The Richardson List

Carter had never been to a funeral.

One time, when she had been nine years old, her parents had forced her to attend the service for her second cousin, an older balding man who she hadn’t ever met before in her lifetime. Her parents didn’t have any strong ties with him either, which was probably why she had never met him, and only were there out of common courtesy- technically he was family. If they hadn’t come it would have been considered rude by the rest of the family.

Being younger Carter had no idea what was happening, all she knew was that everyone was sad and she was supposed to remain still and hushed. The man had been cremated so no body was lying at the front. She didn’t understand much, and the entire time was thinking about the puppy she wanted so dearly.

Carter didn’t count that though.

She never thought that the first funeral she went to would be one of her good friends. Maybe a relative, her grandparents were believable. They were closer to death than any of her friends. Not Tiffany, she wasn’t anywhere near the end of her life. It wasn’t her time.

Even though, Carter stood in the pew, clad in the black dress Audrey had lent to her, along with the rest of the mourners. Suspended in the air was a thick despair, Carter felt as if she were choking on it. Sniffles polluted the miserable atmosphere, the occasional sob piercing through. It wasn’t right. Her hands trembled slightly.

Death was never supposed to be right, in every case it was always a tad depressing no matter who the person was. And while death was constantly awaiting everyone to turn that distinct corner, it wasn’t Tiffany’s time to round it. It just wasn’t.

Beside her was Audrey, sympathy compressed in her blue eyes, mimicking Cole’s who was on the other side. Both wore solemn expressions, eyes fixated at the front where the priest stood, monotonous words pouring from his lips.

Carted hated how he faked the despair. How he talked about Tiffany like he knew her, like it wasn’t just another funeral in the week, another stranger who died. He’d never even met her and yet he felt like he could talk about what a loss it was, how he would greatly miss her.

But at that moment, that wasn’t the main source to the minor fury burning under her skin. It added fuel to the increasing fire, but she felt her eyes aching to glance in the general direction to her right. In the direction where a certain boy sat, not even a slight amount of guilt written on his face.

She didn’t want to start the blame game. Carter didn’t want to hold anyone responsible for Tiffany’s suicide. In the end, it was her decision to make. And even though there were many factors that greatly influenced the final assessment, it was always hers to make. And Carter, with a deep pit of sorrow in her stomach, tried to comprehend that. She just couldn’t drive to notion that it was all Skye’s fault out of her mind.

The brunette that had grown to be Carter’s good friend, with incomprehensible depression coursing through her veins, had down a well amount of pills. Anything that could be found in the cabinets and into her grasp, anything that could tumble down her throat to her demise was done so. And it led to her final desire; her heart had pounded one last time as she drew her last breath.

Tiffany’s parents weren’t home when it had happened, and when they did arrive to their home they were greeted with their daughter sprawled across the bathroom tile, figure perfectly tranquil. What a wonderful sight for her parents to see.

She hadn’t left much of a goodbye, and even though the weeks before she had been acting slightly depressed it seemed that she had toyed the idea of suicide for long. There was no five page note, or no dramatic voice recording, nothing to make sense of it all. Not that it made any, she was a healthy, seemingly happy sixteen year old who was supposed to live on and be an author of Stephanie Meyer status and listen to her weird music and do all those things because she was supposed to be alive.

But she wasn’t. Instead, she was in a coffin up at the front of the room, dead.

All that was left was a canary yellow post-it, words scrawled across it. For many of the adults the final goodbye hadn’t made much sense, they raised eyebrows but let it go, they couldn’t even begin to fathom it, and Carter didn’t blame them. They didn’t know, parents and adults never know about these sorts of things. They believe what they like to. They don’t know anything about high school or what teenagers go through, even though they pretend to.

But if anyone from Rosemount High had read her words they wouldn’t have to second guess what it meant, clear to see.

Six point seven would never be good enough.

Those simple words were enough. It was only the obvious after that. Of course, not a word about the damned list left anyone’s lips. Everyone was silent, and they dropped the case, leaving the funeral for her friends and familiar to mourn.

It was all his fault and Carter wouldn’t budge. Nothing could change her mind.

When the droning voice had adjourned, and in its place a still silence gripped onto the surrounding air, Carter allowed a deep breathe to pass her lips. As she exhaled, Audrey sent her a consoling glance.

Slowly, she flexed her fingers and began receiving the feeling back into her body. With slow, weary steps she shuffled passed Cole and his girlfriend to where the isle lay, the isle that led to Tiffany’s lifeless body.

