The Dust of Everyday Life

Snow draped the ground, forming an untouched white sea. Students in scarves and hats hurried to their classes, carrying thermoses of tea and coffee, the hallmark of someone being educated in winter time. Everyone's pace quickened since the summer; it seemed like everyone wanted to ignore the weather. I embraced it, letting the flakes dot my black jacket and melt into nothingness. As I walked to my next class, my nose turned an angry crimson, with ears as matching accessories. The rest of me was white, white, white; it wasn't like I was good at tanning anyway.

"Hey man," a friend of mine said. I couldn't remember his name, so I returned the slang.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, sipping a thermos of what smelled like green tea with his left hand and carrying a newspaper in his right.

"Composition," I replied. "Have you read the paper?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, handing it to me. "I only read the sports section. Fucking Giants...why do I even root for them?"

I shrugged, not knowing what to say; I couldn't care less about football - it is football, right? I took the paper and tucked it under my arm. "Where are you off to?"

"Psych," he replied. "I'll see you around," he said, turning the corner. I continued straight, rubbing my nose and ears every now and then to make sure they didn't decide to leap off and migrate to a warmer location; Florida is nice this time of year.

I sat in the back of the classroom. Today was not the kind of day when I payed attention. I opened the paper and began to read, cover to cover. Finance interests me and I like politics. There was a lot going on, and I absorbed every atom of information from the current events.

Alice Korman
1992-2011

My heart stopped. The obituaries, so often overlooked, became my world. The sides of my visual field were black; I was having tunnel vision and all I could see was death.

Alice Korman, 18, died Sunday night from an overdose.
She took her own life.
She was a senior in high school who enjoyed singing, science, and photography.
She was known for her excellent grades and vibrant personality.
Alice had a loving family and many friends, who are grieving deeply for her.
Viewing hours will be Saturday at 2 p.m. at Davis Funeral Home.
Funeral services will be at 3 p.m. in the Chapel of Davis.
Her parents encourage all of Alice's friends and family to come grieve the loss of such a promising girl, but also to celebrate her life. They wish her the best in heaven, and love her very much.

And then I threw up.

What happened next was a blur. Sirens sang their horrible song and there were a lot of panicked voices. Why was everyone so upset, I wondered. What had happened? I was trying to sleep; couldn't they leave me alone? I was tired and upset and I wanted to sleep.

A light was waved across my closed eyelids. "Son, wake up," a deep voice urged.

I groaned. "Greg, get out, I'm not going to class today."

"I'm your doctor, you have to wake up," he repeated, shaking me slightly.

My breath caught in my throat and I opened my eyes slightly. "What?" was all I could manage.

"You passed out during class and threw up at least five times," he explained. His hair was thinning and his face looked sun-killed. He was dressed in a white coat, a white shirt, khaki pants, and black loafers. "I'm Doctor Mahmoud," he said. "Do you feel alright?"

"No," I said. "Why did I black out?"

Dr. Mahmoud looked at me and shrugged. "You were holding a newspaper. That's all anyone could see."

Alice.

My breath sped up.

She was dead. She was gone. She had killed herself.

My stomach churned; all the food in it stood up and began walking around, pounding on the walls. "Let me out!" they screamed.

No more sunshine. No more bright smiles.

I swallowed hard, trying to will myself to keep whatever was left in my system down. It didn't work.

I hurled all over the floor. Half of it was vomit, but I saw spatters of blood. I must have already vomited everything out. I spit on the floor, feeling the slime and the chunks in my mouth and nose. My face was encrusted with previous vomit and blood. I reached my hand up to my nose and wiped it; my hand came back covered in blood. "Nosebleed?" I asked.

"Yes," Mahmoud replied, waving in a team of nurses to clean up my vomit and handing me a tissue box. I took the box, thanked him, and began shoving tissues up my nose.

"Alice is dead," I explained.

"Who is Alice?" he asked.

"She's everyone," I replied, leaning back onto the hospital bed and blacking out.

The funeral was beautiful. Everyone had such nice things to say about her, but I couldn't help feel as if it was all futile. They say it now, but now is too late. She is dead, and she can't come back. Why couldn't they have said what they said while she was there? Why couldn't they have told her she could make the thunder stop? Why did no one explain to her that she was the reason the birds sang? Who neglected to tell her that she was one of the last few beautiful things left in this whole fucking world?

They say she felt useless. Or so I overheard. She was anxious, but everyone dismissed her as being melodramatic. It's funny; I never noticed anything. She came to school, the essence of beauty and good. But I guess I misjudged her like everyone else. I didn't know her like I thought I did. Maybe my love was all in my head. Maybe she was just another girl who happened to catch my attention more.

How long would I be left grieving? How much pain would this be? Because right now, it felt like a slow suicide. By killing herself, she was killing me. I could feel my heart failing, in both the metaphorical and literal sense of the word. Every time I woke up, I was in pain, and I just threw up and went back to sleep.

They diagnosed me with depression, but I don't think this is a disease. This is a feeling. Alice is gone and no one paid her proper dues while she was alive, and no one was mourning enough now that she's gone. I was simply making up for everyone else.

I don't think she ever got my note. Because if she had, she would have known that at least someone loved her, and maybe she would have held on.