Part Of Me Forever
1/1
“Mrs. Anderson?” I asked meekly, opening the door to our school’s therapist. She swiveled to face me in her chair, a pair of ruby red plastic glasses enhancing her vision. The office itself was pretty standard: a couple of plants, a black sofa, and a window overlooking the courtyard of our high school. “Can I talk to you?”
She smiled softly at me before motioning towards the couch. “Of course, Merrick.” I set my bag down by my feet as I allowed myself to be enveloped in the black cushions. “What would you like to talk about?”
“About Amanda,” I responded softly, and her eyes seemed to project every emotion known to man.
“You know, Merrick, it’s perfectly normal to be feeling lost and confused when someone in your community dies, especially when it’s suicide. Even if you didn’t know her, it’s –“
But I cut her off as soon as she said the last bit, knowing that now was my only chance to get it off my chest. To get everything out in the open, to know if what I did was wrong. “I knew her, Mrs. Anderson.”
“You did?” She clarified, and I nodded. She slowly reached into one of the drawers of her desk, pulling out a thick oak tag folder and a piece of loose lined paper. “We didn’t have you down as a person who we thought could use counseling. You should have said something, dear.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s alright. Our friendship was kind of… one sided.”
Mrs. Anderson cocked her head. “From her perspective, or from yours?”
“Hers.”
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”Hey Merrick!” Amanda exclaimed one morning as she approached the joint bus stop between my house and hers. Her house, a light brown ranch, was just down the street from mine, but in an effort to save time on the bus the school decided to join our two stops together. She reached out to pull me into a hug, her arms tight around my middle while mine barely touched her. My brother Andrew, a freshman, smirked as he watched the scene unfold before him. “Hi, Andy,” she said, and he waved. “How’re you?” Andrew – he absolutely despised being called Andy – just shrugged and began picking at his nails. “He’s so weird sometimes, Merrick,” Amanda said under her breath to me, and I felt my blood boil.
That always happened whenever she insulted Andrew. And it happened quite often.
“He’s not weird,” I muttered, and Andrew looked up. Amanda shrugged.
“Well, here’s the bus. Do you want to sit with me?”
“Uh…” I muttered, trying to pull something out of my head. “I promised my friend I’d sit with her and help her with some work. Sorry.” Andrew rolled his eyes.
Amanda shrugged, her shoulders barely reaching mine. For a sophomore, she was short as hell. And not just short, but stubby, too. She had wild, frizzy black hair and teeth so crooked and yellow that her braces seemed to just make it worse. She carried all her weight awkwardly around her middle, and when she walked it looked more like a waddle.
The bus pulled up to the stop, and the three of us crossed the street to enter. Andrew found a seat with the freshman, Amanda with some sophomores, and I with my fellow juniors. My friend Taylor chuckled. “Why do you put up with her?” She questioned, and I shrugged, adjusting my bag on my lap.
“You make it sound like I enjoy being around her,” I mumbled.
“I don’t mean that,” she defended as I just picked at my cuticles. “I mean that she follows you around like a fucking lost puppy. Doesn’t she have any friends?”
I nodded. “She’s friends with Jillian and Olivia and those girls.” Taylor just scoffed.
“You mean the lesbians and the super senior?” Olivia, the super senior, was a girl who was repeating her senior year. Amanda said that she wasn’t stupid or anything, she just didn’t apply herself when she really ought to have. Amanda’s mother, though, called her a burn out and said she was no good to be around.
“Yeah, sure, those girls.” I didn’t want to say anything else about those girls, because I had never met them. I had only heard stories about them from Amanda.
“Well, I heard that Jillian and Olivia are going out,” Taylor added proudly, as if this information was big news. Too bad I found out weeks ago from Amanda.
“I haven’t heard that one,” I responded with a monotone voice.
“Oh,” Taylor muttered, and the conversation stopped.
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“So she was rude to your brother?” Mrs. Anderson clarified, and I nodded.
“I hate it when people pick on Andrew. I absolutely hate it,” I seethed, and she looked at me with comforting eyes. “And it was completely hypocritical, too, you know? She had ADD or ADHD or whatever the fuck she had, and Andrew has ADD, too. You would assume that she would understand that he stutters slightly, or that sometimes he needs things repeated to him. But she just constantly made fun of him to his face and around me.”
