my tears ricochet

They didn’t know her. Not like I did. To them, she was a mystery, hiding behind her cheek-to-cheek smile and approachable demeanour. She was reserved, putting on the mask of an extrovert, letting few people see past the façade. It’s why I found it odd that the chapel was full of classmates who couldn’t care less whilst she was still breathing.

I thought I knew her, I thought she let me in, but maybe I was wrong. The Sharon I knew would never do this, but she did. Hell, maybe I didn’t even know her. Right now, she was just as much a mystery to me as she was to anybody else.

Morality, the whole idea of it I mean, is never a concept that is taught to us. It’s something easier to digest when the victim is someone of older age. Don’t get me wrong, of course it fucking sucks when your grandma or grandpa dies, but when it’s someone your age? It’s terrifying. It’s almost dreamlike when the news of death finally sinks in. I find it never truly settles in your stomach. At least for myself, the feeling sits like a haze that never quite clears; it’s incomprehensible. I wish that I could wake up from this terrible nightmare but it’s a terrible lucid dream I cannot escape, only experience. It’s when you don’t wake up from the dream that your stomach feels the heaviest. It’s never when you’re told nor when you’re processing the news.

That is the unsettled feeling I felt as my gaze passed the pews and dead set on the large blown-up photo of her. Her hair was uncharacteristically perfect, probably due to it being her senior year portrait. The look in her eyes was haunting me, glazed over in the photo as her voice echoed “you’re my only friend, you know that?” I winced as the guilt swished around in the pit of my stomach. Eyebrows furrowed at the thought of those words over and over again, how much truth was behind them? If that was the truth, why couldn’t I have somehow saved you, Sharon?

Best friends tell each other everything. Best friends tell each other crushes, best friends tell each other when the outfit they’re wearing is terrible, best friends share jewelry and clothing. Best friends don’t abandon the other one without an inkling of an explanation. Best friends are there for each other forever. I pushed my anger down along with my other emotions. Stay calm, I reminded myself, stay calm.

Her brother looked over at me with a small yet sad smile. It was obvious that he’s been crying more than I have with his tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. The blue eyes that I often saw rolling at Sharon and I's shenanigans, before laughing and joining in, seemed so lifeless. He always seemed like one of us despite being two years older. How did we not see the signs? I wanted to shut up the inner voice in my head, but I just couldn’t. If we were so close to Sharon, how did we not see anything? Involuntarily, my lip began to tremble as a weak smile attempted to stretch over my face.

The atmosphere was heavy, weighing down on me. My mom squeezes my hand, “Zela, it’s time…” her voice was soft. My limbs felt like they were overcooked noodles as Simon helped me to the podium. Why the fuck am I speaking at your funeral instead of your wedding Sharon? It haunts me as I stand staring at your family and our school peers in this black dress. I would much rather prefer to be wearing something I hate, something pastel that you would’ve wanted for your bridesmaids. This is not the white I wanted to see you in, surrounded by plush purple velvet and terrifying doll-like features.

I almost wonder what it’s like to die. Did this bring you some sort of peace? I’ve never seen you so lifeless- do you know how much I miss you? You’re such an asshole. I couldn’t say this aloud, no matter how much I wanted to. It won’t bring you back, nor help the others “cherish your memory”.

It feels like I’m on autopilot with my thoughts, but none of them leave my lips, not even a croak or a whisper. Words of memories were caught in my throat, begging to be heard somehow. My lungs burned for air as I held back my sobs, ears ringing as I zoned out. It was dizzy as I seemed to have pushed past Simon while running out the doors of the chapel.

Is this what a panic attack felt like? Tan hands cover my ears and tug on the brown strands atop of my head. A sob ripped out of my throat violently, my heart was palpitating. My knees were greeted by the coolness of the mist of green grass. Some may see this as melodramatic- but is it when you blame yourself?

Surprisingly, both Simon and my mother rushed to see me. There was a part of me that felt like an attention whore. Was I taking attention from Sharon? No, I could only hope they moved on past me. “Zela?” my mother’s tender voice greeted me, a rough, wrinkled hand joining her. I could smell her perfume mingled with his cologne. I knew it was Simon. Another sob ripped from my throat. This was the first time I cried over her. How embarrassing that I still can’t speak.

“Oh Zela…” my mother wrapped me in her warm embrace, eyes holding a sympathetic stare towards Simon. Even the tenderest of touches manages to hurt. I could hear my mother choke up and Simon excuse himself. He had to go back to his grieving family, of course.

“It’s my fault…” the only words spoken in between sobs. I wasn’t looking for pity when I said that. I am genuinely taking the blame. Not that I murdered her, but it felt that way. I’m somewhat sure Simon felt the same as I did. She always joked that we should be together, her brother and I, but we always denied the idea. I guess now you brought us together, though in a different way. I’ve never looked at him the way you thought I did, though I don’t know the same about him.

It takes me a half-hour to compose myself. I didn’t want to go back in there and see your casket, but it would be rude not to see your family. My mother tries her best to convince me that it wasn’t my fault though it wasn’t really working. Thankfully, they’re done with the epitaphs, and all that is left is the visitation.

Granted, I’ve already seen what you look like ghostly pale, but that doesn’t make things any easier to process. Especially seeing classmates here who didn’t even give a damn about you. Girls who barely shared one class with you the entire four years of high school sobbed over the top of your face, which was frozen forever at seventeen. Tragically, so fake.

Simon and I glanced at each other with a grim expression. Can’t even imagine how the family is feeling. Sharon didn’t leave a note, a reason- nothing. I would curse at her if I could but yelling at her dead body seemed almost morally fucked up. Besides, why am I mad at her? She was clearly hurting, it’s never selfish. It was clearly a move out of desperation- she wouldn’t do this as her first option. Or second. Or third. Why did she not come to us? Did she tell us and we didn’t know? There were so many questions running through my brain as I seemed to walk on autopilot. The only thing snapping me out of my daze was the feeling of hands tenderly rubbing the sides of my arms. His cologne entered my nose again, it was obviously Simon.

“It’s going to be okay…” the twenty-year-old muttered in my ear. Somehow, he was more comforting than my mother as we both hovered the casket. Maybe it was because he understood the feelings I was going through. He knows the grief of feeling like it’s his fault. I close my eyes and lean into my friend’s embrace.

“It’s my fault, Simon…” I could almost feel him shake his head as we moved past saying our final goodbyes. “Fuck Zela… Please don’t think that.” It’s like I could read his mind. We both knew we should stop blaming ourselves, but the guilt still lingers in the air even if us thinking like this isn’t what Sharon wanted.