WREN
It isn’t raining at Sophia’s funeral, but it should be.
This is the first funeral I’ve been to. It should be my second. I should’ve been there for Tallie’s funeral, when Avery buried her in the woods. It was so dark that night that Jack never saw Tallie. He only saw the blood covering Sophia, and panicked. He rode away with her in the ambulance.
Avery and I noticed, though. But I ran, terrified by it all. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can still hear Avery shouting “Coward!” after me.
I look at Avery’s face now. She’s standing away from the rest of the crowd gathered around the coffin on the grass. She’s practically hiding in the shadows of a tree, to the very end ashamed of what she’d done to Sophia.
As she should be. As I should be.
There are so many shoulds—things we didn’t do and can’t do, anymore. Regrets hang heavy over all of us at Sophia’s funeral.
Isis stands solemn, next to Naomi—Sophia’s nurse—and Jack’s mother. It’s a small funeral; all of Sophia’s family is dead, and her friends few. The priest drones Bible verse after Bible verse. Isis meets my eyes, her own wet and miserable. Her every emotion is written on her face.
I turn my eyes to Jack and see the exact opposite. His expression is blank, completely devoid of any feeling at all. It’s like looking at an empty canvas or a blank sheet of paper. There should be something, anything, even the slightest splash of color, but there isn’t. He’s always been cold, but this is…unnatural. If I look at him too long, I feel a shiver coming on. A human being shouldn’t look like that, unless he’s totally and completely lifeless. His mother clutches his elbow, sobbing, and yet he doesn’t move an inch, watching the casket with a steady gaze.
Avery is crying, too, but silently. She’s afraid she’ll draw Jack’s attention, I’m sure. Ever since that night, she’s always been afraid of him. After what she did, I’m sure Jack wanted to make her life a living hell, but something stopped him. If I had to guess, it was Sophia, calming him down as she always did so expertly.
And now she’s gone.
Jack’s lost a part of himself—anyone can see that. Isis’s brown eyes skitter over to him every so often, lingering on the hard lines of his face, his slack hands at his sides. She looks like she wants to go over and comfort him, but she doesn’t know how. She looks like she’s unsure if she’s even allowed to touch him in his grief.
It’s obvious Isis likes him. And for a while, it was obvious Jack liked her. But now? Whatever the two of them were beginning to feel for each other is over. It has to be. Sophia’s death leveled us all, all the friendships we’d been building, all the relationships. I confronted Jack earlier this month, something like respect blossoming between us again, but I know that’s gone now. I’ve even been pushing Kayla away, embracing fully the gray cloak of sadness around me. Do I even deserve to be happy with someone, after what I did to Sophia? Do any of us?
The priest finishes his prayers, and the pallbearers lower the coffin and begin to shovel dirt on it. Naomi collapses at the pit’s side, wailing and reaching for her. She’d taken care of Sophia for so long—she was the closest thing Sophia had to a mother. Naomi knew better than any of us that Sophia was going to die, but not like this. Not by her own hand, out of despair, or tiredness.
That’s the worst part—that we’ll never know why she did it. There was no note, not a single clue left behind as to why. When Isis and I first saw each other in the graveyard parking lot, she walked over and shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Wren. It’s my fault.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“I should’ve seen the signs.” She clutched her head. “I was the one who hung out with her the most—she told me. She told me she was going to do it in a thousand different ways, but I was too stupid to see them. Too naive. I should’ve known. I should’ve known and I’m sorry. God I’m sorry—”
She started to cry. I offered her a hug, and she took it, clutching at me like I was a lifesaver thrown overboard to a drowning person.
I tried to say “it’ll be okay,” but the words got caught in my throat. There’s a chance things will never be okay again. They’ll never be the same, no matter how much I want them to be.
I watch Sophia as they lower her into the ground and feel a wave of sick heat wash over me. She’s gone, forever. It hits me just then—I’m never going to see her again. I’m never going to get the chance to apologize to her. I spent years working up the courage and failed. I failed her. I betrayed her friendship; all those years spent as kids together, growing up together, all forgotten just because I was afraid of Avery.
Isis starts crying as the last dirt goes on the coffin. Unlike Naomi, she cries completely silently, tears streaming down her face.
Jack doesn’t shed a tear.
After the funeral, my mom picks me up from the graveyard. She leaves me alone, thankfully, not asking a single question. Emotionally exhausted, I collapse into bed.
My phone won’t leave me alone; a text message blares on the screen. It’s from Kayla.
Hey you, it reads. How are you doing?
Tired, I text back. It was awful.
Kayla’s grandmother had fallen down some stairs, and her mother rushed her out to the East Coast to see her, just in case. She’d tried to get out of it to come to Sophia’s funeral and support Isis and me, but her mother had an iron fist—family first, friends second.
I’m sorry, she says. I’ll be home in two days, and then we can talk about it.
Yeah. I’m looking forward to that.
Stay strong! :-) :-) :-) :-)
Somehow, the cartoonish smiley faces make me feel a little better. Kayla in general makes me feel better—something I’ve always known but never told anyone. Since that night at Avery’s party when Avery locked the two of us inside the room, Kayla and I have gotten closer. It started with me trying to calm her down that night, and then grew to walking to class together, bonding over our shared experiences of how horrible Avery was to us. Soon, she was asking me to help her with her math homework, and offered me rides home in exchange.
She’s gorgeous, and much smarter than anyone gives her credit for. She doesn’t have the razor wit of Isis or Jack, and she’s a little naive, but that only makes me like her more.
But I haven’t told her.
I’ve asked her out to prom, and somehow, beyond belief, she said yes. But now? Now I don’t know how to go to prom. I don’t know how to wake up tomorrow. What should I say? What should I do? Do I show my sadness, or hide it away where no one can see? I have to pretend I’m okay, for my family and Kayla. I can’t make them worry more than they already are.
“I’m sorry, Sophia,” I murmur into my pillow, the tears finally coming to me, far too late. Only in the quiet privacy does my numbness wear off. The sorrow grabs at me, deep and aching.
The sun sets, thick clouds lashing rain against my window, as if the world is crying with me.
In the midst of the storm, Kayla texts once more.
I just talked to Isis. I’m worried. Will things be okay? Will you guys ever be okay again?
It takes me a moment to sit up and wipe my eyes enough to see her words. My own hiccups sound so pathetic. But at least I can still cry. At least I’m alive to keep crying. Sophia doesn’t have that luxury anymore.
Whatever she was feeling, killing herself wasn’t the answer. Even if it was what she wanted, it wasn’t what she needed. She needed time. She needed more life, not death. That’s all I know for sure anymore.
I don’t know, I text back finally, my fingers shaking. But I’m going to try.
The next morning, I hike up to Avery’s cabin by Lake Galonagah. Tallie’s cross is right where we left it that night. I haven’t seen it since I was thirteen.
Someone stands in front of the grave, someone wearing a stylish jacket and jeans, her red hair dancing like flames as the wind teases it. It’s her first time up here since that night, too.
I pull air into my lungs and use it like courage. Like iron.
I walk up to the girl, and the grave, for the first time in five years.
“Hello, Tallie,” I say to the cross. Avery is quiet, staring at the little patch of dirt that holds our greatest regret, and then she echoes me softly.
“Hello, Tallie.”