“Well there’s no excuse for that,” she reasoned, and I sighed.
“Yeah, no excuse.” I paused, before continuing. “Whatever she had, it was hard to describe. It’s not like something that you can forgive a person for having, you know? Like, she was fully aware of how she came across and how she made people feel when she was around them, or at least she had the capability to.” I shrugged.
“No, I understand what you mean,” Mrs. Anderson said. The room was silent for a moment, before she asked, “Do you think the people she hung out with were part of the reason she was picked on?”
“Totally,” I replied calmly. “I don’t think people in our school are homophobic, but these girls were…” I paused, looking for the right word that wouldn’t make me sound like a total jerk. “Just, weird, I guess. And then the fact that Olivia and Jillian made out in the hallways made it worse.”
“So people were okay with it in theory, but when you actually have to witness it, it’s a different story?” She asked, and I nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
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“Uh, Merrick, I’m so frustrated!” Amanda exclaimed one afternoon as she approached me in the halls. My friends that I had been walking with suddenly turned the corner, even though our class was straight ahead.
When Amanda spoke, it was impossible to understand what she was saying. Usually I just nodded and said ‘Yeah, of course’. The ironic thing was, she loved acting and singing, yet her speech was terrible. Of course, she wasn’t very good. Her older sister told her to quit all the time, and whom did she come running to when there was a problem? Me. I always had to pick up the pieces, even though I was the one shattering them by hating her behind her back.
“Why?” I asked, holding my books tighter to my chest.
“My parents won’t let me join the GSA!” She exclaimed, and I barely caught what she was saying.
“They what?”
“They won’t let me join the GSA – the Gay Straight Alliance!” She repeated, and I nodded.
“Why not?” I asked, stopping in front of my class, in hopes that she would take the hint and end the conversation now.
“Because they’re complete homophobes,” Amanda groaned, and I bit my lip.
“What kind of clubs do they want you to join?”
“My sister’s club – the cooking club. I –“
“Look, Amanda, I’ve got to go to class. I’ll talk to you later, though, okay?”
“Wait, Merrick,” Amanda glanced around, her sweatshirt riding up and exposing a chunk of fat around her midsection. “You do know I’m bisexual, right?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but closed it. Did I know she was bisexual? No. She had a boyfriend before (how she ever got a boyfriend, I’ll never know) but I had no idea. “No, I didn’t,” I muttered softly, realizing that this was the kind of moment where I was yet again being pulled into Amanda’s life unwillingly.
“Well, don’t tell anyone, okay?” She asked, and I promised I wouldn’t. She smiled and nodded, and I just sighed from relief as she walked away. What made her think that I cared about her problems? And why did I feel so conflicted because I didn’t?
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“Did you feel uncomfortable about her bisexuality?” Mrs. Anderson asked, and I paused.
“I… I don’t know. Initially, no, I didn’t. But after she started confiding more and more personal things to me, she became more… affectionate around me. Like we’d walk home from the bus and she’d hold my hand, or try and wrap an arm around me. Or she’d invite me over to hang out at her house and she’d play with my hair or press up against me.” I stopped, and then continued my voice in a low whisper, “One time I slept at her house because we lost electricity at mine, and she had a spare bed in her room, so I slept there. She tried to get me to spoon with her. To fucking spoon with her!” Mrs. Anderson jotted something down quickly, before looking back up at me. “And then all these rumors started going around that she had a lesbian crush on me, and… and…”
“And you were embarrassed?” She questioned, but I shook my head.
“I wasn’t embarrassed, Mrs. Anderson. I can handle myself in my grade socially. I’m fine with that kind of stuff. And whenever someone would ask me about it I would just laugh and say ‘Oh, don’t worry, I hate her as much as you do,’ because I did hate her! Honestly, I hated her more than anyone hated her. She was rude to my brother; she clung to me and followed me around. I despised her!” The therapist nodded, yet her eyes burrowed into me like I was leaving something out. “And… the fact that people hated her so much didn’t make me want to hang around her anymore,” I mumbled, feeling pathetic for openly admitting that other people’s opinions of someone influenced my own.
