Sunday, March 10, 2013


I am now going to switch my weekend postings to Saturdays so I don't procrastinate as much. As you can tell, I live on the edge.
On a serious (and yes, unsarcastic) note, a junior from my school died last week unexpectedly, so I'm writing this in honor of him. I plan to finish this in the next week and post it fully for you to read.
I don't belong here. The pews are filled with your family and neighbors. Your mom gestures to me. I walk over to her, close enough to see her fallen mascara and her brown eyes blinking back tears. She tries to hug me, but I break away, unable to see her frailty. I walk out of the church, bitter tears dripping down my face. I can't do this.


"Katelyn, dear, it's not your fault." She folds her crepe-paper hands on the desk, while gazing at me with unadulterated pity in her weirdly blue eyes. As if that's going to help.

"If it's not my fault, whose is it?"

"He had a mental illness. It couldn't have been helped, really." Um, thanks for the news flash. She drones on. I try to fall asleep. Why does the school pay for a counselor who never listens and wears hair extensions? Does she really thing that her words are going to make me forget my pain, the sleepless nights of texting with Jamie? Does she think that's going to make me forget his smile and the way he watched me and laughed with me, his dark eyes shining?

Her words only bring me back. "You're not to blame," she harps. Well, that clears it up. She doesn't know what I did. I fought with him. He needed me more than I realized. I let him down. I yelled at him, played the bad guy until I won. For days, I didn't talk to him. Until he died. A tear runs down my cheek. I wipe it away with a bitten-down fingernail. I don't want her sympathy. The woman looks up at me.

"Oh, honey."

I roll my shoulders back, determined to stay strong. She can't make me a coward. I fold my hands uneasily, and she reaches out to me, placing her fragile hand on top of mine. I stand up, knocking the chair back. Only when I get to the bathroom do I let the tears fall from my eyes.


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Thanks for visiting my blog, A Writer Girl! Comments are totally appreciated, and if you have constructive criticism, I'll welcome that too. Thanks so much for your input.