1,000 Stars are Passing By

I look around, the posters on the walls, the bedspread, neat and done up, the thick layer of dust covering it all. No one has had the guts to step into this room for more than two seconds before.

I made my bed before I went on that first tour, which never happened. Both making my bed and the tour. Erin didn't normally make her bed, either, but she did before she committed suicide. She stayed home from school, cleaned the whole house, and organized everything.

I really would like to know what she was thinking. If it were me, I would have done it so that I knew that everything would be in the proper place when I left the world. To assure myself that everything would be okay without me.

I walk the expanse of the room, after closing the door behind me. Our room was set up so that it was kind of divided, but still very meshed together. It is painted hot pink, Erin's favorite color, and neon green, the color that I thought would look cool with pink, since I never had a favorite. One wall is green, the one next to it is pink, then pink again, then green. The beds are on separate sides of the room, both in a corner.

My headboard is against the wall with the door on it, and her's is against the opposite wall. The wall behind my headboard is green, and the one behind her's pink. Except, in the center of our poster collages, is our names written in the opposite color, with two orange flowers on either side.

Aunt Helen sure had fun with that one.

We each had a book case, too. The top of her's is covered in her cheer trophies, the biggest one from the time her competitive squad won State. The top of mine has various things on it, the centerpiece being a copy of You First's first EP, held up on a little easel. Other things like guitar picks from concerts, tickets from movies and those same concerts, swimming trophies, stickers from CDs, also adorn it. Mine isn't as important looking as her's, but I want it to stay that way.

Then, practically the first thing you notice in the whole room, is the desk we shared. Our CDs lined on the shelves, books, sheet music, and finally, the computer. I half expect her suicide note to still be on the screen, if I were to turn it on.

Shoved in a vacant corner is a music stand. I never really needed it, once I memorized all the chords, but Erin still did. Once she took up cheer, she didn't really have time for that. I did, since that was the time Dalton and I started jamming together. I played the guitar, for a while, until we started taking it seriously.

I decided I needed to be the keyboardist, for some reason. I didn't like playing piano or guitar pieces for anyone, but would gladly play a beat from a Forever the Sickest Kids song on the synthetic machine in a heartbeat. I was comfortable with that particular instrument, somehow.

I visit her bookcase, smiling proudly at all the trophies. Ten for first, three for second, and two for third. Some of them are cheer, some of them are dance. On either side of her State trophy, there are two almost identical ones, the only difference is the year. She won first in the solo dance for her team two years in a row, she probably would have won three years, but she quit before she could.

More like was booted off because her grades slipped. The instructor wanted to be able to tell college scouts that all their members had above a 3.5 GPA. The cheer coach also kicked her off.

That's when she started coming to practices with me. Three hour long ones were a good distraction. Not to mention all her friends were on the cheer squad, and were at cheer camp at the time. She didn't really like to go, though. She did like our music, she just didn't want to get out of bed.

I don't really blame her. I didn't want to get out of bed, either. I did anyway, though, because band practice was the thing that offered me a moment to escape. Just listening to music wasn't enough anymore, once you put together a piece of music with your friends, you can't stop.

It's addicting. I would sit in class, and come up with snazzy, new beats on my keyboard. I couldn't stop, especially with the promise of a tour hanging over our heads. That first week of school that I had to go to, my credits hadn't transferred to online school yet, was almost torture. While the rest of my band was getting ready for tour and chattering excitedly about it, I was stuck in class, not even understanding anything going on around me.

Coming off that tour, three months early, was even worse. Dreading the funeral, dreading the stares, dreading a life without my other half. The only person who'd been through everything I had, and understood.

I was angry at her for it, at first. She knew how hard it was to lose someone you loved. She knew, yet she still did it. I didn't understand her choice, not really. I had thought of taking my own life many times, but always chickened out. I didn't know what caused her to go through with it, what kind of last straw there was, but it really pissed me off at the time.

She said she'd always be there for me, that we could lean on each other. That nothing could separate us, not even death. That even if one of us were to die, we would just think of all the happy memories, and find our way back on the right path.

She got that one wrong. I'm so lost without her.

Zack's

“Alright, let's cut a new track,” our producer suggested when we walked into the room.