“That’s completely natural, Merrick. Albeit, not good, but natural,” she consoled, but I just shrugged. It didn’t feel natural.
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“That was hilarious!” My friend Rose exclaimed, pounding her fist on the table as Kyle finished his story. We all laughed for a few seconds, until I felt something cold dripping down my leg. “Oh, shit!” Rose yelled. “I’m so sorry!” I glanced down to see that her water had been knocked over and was seeping through my jeans. I just shrugged.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to go to the bathroom to clean it up. I’ll be right back.” I excused myself from the table and stood up, the wet blotch seeping a bit further down my leg.
I made my way quickly to the nearest bathroom, only to see a gang of sophomore girls exit. “Don’t go in there,” one of them said with a giggle. “Unless you want to deal with Amanda Morgan.” As the walked away I sighed to myself, letting my moral compass spin around and around, until it landed on the door to the girl’s bathroom. I pushed it open, and sure enough I could hear the sobs of Amanda coming from one of the stalls.
“Amanda?” I called softly, and she stopped crying at the sound of my voice.
“Merrick? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s Merrick,” I mumbled, hoping I’d be able to get back to my friends as soon as possible. She opened the door quickly and tackled me in a hug, tears staining my shirt.
When she finally calmed down she pulled away and sank to the floor, with me following slowly. “My day’s been going terribly,” she muttered, tracing the outline of the linoleum tiles.
“Why?” I questioned, and she just shrugged.
“My mom said I looked fat this morning.”
“You don’t look fat,” I lied, and she smiled.
“Thanks.” She paused, and I wondered if that was it – if I had solved her problem by dishing out a false compliment. “Olivia’s going to introduce me to a girl from a different school this afternoon,” she said cheerfully.
“That’s nice,” I responded, and Amanda nodded.
“I don’t know why I was so upset. My day’s been going pretty well. I think it’s just the anti-depressants that I’ve been put on –“
“Wait,” I said, cutting her off swiftly. “You’re on anti-depressants?” Amanda nodded. “Are you… suicidal?” I asked, nearly whispering the last bit like it was some kind of taboo word. Amanda just shrugged.
“I’ve thought about it, but I think I’m okay.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good.” I stopped, and then continued, “I have to go, actually. But I’ll see you later, okay?” Amanda grinned and hugged me from the ground (much to my dismay) before I quickly exited the bathroom.
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“So you know she was suicidal?” Mrs. Anderson asked incredulously, but I just shook my head.
“No. Well, yes. I knew she was depressed. But she was on medication and she was seeing a therapist, so what else was I supposed to do?” I argued, and Mrs. Anderson pursed her lips.
“How was Amanda’s home life?” She asked, swiftly changing the subject. “Did it ever affect you?”
“All the time,” I replied, before continuing, “She was the classic middle child. She had a perfect older sister who her parents adored, and a younger brother who they spoiled rotten. They treated her and her sister differently, too. My mom was talking to her mom one day, and she made some comment like ‘we shelter Amanda more because she’s a follower, and we don’t want her to get into any bad groups’ or something like that. I mean, their intentions were good, I guess, but they went about it the completely wrong way. It was really screwing Amanda up.”
“Did she and her mom fight a lot?” She wondered. I just nodded.
“All the time. She said that her mom got so pissed at her one time; she had to call her grandma and ask to be picked up. She just didn’t feel safe at home. Especially once she discovered she was bisexual. Her parents are complete homophobes.” I paused, then resumed, “But you could never be too sure if what Amanda was saying was true or not. She could be… over-dramatic, at times.”
“You seem to know her very well,” the therapist chided, “considering this was someone you obviously didn’t want to be around.”
I breathed deeply, before saying, “When I was with Amanda, it was like my morals were put into question. There was like a feeling of responsibility when you were around her, you know? Like, she didn’t know how to stand up for herself properly, so I did it for her. But the sick thing was, that once she was out of earshot, I’d turn to the people that made fun of her and laugh along with them. I don’t know…” My voice trailed off at the end, my eyes staring out into space. “And I didn’t want her to hate me, at the same time. People always asked me why I didn’t just tell her to fuck off, and I would just shrug. But I guess I cared about what she thought about me, even though I hated her.” I added absentmindedly, and Mrs. Anderson wrote things down like a maniac.
