’t know. She didn’t ask, but I told her that I hadn’t read it yet. She said I’ll read it when I’m ready. I’ll have to be considering it’s some of the “last words you ever wrote.” Something she said, not me.
Your “last words” … I hadn’t really thought about it that way. Leave it to an English teacher to make it more serious than it has to be. Oh, and Baker asked me what topic I’d like to focus on for the final Romeo and Juliet project. I told her that I wanted to focus on the ending … on the suicides. At first she didn’t think it was a good idea, but I told her that I feel like it’s something I need to do. And I do. I also think it’s a topic I know well now. She told me to think about it over the weekend and, if I still wanted to do it on Monday, I could. But I don’t need to think about it. I want to do this. I hope Jake will be okay with it. I’m pretty sure my mom would throw a spaz if she knew about it. I’m not going to tell her.
Anyway, there’s something else … something BIG. After I left school, my mom texted to say that we had something to talk about when she got home. I was sure that it was about Drea, but it was actually about you … well, your parents. They’ve decided to get a divorce. I know that you’re not surprised. I guess your parents are going to share custody of Owen. My mom said that your mom said it was because of something you wrote in your letter to them. I’m not worried about your parents. We both know this is better for them and I guess, in a way, this is better for Owen—but this, after you … I’m going over to see him.