Her mother’s slumped form was weeping over the coffin, a napkin dabbing the ceaseless tears pouring down her cheeks. A larger man, clad in a suit and also wearing a mournful expression was comforting her, or at least attempting to.

She had shifted away to allow others to catch a glimpse of the body, Carter being one of those people. Slowly her eyes tumbled upon the deathly figure, clad in flowing pale dress in an attempt to make her cheeks seem to have any sort of colour, any sort of life.

Carter disliked how she looked.

Tiffany never wore blush, however for obvious reasons they had caked the substance onto her cheeks. They had also covered her signature freckles that were sprawled across her nose, now hardly noticeable under the makeup.

She looked pretty, that Cater could admit. However, she didn’t look like Tiffany. And for the obvious reasons the girl felt the urge to bring a napkin to Tiffany’s cheek and to wipe away the entire fake persona consuming her friend’s face.

But she didn’t and instead ripped her gaze from the body and averted it towards the ground, feeling discontentment rise up in her being. She’d much rather Tiffany without make up and alive then her not being living. But there was no negotiating in this decision.

All in a blur she managed to find herself outside of the church, black flats tapping against the cement underneath. Above her was a blue abyss, not even a fluffy cloud in sight. It didn’t seem quite right considering one of Tiffany’s favourite things was guessing what shapes the clouds formed themselves into, it was her day and she deserved to have some.

Otherwise, it was a beautiful May day. A weak breeze, just enough to keep a nice cool feeling all over Carter’s skin in a refreshing manner. The sun was lightly beating down onto her cheeks, the rays bringing revitalizing warmth. In the background the faint sounds of the outside played in her ears, birds chirping and cars rumbling down roads. All much too distant to seize her full attention.

A few moments later she heard footsteps, each time the soles of their shoes met the ground the tranquil silence was shattered. Her thoughts were too scattered for her to register much, but she heard her name loud and clear.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, expecting to find the sympathetic gaze from either one of her friends. However, it the person that had followed her to outside was not someone to be expected, and instead was of all people, Nina.

Engraved on her tan face was something Carter had never seen before. Tears welding up in her eyes ready to join the others streaming down her cheeks, mouth pressed in a straight line, almost as if any moment she was break.

Audrey had once mentioned that the girl and Tiffany had been friends at one point, the best of. And even though she had ditched her, it was obvious that Tiffany still held a large portion of Nina’s heart and it must have been excruciatingly painful to lose someone, especially when she never got to apologize.

“Nina?” she chocked out, feeling her tongue to be surprisingly dry from the lack of voice passing through her lips on that day.

The girl nodded her head and took a step closer. This was one of the first time they had ever really talked to each other.

“Carter, you were… you were friends with Tiffany right?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly from the tears.

“Um, yeah.” Carter nodded her head in response, swallowing the newly formed lump in her throat.

“Thanks,” she whispered, eyes diverting onto the ground and what seemed to be shame drowning in them.

Slightly confused, she took a step closer, genuinely wondering what the girl was thinking. . “For what?”

“For being her friend,” Nina explained, meeting the girl’s bewildered gaze. “For being there for her even after I went and was such a bitch and ditched her. God, I feel so stupid now. How could I do that to her? Over some stupid list?”

More remorseful tears poured over onto her cheeks as her voice faltered and cracked, the raw emotion breaking the words she was attempting to form. Her knees appeared as if they were going to buckle at any given moment, and so Carter wrapped the girl in a stiff embrace for support.

She had no idea what to do or how to comfort her, in fact felt her own eyes began to water. Feeling a little more confident as she began to wrap her head around everything she patted the gir’ls back in a consoling fashion, ignoring the tears racing down her cheeks.

This hadn’t been the first time she had cried, but this definitely was the hardest she had ever since hearing about Tiffany. It seemed that the tears were relentless and she couldn’t control the overwhelming emotions consuming her being.

“It’s just a stupid list, right?”

The words were barely audible and if she didn’t feel her mouth produce them she wouldn’t have guessed that she said it. Even so, she knew that the both of them had heard.

It was the same thing she and others had been constantly trying to convince themselves. They were the words that were chronically replaying in their minds, always trying to beat down the shame and guilt of their ratings. The pain that had been unleashed on their fragile minds, the only feeble remedy was the pathetic attempt the words were trying to be.

But it was obvious, the truth was too clear to ignore. It hadn’t worked and it never would.

Because even though many would describe the list as stupid, dumb, degrading and any other adjective their minds could come up with, it wouldn’t work. This list was all these things and more, everyone could agree on that. But it wasn’t just a list; it was never just a list. It was so, so much more than that.

It was The Richardson List.