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”Morning, Amanda,” I said a month or so later as the sophomore approached the bus stop. She glanced up at me and smiled, though I could tell something was off. It wasn’t her normal, toothy grin I saw hundreds of times a day, but a soft, weak smile. “You feeling okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been kind of tired lately.” I bit my lip, but just nodded. Amanda, Andrew and I then waited for the bus in silence. I didn’t see Amanda for the rest of the day, except for last period. I was walking from the computer lab to the cafeteria to meet up with some friends who I was doing a history project with, and I heard her voice instantly from an empty classroom. She was choking on sobs, and I could hear the occasional voice of two other girls, who I assumed were Jillian and Olivia.
“You don’t understand!” She exclaimed in between sobs. “She was awful to me! You said Brenda would like me, but she hated me!”
“I know, and I’m so sorry,” another girl cooed, and I stood pressed against the wall, straining to hear their conversation. “But we’ll find you a girl, don’t worry.”
“What about that Merrick girl?” A different girl asked, and Amanda sniffled pathetically. I could feel my heart beating faster, fearing the worst.
“She’s one of my best friends, Jillian, she’d never look at me like that. Besides, she’s completely straight.”
“Maybe you just have to flirt with her more? Everyone’s a little bisexual, Merrick is no exception.” I silently prayed to a god I didn’t believe in to keep Amanda away from me. The last thing I needed was her making me feel more uncomfortable.
“I’ve tried,” Amanda responded softly. “I’m always holding her hand or touching her hair, but she doesn’t budge. I think she may have a crush on Kyle Brown, anyway.” Wrong. Kyle was my best guy friend, and he was totally into Mary Goldberg, but for the sake of the conversation going on in front of me, I’d take it.
“Then tell her how you feel!” The other girl encouraged, and I felt my heart sink.
“I can’t risk it.” She paused. “My mom read my texts last night, and she saw my texts to Brenda.”
“The sexual ones?” One of the two girls asked softly.
“Yeah, those.” Amanda replied. “I don’t know what she’s going to do, but I’m scared to go home.” I couldn’t listen to this any longer; I had to get out of there. I turned on my heel and ran as fast as I could, away from the school and away from Amanda.
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“When did that happen?” Mrs. Anderson asked, and I blinked.
“Four weeks ago from tomorrow,” I replied quickly, and she swallowed.
“That was… the day before she killed herself, wasn’t it?” I just nodded.
“Did you have anymore contact with her before she killed herself?”
I nodded again, tears beginning to pool in my eyes. This was the hardest part. “She texted me the next night. I… I don’t think it was meant for me. I think she meant to text someone else, but texted me instead.”
“What did she text?” The women pressed gently.
“’I’m going to do it. I’m going to kill myself.’” I repeated, my throat beginning to tighten. “I didn’t think it was for me, because she never mentioned actually committing suicide. At least not around me. The way she phrased it, it made it sound like she had talked about it before. I don’t get good service around my house, so it said she texted me at 9:56, but I got the message at 10:28. I didn’t think, I just ran. I grabbed a coat and ran to her house. I didn’t even put shoes on.” I chuckled hollowly, the tears softly streaming down my face. “By the time I had ran to her house, I had a piece of glass in my heel and I had twisted my ankle. I ran to her window, and I saw her. I saw her on the ground with the pills all around her. I banged on the window, trying to wake her up, but she didn’t move. I kept banging until her parents heard and opened her door. I couldn’t look, I couldn’t watch. I heard screaming and crying, and I just curled up into a ball under her window and cried. I knew she was dead. I knew it was too late. I must have cried myself to sleep, because soon I heard ambulances, and when I woke up I started running again. I ran down the block and spent the night on a bench on the sidewalk. I just… I just… I couldn’t feel anything. I felt sick, but I couldn’t throw up. I was cold, but I couldn’t be bothered to walk home.”
Mrs. Anderson remained quiet and I sobbed quietly. “Andrew came and got me the next morning. He didn’t say anything, he just walked me home.”
“Merrick, I’d like you to come and visit me a few more times, how does that sound?” She asked sweetly, though I saw right through it. Wiping my tears and grabbing my bag, I shook my head.
