The Best of Friends

by Lucinda Berry

Sawyer’s death was a terrible accident. Just like what happened to Jacob. Our boys were screwing around.

“You care more about what your damn girlfriends think than you do your own family. The boys used our gun, Dani—our gun. And the police know it.”

“Please, Caleb, just tell me what happened,” I whisper. It’s been seventeen days, and he still hasn’t spoken. Not one word.

Self-inflicted gunshot wound. That’s what the doctors in the emergency room said when they told us about Jacob’s injuries.

Jacob’s injuries and finger placement on the gun are all consistent with an attempted suicide.”

Suicide contagion is a real thing in teenagers. Having someone close to you attempt suicide increases your risk.

Alcohol turns him into a special kind of monster—a perfectly articulate and well-poised monster. He doesn’t slur his words or stumble over his sentences. He walks straight and appears aware of himself and his surroundings. You’d never guess he was drunk. It’s why they’ll give him his keys tonight, because they won’t see the darkness that’s taken over his insides.

I always intended to go back and finish my degree, but fear stole my choices one at a time until I didn’t have any left.

The thing nobody tells you about grief is that time moves on. Or my personal favorite that nobody stops telling you—time heals all wounds. As if I want time to go anywhere. I want the world to stop. For every person to quit moving around me. For the screens to quit flashing and the zombies to stop walking so slowly down the streets that they almost get hit by cars. I don’t want the cars to drive or the buses to come, because every minute feels like I’m leaving Sawyer behind and living the life he was supposed to have.