I can only imagine what her body looked like

I can only imagine what her body looked like. Her eardrums blown out, bleeding across the floor. Her head embedded into the train tracks and her limbs skewed about. And now, she laying across the room in a box too big for her. It’s an open coffin, and her mother won’t step away from it as visitors talk to her and say their last goodbye’s to her. Tears are filling the room, it almost feels like it’s flooding.

None of them know that I had loved her.

None of them know what we shared.

But at this point, does it even matter?

She’s dead. Gone and never able to love or be loved again. Did what we have even exist at this point?

I’m still staring at the coffin ahead of me, the flowers poking out of her coffin seem to mock me.

Look, I’m here, you’re not

Good, I think. Let the flowers be there for her since I was never able to. Maybe the flowers will be enough. My mother tries to urge me to go and say goodbye to her, I tell her no. While one of her aunts is mourning on the podium, I tell my mom I’ll wait in the car.

I wait there until my mom comes in the car and see Merripen’s mom walk to hers. She looks like she’ll never get over her daughter’s death, and I don’t think I will either.

I go to school and it feels like nothing’s happened the first few minutes. Life goes on. Some people don’t even know she’s dead in her class, some think she’s just absent. They don’t know. Some people don’t even know she exists. I’m sure if they heard about her suicide, it’d be a passing ‘oh that’s sad’ and their life will go on.

I feel like punching something.

My teacher drones on about a subject I don’t care about. I look towards the clock and I dread that school will end soon. I feel like that’s not normal, that I should be happy about the class ending, like every other kid in this class. But if class ends, then she won’t be there waiting for me.

She’ll be dead.

And I’ll still be here.

The bell rings and I don’t get up from my seat. I leave my notebook on the desk and pretend I didn’t hear the bell.

The teacher seems to be busy with their work, and they don’t say anything. I dread walking outside. But I have to. I slowly pack up my things, check my phone before I leave my desk.

Maybe, maybe she’ll be there waiting outside by the door.

Pop out and scare me, giggle and laugh.

“I scared you didn’t I?” She’d smile all big, and I’d punch her in the shoulder for being mean. My foot steps out the door and turns to look at her.

I’m met with a blank hallway.

My world stops and now I know.

That, yeah, she’s dead.

She killed herself.

And she wasn’t thinking about me when she did it.

Didn’t think how I would feel.

Didn’t think to say goodbye to me.

Merripen

Were we nothing?

Merripen’s mom is standing outside our door, my mom calls me from my room.

I still think that Merripen is selfish, her mom must be too then.

I give a dead-eyed stare from the doorway as her mom timidly reaches for her bag and pulls out an envelope.

“Sorry I’m a bit late, but I was cleaning out Merripens room and-”

“Of course you were,” I mutter loud enough to be heard. I see her mom gulp. Good. I hope Merripen is screaming at me from her grave.

“And It looks like she wrote a few letters, and this one has your name,” She hands the envelope toward me, and I see my name written in cursive on it. Esme it says, with a little heart at the end of the name. I stare at it a bit longer before gently grabbing it from her frail fingers.

The silence stretches on until I decide to rip it.

I let the torn letter fall from my fingers and onto the ground. I look up and see her mom’s eyes.

They look just like her daughter’s.

I step onto the letter, the sound of paper crushing under my feet as her mom starts crying.

“She should have told me in person, not from the grave. Not reading that shit,” I don’t make eye contact with her as I spit my words out.

I don’t care if I’m going to regret this later.

If I do, it’s all Merripen’s fault.

After the stunt I pulled. I haven’t heard from Merripen’s mom since.

It’s been two months.

Here, here! Look what I got you!

What the fuck is this.

Haha, I thought you’d like it!

The tiny stuffed animal monster looks at me from my bookshelf. I used to sleep with it in bed but I can’t bear to touch it. It’s a hideous-looking thing, with ratty fur and button eyes. But it’s cute, and she made it herself apparently.

I loved it.

I get up from bed and grab it, shoving it in my bag.

But not anymore.

I rush outside with a lighter and go down to the beach. I start collecting sticks and leaves and put them around a circle of rocks. The waves splash as I light a fire, and grab the stuffie from my backpack.

You still have it?

She smiled back at me from my room. The plushie was resting on the bed staring back at us.