“No,” I replied forcefully. “I just needed to tell someone. Telling someone and talking about it are two different things. I’m not talking about it. I’m over it.”
She smiled softly at me before motioning towards the couch. “Of course, Merrick.” I set my bag down by my feet as I allowed myself to be enveloped in the black cushions. “What would you like to talk about?”
“About Amanda,” I responded softly, and her eyes seemed to project every emotion known to man.
“You know, Merrick, it’s perfectly normal to be feeling lost and confused when someone in your community dies, especially when it’s suicide. Even if you didn’t know her, it’s –“
But I cut her off as soon as she said the last bit, knowing that now was my only chance to get it off my chest. To get everything out in the open, to know if what I did was wrong. “I knew her, Mrs. Anderson.”
“You did?” She clarified, and I nodded. She slowly reached into one of the drawers of her desk, pulling out a thick oak tag folder and a piece of loose lined paper. “We didn’t have you down as a person who we thought could use counseling. You should have said something, dear.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s alright. Our friendship was kind of… one sided.”
Mrs. Anderson cocked her head. “From her perspective, or from yours?”
“Hers.”
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”Hey Merrick!” Amanda exclaimed one morning as she approached the joint bus stop between my house and hers. Her house, a light brown ranch, was just down the street from mine, but in an effort to save time on the bus the school decided to join our two stops together. She reached out to pull me into a hug, her arms tight around my middle while mine barely touched her. My brother Andrew, a freshman, smirked as he watched the scene unfold before him. “Hi, Andy,” she said, and he waved. “How’re you?” Andrew – he absolutely despised being called Andy – just shrugged and began picking at his nails. “He’s so weird sometimes, Merrick,” Amanda said under her breath to me, and I felt my blood boil.
That always happened whenever she insulted Andrew. And it happened quite often.
“He’s not weird,” I muttered, and Andrew looked up. Amanda shrugged.
“Well, here’s the bus. Do you want to sit with me?”
“Uh…” I muttered, trying to pull something out of my head. “I promised my friend I’d sit with her and help her with some work. Sorry.” Andrew rolled his eyes.
Amanda shrugged, her shoulders barely reaching mine. For a sophomore, she was short as hell. And not just short, but stubby, too. She had wild, frizzy black hair and teeth so crooked and yellow that her braces seemed to just make it worse. She carried all her weight awkwardly around her middle, and when she walked it looked more like a waddle.
The bus pulled up to the stop, and the three of us crossed the street to enter. Andrew found a seat with the freshman, Amanda with some sophomores, and I with my fellow juniors. My friend Taylor chuckled. “Why do you put up with her?” She questioned, and I shrugged, adjusting my bag on my lap.
“You make it sound like I enjoy being around her,” I mumbled.
“I don’t mean that,” she defended as I just picked at my cuticles. “I mean that she follows you around like a fucking lost puppy. Doesn’t she have any friends?”
I nodded. “She’s friends with Jillian and Olivia and those girls.” Taylor just scoffed.
“You mean the lesbians and the super senior?” Olivia, the super senior, was a girl who was repeating her senior year. Amanda said that she wasn’t stupid or anything, she just didn’t apply herself when she really ought to have. Amanda’s mother, though, called her a burn out and said she was no good to be around.
“Yeah, sure, those girls.” I didn’t want to say anything else about those girls, because I had never met them. I had only heard stories about them from Amanda.
“Well, I heard that Jillian and Olivia are going out,” Taylor added proudly, as if this information was big news. Too bad I found out weeks ago from Amanda.
“I haven’t heard that one,” I responded with a monotone voice.
“Oh,” Taylor muttered, and the conversation stopped.
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“So she was rude to your brother?” Mrs. Anderson clarified, and I nodded.
“I hate it when people pick on Andrew. I absolutely hate it,” I seethed, and she looked at me with comforting eyes. “And it was completely hypocritical, too, you know? She had ADD or ADHD or whatever the fuck she had, and Andrew has ADD, too. You would assume that she would understand that he stutters slightly, or that sometimes he needs things repeated to him. But she just constantly made fun of him to his face and around me.”
“Well there’s no excuse for that,” she reasoned, and I sighed.
