Words He'll Never Read

When I crossed the stage at my high school graduation, I swore to myself I'd never forget where I came from; to never forget the people who helped shape me into who I am today. As I was turning a new chapter in the book of my life, I swore to never forget you.

It was a Sunday, barely a week into my first semester of college as a freshman, and you were a junior in high school. I was sitting in my room, finishing up a particularly difficult assignment from a particularly tough professor when my mom called me downstairs. (Yeah, I still live with my parents. It's cheaper. Don't you dare laugh. I know you would've.) My mom was your history teacher two years ago, and she waited for me to come down on the landing. When I stood face to face with her, she told me what you had done.

The oddest thing I remember from that day was how cold the tile was under my bare feet as I struggled to wrap my brain around what was being said. My mom told me you had killed yourself on Saturday, and, just like that, everything turned into slow motion. All I could think was "What? That's not true. That can't be true." The air was snatched from my lungs and I cried into my mother's arms, something I haven't done since I was a little girl.

I ran up to my room and messaged you on SnapChat. I asked what was happening, asked if this was all just a sick joke, but I got no response. I texted my friend, a good friend of yours, and she confirmed my worst fear. I clutched my phone like a lifeline, staring at your name and the Bitmoji that looked nothing like you, willing you to respond, to tell me you were okay. It never came.

I called off of work that day, got into my car, and just drove around for about an hour. My drive took me nowhere in particular, but eventually, I drove past your street. I used to drive you home after drama rehearsal, remember? You even fixed my radio display for me.

When I got there, I stopped at the intersection that led to your house, and marveled at all of the cars parked on either side. I couldn't have gone in even if I wanted to. Instead, I drove around your block, crying my eyes out as I made my way back home.

I continued on for the next few days like a phantom, only talking to friends or family, answering questions when called upon, and falling silent once more. Each night, I listened to the same song and cried until I felt nothing.

Your funeral was four days ago, yet the wound is still fresh. I can remember the long line of mourners slowly moving down the line of your family members, offering condolences. I stood by one of your best friends with whom you'd grown up with and cried with her as we waited to speak to your family members.

I passed by your coffin and stared at your pictures, but it still didn't feel real. You were so full of life, and now you had just blinked out of existence. Grief washed over me in waves, never relenting for a moment. I received hugs from people I didn't even know, just because I was a pathetic, sobbing mess.

I can remember two of your fellow JROTC cadets, dressed to the nines in their dress blues, come up to my and hug me. Their pins got tangled in my long brown hair as I cried into their arms.

Your funeral was the hardest thing I've endured in all of my 18 years of life. I watched your mother cry, and I kept thinking "No mother should bury her child. You did this to her." I sat next to a friend, who, like me, had loved you as well. I held her hand the whole service and cried until my head ached and I felt dizzy.

After the service, they wheeled you away for the last time. Your family followed you out, inconsolable. I grabbed onto the nearest person I knew and let my quiet sniffles turn into sobs that tore through my body and through the emptying church.

Outside, as the hearse drove you away, I watched your best friend break down into hysterics, demanding to know where they were taking you. I knelt down next to him, trying to speak to him, but he wasn't hearing or seeing anything beyond his grief. He had to be subdued by his mother until an ambulance arrived.

I walked to my car, still weeping pitifully, and sat in my seat. Once my door closed, I screamed at the top of my lungs until my ears rang, bashing on my steering wheel with open hands as I remembered everything about you.

I remembered your goofy grin whenever someone called your name and you turned around to face them.

I remembered your oversized hoodies and camouflage pants that you seemed to wear every day.

I remembered your sense of humor, your confident swagger, and your sweet personality.

I remembered lunchtime rap battles to see who was better, me or you. Of course, you won.

I remembered the last time I hugged you, on the final night of our high school's spring musical, but it was brief. People wanted pictures of me with them in my ballgown, and I wanted to be polite. If I'd known that would be the last time I hugged you, I would've stayed there longer, just letting you hold me in your warm embrace until it was etched into my memory.

I loved your confidence, your charisma, your sense of humor, and the way you, me, and our friend could carry an entire conversation only by quoting vines and memes. I loved how your could brighten my day with one of your lopsided smiles or make me laugh using your plethora of goofy sound effects.

But I hated you the day you took your own life.

I hated the pain you put so many people through.

I hated how you took the light out of so many people's lives.

I hated how you never thought how anyone would feel when they found out you had gone so suddenly.

I hated how I had to watch the people you'd loved most in your life break into tiny pieces at your funeral.

I hated listening to the eulogy, your life laid bare in front of everyone as they all said you just couldn't go on.

I hated your that you felt that suicide was the only way out.

I hatedyou.

But, after everything, I realized that no matter what, you'll always be the goofy kid who knew how to make me smile no matter how bad I was feeling. I realized that I'd never stop loving you.

~*~In loving memory of NJB.~*~