“Ugh, can't we have a break?” Jack complains, “I want to call Holl,”

A chorus of agreements come out of the three other band members, Alex to call Sierra, Rian to call Cassadee, and me to call Elina.

He mulls it over, “Alright, you have worked hard today, we're done for the day,”

Yelps of joy and high-fives resound through the small recording space as I pull out my phone.

Dialing her speed dial, I wait for her to pick up. I try to count the rings, but lose track.

What is taking her so long?

“Zack!” she exclaims through the speaker.

“Li-Li,” I say back, leaning on the wall beside the vending machines, “You seem cheery,”

“Really?” she questions, and I can practically see the adorable tilt of her head, as confusion settles in, “I didn't think I was happy today,”

“Why?” I ask, worried, “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing,” she dismisses.

“Elina,” I sigh, “Please tell me,”

She pauses, thinking. “Umm, he visited me and... well,” I knew exactly who she was talking about.

“He didn't...” I trail off, not wanting to utter the words, “Did he?”

“No, but it was still... you know, upsetting. It reminded me of all of the times, though,”

“Then Ross came over, and we had a fight, since I was still on edge from... him,” she continues.

I have a feeling there's something she's not telling me. Something very important.

“What happened before Ross came over?” I ask, trying to squeeze it out of her.

She stops, sucking in her breath. Scrambling for words, she stutters out, “Well, I, um... He -uh- made me feel... dirty, reminding me of all the times he... you know. S-so I... took a shower,”

She stops there, “What did you wash with?” I ask, thinking I know why she decided to tell me this.

“Pine-Sol,” she whispers, “I scrubbed until my skin turned red,”

“Oh, Elina,” I say, sadly. She starts crying over the phone, making tears prick into my eyes, “Call me, if it happens again,” I offer.

“I couldn't do that,” she sniffs, “I knew you were recording, and didn't want to bother you,”

“When did it happen?”

“A few days ago,” she answers, in a small voice.

“I would have gotten the voice mail, and returned it right away. Elina, don't carry everything by yourself. I'm here for you, and always will be,”

“That's what everyone else said, too,” she mutters, before hanging up.

I try to call her back, to comfort her, but it goes straight to voice mail. She turned off her phone to suffer alone.

Elina's

I was having a wonderful dream. It was me, Aunt Helen, Erin, and dad. Just us four. We were at an amusement park, the best one I've ever imagined. Everything was sleek, and white. Bright, shiny, and new. Almost like pearls.

Thinking about it now, I know that I was dead in the dream. What I saw was heaven, and everyone I loved that was gone was there, but no one else was.

The rides started automatically as soon as we were strapped in. There weren't any lines, either. It was our own, personal, little heaven.

I wonder if that's what it will really be like.

There's only one way to find out.

“You're too good to be,” my phone sings, while I make up a story about what I've done since he last called. I know it's Zack; that's his special ringtone.

At the back of my mind, I realize how true it is. He really is too good to be mine.

He will know if I outright lie, so I decide to tell half-truths.

I'll tell him about Ross. I'll tell him about the shower, if he brings it up.

I won't tell him about Mr. Tomas. I won't tell him about the razors.

I'll tell him a made-up story about my mom's pimp showing up.

“Zack!” I exclaim, too cheerily. It may have been from remembering the dream.

Is it messed up that the best dream I've ever had was that one, and I was dead in it?

I stick to my plan, not faltering. Even the fake tears work on him.

I really do hate lying to him. I just don't know how to tell him what really happened. Mr. Tomas came to the Phoenix show, and met everyone. He was totally normal, totally polite and nice, and gentle.

Like I thought he was. Zack wouldn't believe me, if I told him. Sure, he would expect a pimp, and people looking for an easy lay to do that to me, but someone like Mr. Tomas?

He would think I was making it up for attention.

“I'm here for you, and always will be,” Zack says.

Erin pops into my head, Aunt Helen, mom, “That's what everyone else said, too,” I mutter hanging up.

I get angry, so angry at myself. Why am I so stupid? Why couldn't I just tell him? Zack would never doubt me. I remember after I asked him what he thought of Mr. Tomas, he said that he was too nice. Why couldn't I just say something, imply it?

I throw my phone across the room, watching it shatter on the opposite wall. No one would try to call me now.