“Yeah, no excuse.” I paused, before continuing. “Whatever she had, it was hard to describe. It’s not like something that you can forgive a person for having, you know? Like, she was fully aware of how she came across and how she made people feel when she was around them, or at least she had the capability to.” I shrugged.
“No, I understand what you mean,” Mrs. Anderson said. The room was silent for a moment, before she asked, “Do you think the people she hung out with were part of the reason she was picked on?”
“Totally,” I replied calmly. “I don’t think people in our school are homophobic, but these girls were…” I paused, looking for the right word that wouldn’t make me sound like a total jerk. “Just, weird, I guess. And then the fact that Olivia and Jillian made out in the hallways made it worse.”
“So people were okay with it in theory, but when you actually have to witness it, it’s a different story?” She asked, and I nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
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“Uh, Merrick, I’m so frustrated!” Amanda exclaimed one afternoon as she approached me in the halls. My friends that I had been walking with suddenly turned the corner, even though our class was straight ahead.
When Amanda spoke, it was impossible to understand what she was saying. Usually I just nodded and said ‘Yeah, of course’. The ironic thing was, she loved acting and singing, yet her speech was terrible. Of course, she wasn’t very good. Her older sister told her to quit all the time, and whom did she come running to when there was a problem? Me. I always had to pick up the pieces, even though I was the one shattering them by hating her behind her back.
“Why?” I asked, holding my books tighter to my chest.
“My parents won’t let me join the GSA!” She exclaimed, and I barely caught what she was saying.
“They what?”
“They won’t let me join the GSA – the Gay Straight Alliance!” She repeated, and I nodded.
“Why not?” I asked, stopping in front of my class, in hopes that she would take the hint and end the conversation now.
“Because they’re complete homophobes,” Amanda groaned, and I bit my lip.
“What kind of clubs do they want you to join?”
“My sister’s club – the cooking club. I –“
“Look, Amanda, I’ve got to go to class. I’ll talk to you later, though, okay?”
“Wait, Merrick,” Amanda glanced around, her sweatshirt riding up and exposing a chunk of fat around her midsection. “You do know I’m bisexual, right?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but closed it. Did I know she was bisexual? No. She had a boyfriend before (how she ever got a boyfriend, I’ll never know) but I had no idea. “No, I didn’t,” I muttered softly, realizing that this was the kind of moment where I was yet again being pulled into Amanda’s life unwillingly.
“Well, don’t tell anyone, okay?” She asked, and I promised I wouldn’t. She smiled and nodded, and I just sighed from relief as she walked away. What made her think that I cared about her problems? And why did I feel so conflicted because I didn’t?
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“Did you feel uncomfortable about her bisexuality?” Mrs. Anderson asked, and I paused.
“I… I don’t know. Initially, no, I didn’t. But after she started confiding more and more personal things to me, she became more… affectionate around me. Like we’d walk home from the bus and she’d hold my hand, or try and wrap an arm around me. Or she’d invite me over to hang out at her house and she’d play with my hair or press up against me.” I stopped, and then continued my voice in a low whisper, “One time I slept at her house because we lost electricity at mine, and she had a spare bed in her room, so I slept there. She tried to get me to spoon with her. To fucking spoon with her!” Mrs. Anderson jotted something down quickly, before looking back up at me. “And then all these rumors started going around that she had a lesbian crush on me, and… and…”
“And you were embarrassed?” She questioned, but I shook my head.
“I wasn’t embarrassed, Mrs. Anderson. I can handle myself in my grade socially. I’m fine with that kind of stuff. And whenever someone would ask me about it I would just laugh and say ‘Oh, don’t worry, I hate her as much as you do,’ because I did hate her! Honestly, I hated her more than anyone hated her. She was rude to my brother; she clung to me and followed me around. I despised her!” The therapist nodded, yet her eyes burrowed into me like I was leaving something out. “And… the fact that people hated her so much didn’t make me want to hang around her anymore,” I mumbled, feeling pathetic for openly admitting that other people’s opinions of someone influenced my own.
“That’s completely natural, Merrick. Albeit, not good, but natural,” she consoled, but I just shrugged. It didn’t feel natural.