Of course, I do

I start blushing, and she starts giggling. In the midst of it, she found my lips.

I was so happy.

I clutch the soft thing to my chest and imagine it’s her.

It’s okay

She would hold me in her arms, and I wouldn’t feel so cold.

I would clutch her back and sob into her shoulders.

She’d rub my back.

I love you

She’d say into my ear like a promise.

A promise that she never kept.

I rip the plushie from my chest and stare at it in its button eyes. Before I could think any longer about how much I missed her, I threw it into the fire. The fire crackles louder as it grabs onto its fur.

Good.

I’m glad it’s burning as I stare at it.

Before the entire flame consumes it, the button eyes look at me again.

In that moment, I can see how happy Merripen was that I had kept it on my bed.

I start screaming and grab the plushie before it can be completely turned to ash. I start stomping on it to blow out the flames. It’s still hot when I pick it up, the tears searing into its fabric. Its fur is almost gone, but the plushie is still there.

Merripen is still smiling at me.

I start sewing the fur into its fabric, making sure it’s the same kind she had used to make it. I whisper apologies as I poke the needle into the animal. Soon it looks just like I remember it. Made with love. I set the animal next to my pillow.

I start sleeping with it again.

It’s another day without her as I stand outside her mother’s door with a taped-up letter in my hands. And another with no tape. I hesitate to knock on the door before it’s already opened for me.

“What do you want?” I see Merripen staring back at me from the doorway. I feel my throat close up.

“Sweetie?” Merripen’s mom speaks in a softer voice than I had assumed she would have. Her eyes have bags. I guess we have a lot of things in common these days.

“I uh, came here to say sorry and,” I hold the letter that I wrote her, “And this,”

Her mother grabs the letter and stares at it for a bit. I think she’s going to start ripping it in front of me.

But instead, she looks up smiling.

“Thank you,” Is all she says. Her gentle smile brings me closer to peace.

It reminds me of how Merripen would smile at a sunset or when I gave her a gift. I had wanted to read the letter with her mom, to ask. But I can’t seem to get the words out. So I say goodbye and leave. Before I go she asks to come by more often. I start crying at that, but she lets me. I say of course.

It’s been a month since I apologized to Merripen’s mom. But I still haven’t read Merripen’s letter. I caught a few words taping it up, but I still can’t bring myself to. I’ve visited her mom more often, her bags seem to be getting better. I can’t help but think mine are getting worse.

It’s been three months now.

Four months.

Five.

I sit in bed a lot more nowadays. Even though I had made up with her mom and fixed up her plushie, I still feel hopeless.

Esme...I love you so much

We used to kiss a lot in my bed. I still think it smells like her. Maybe that’s why I haven’t washed it.

The heart on the side of my name seems mocking nowadays.

Six.

I wonder what she thought when she did it. Did she plan it? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing? I turn sideways in my bed, looking at the wall. I sleep on the right, and when she slept over she’d sleep on the left towards my window. I was scared of sleeping next to the window, she was too.

If I have to sleep on the left, then we have to cuddle all night!

I would’ve done it either way.

Seven.

I kiss the plushie on top of its head.

Ah, stop! That tickles Esme! She used to giggle when I kissed her forehead.

I don’t think I can cry anymore.

Eight.

I call her mom.

“How are you feeling honey?”

“I’m getting through it,”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“It’s still hard isn’t it?” She says, her voice rasping.

“Yeah,” I struggle with the one word.

“Oh Esme, I’m so glad you took care of Merripen, I’m so happy you were the one she had fallen in love with,”

I stay silent.

“Esme, I should’ve told you this sooner but, thank you for taking care of my daughter,”

I start crying.

Nine.

Merripen, I wish I could be happy for you.

Ten.

Was I not enough to live for?

Eleven.

I give up.

Merripen. I’ll love you till the day I die. Which is apparently December 13th. Your letter is still unread and sitting on my dresser. I’m wearing my best dress just in case I see you. I bought myself a box of chocolates to eat with the bottles of pills, I’m going all out tonight. I wrote my mom a note, so she knows that I love her.

As my eyes drift closed, I think I can hear her. I don’t know what she said, but as long as I can hear her.

I’m happy.

Was I not enough to live for?