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“That was hilarious!” My friend Rose exclaimed, pounding her fist on the table as Kyle finished his story. We all laughed for a few seconds, until I felt something cold dripping down my leg. “Oh, shit!” Rose yelled. “I’m so sorry!” I glanced down to see that her water had been knocked over and was seeping through my jeans. I just shrugged.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to go to the bathroom to clean it up. I’ll be right back.” I excused myself from the table and stood up, the wet blotch seeping a bit further down my leg.
I made my way quickly to the nearest bathroom, only to see a gang of sophomore girls exit. “Don’t go in there,” one of them said with a giggle. “Unless you want to deal with Amanda Morgan.” As the walked away I sighed to myself, letting my moral compass spin around and around, until it landed on the door to the girl’s bathroom. I pushed it open, and sure enough I could hear the sobs of Amanda coming from one of the stalls.
“Amanda?” I called softly, and she stopped crying at the sound of my voice.
“Merrick? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s Merrick,” I mumbled, hoping I’d be able to get back to my friends as soon as possible. She opened the door quickly and tackled me in a hug, tears staining my shirt.
When she finally calmed down she pulled away and sank to the floor, with me following slowly. “My day’s been going terribly,” she muttered, tracing the outline of the linoleum tiles.
“Why?” I questioned, and she just shrugged.
“My mom said I looked fat this morning.”
“You don’t look fat,” I lied, and she smiled.
“Thanks.” She paused, and I wondered if that was it – if I had solved her problem by dishing out a false compliment. “Olivia’s going to introduce me to a girl from a different school this afternoon,” she said cheerfully.
“That’s nice,” I responded, and Amanda nodded.
“I don’t know why I was so upset. My day’s been going pretty well. I think it’s just the anti-depressants that I’ve been put on –“
“Wait,” I said, cutting her off swiftly. “You’re on anti-depressants?” Amanda nodded. “Are you… suicidal?” I asked, nearly whispering the last bit like it was some kind of taboo word. Amanda just shrugged.
“I’ve thought about it, but I think I’m okay.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good.” I stopped, and then continued, “I have to go, actually. But I’ll see you later, okay?” Amanda grinned and hugged me from the ground (much to my dismay) before I quickly exited the bathroom.
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“So you know she was suicidal?” Mrs. Anderson asked incredulously, but I just shook my head.
“No. Well, yes. I knew she was depressed. But she was on medication and she was seeing a therapist, so what else was I supposed to do?” I argued, and Mrs. Anderson pursed her lips.
“How was Amanda’s home life?” She asked, swiftly changing the subject. “Did it ever affect you?”
“All the time,” I replied, before continuing, “She was the classic middle child. She had a perfect older sister who her parents adored, and a younger brother who they spoiled rotten. They treated her and her sister differently, too. My mom was talking to her mom one day, and she made some comment like ‘we shelter Amanda more because she’s a follower, and we don’t want her to get into any bad groups’ or something like that. I mean, their intentions were good, I guess, but they went about it the completely wrong way. It was really screwing Amanda up.”
“Did she and her mom fight a lot?” She wondered. I just nodded.
“All the time. She said that her mom got so pissed at her one time; she had to call her grandma and ask to be picked up. She just didn’t feel safe at home. Especially once she discovered she was bisexual. Her parents are complete homophobes.” I paused, then resumed, “But you could never be too sure if what Amanda was saying was true or not. She could be… over-dramatic, at times.”
“You seem to know her very well,” the therapist chided, “considering this was someone you obviously didn’t want to be around.”
I breathed deeply, before saying, “When I was with Amanda, it was like my morals were put into question. There was like a feeling of responsibility when you were around her, you know? Like, she didn’t know how to stand up for herself properly, so I did it for her. But the sick thing was, that once she was out of earshot, I’d turn to the people that made fun of her and laugh along with them. I don’t know…” My voice trailed off at the end, my eyes staring out into space. “And I didn’t want her to hate me, at the same time. People always asked me why I didn’t just tell her to fuck off, and I would just shrug. But I guess I cared about what she thought about me, even though I hated her.” I added absentmindedly, and Mrs. Anderson wrote things down like a maniac.
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”Morning, Amanda,” I said a month or so later as the sophomore approached the bus stop. She glanced up at me and smiled, though I could tell something was off. It wasn’t her normal, toothy grin I saw hundreds of times a day, but a soft, weak smile. “You feeling okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been kind of tired lately.” I bit my lip, but just nodded. Amanda, Andrew and I then waited for the bus in silence. I didn’t see Amanda for the rest of the day, except for last period. I was walking from the computer lab to the cafeteria to meet up with some friends who I was doing a history project with, and I heard her voice instantly from an empty classroom. She was choking on sobs, and I could hear the occasional voice of two other girls, who I assumed were Jillian and Olivia.
“You don’t understand!” She exclaimed in between sobs. “She was awful to me! You said Brenda would like me, but she hated me!”
“I know, and I’m so sorry,” another girl cooed, and I stood pressed against the wall, straining to hear their conversation. “But we’ll find you a girl, don’t worry.”
“What about that Merrick girl?” A different girl asked, and Amanda sniffled pathetically. I could feel my heart beating faster, fearing the worst.
“She’s one of my best friends, Jillian, she’d never look at me like that. Besides, she’s completely straight.”
“Maybe you just have to flirt with her more? Everyone’s a little bisexual, Merrick is no exception.” I silently prayed to a god I didn’t believe in to keep Amanda away from me. The last thing I needed was her making me feel more uncomfortable.
“I’ve tried,” Amanda responded softly. “I’m always holding her hand or touching her hair, but she doesn’t budge. I think she may have a crush on Kyle Brown, anyway.” Wrong. Kyle was my best guy friend, and he was totally into Mary Goldberg, but for the sake of the conversation going on in front of me, I’d take it.
“Then tell her how you feel!” The other girl encouraged, and I felt my heart sink.
“I can’t risk it.” She paused. “My mom read my texts last night, and she saw my texts to Brenda.”
“The sexual ones?” One of the two girls asked softly.
“Yeah, those.” Amanda replied. “I don’t know what she’s going to do, but I’m scared to go home.” I couldn’t listen to this any longer; I had to get out of there. I turned on my heel and ran as fast as I could, away from the school and away from Amanda.
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“When did that happen?” Mrs. Anderson asked, and I blinked.
“Four weeks ago from tomorrow,” I replied quickly, and she swallowed.
“That was… the day before she killed herself, wasn’t it?” I just nodded.
“Did you have anymore contact with her before she killed herself?”
I nodded again, tears beginning to pool in my eyes. This was the hardest part. “She texted me the next night. I… I don’t think it was meant for me. I think she meant to text someone else, but texted me instead.”
“What did she text?” The women pressed gently.
“’I’m going to do it. I’m going to kill myself.’” I repeated, my throat beginning to tighten. “I didn’t think it was for me, because she never mentioned actually committing suicide. At least not around me. The way she phrased it, it made it sound like she had talked about it before. I don’t get good service around my house, so it said she texted me at 9:56, but I got the message at 10:28. I didn’t think, I just ran. I grabbed a coat and ran to her house. I didn’t even put shoes on.” I chuckled hollowly, the tears softly streaming down my face. “By the time I had ran to her house, I had a piece of glass in my heel and I had twisted my ankle. I ran to her window, and I saw her. I saw her on the ground with the pills all around her. I banged on the window, trying to wake her up, but she didn’t move. I kept banging until her parents heard and opened her door. I couldn’t look, I couldn’t watch. I heard screaming and crying, and I just curled up into a ball under her window and cried. I knew she was dead. I knew it was too late. I must have cried myself to sleep, because soon I heard ambulances, and when I woke up I started running again. I ran down the block and spent the night on a bench on the sidewalk. I just… I just… I couldn’t feel anything. I felt sick, but I couldn’t throw up. I was cold, but I couldn’t be bothered to walk home.”
Mrs. Anderson remained quiet and I sobbed quietly. “Andrew came and got me the next morning. He didn’t say anything, he just walked me home.”
“Merrick, I’d like you to come and visit me a few more times, how does that sound?” She asked sweetly, though I saw right through it. Wiping my tears and grabbing my bag, I shook my head.
“No,” I replied forcefully. “I just needed to tell someone. Telling someone and talking about it are two different things. I’m not talking about it. I’m over it.”
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I hope you enjoy it!