| To John- October 1998 I didn't know you. I suppose I'm lucky to be able to say that, because if I had, today would have been even worse than it already was. I didn't know you. And now I'll never get the chance. Before school, Melissa, Laura and I were sitting in the cafeteria, talking, laughing, being sixteen and loving it, and then Katy ran over and told us the news about you. The color drained from our faces, but I didn't know you, so I kept my peace. Melissa said nothing, too much in shock to believe it. First period they mentioned you, you know. �Students, I have some tragic news to give to you this morning. Yesterday afternoon one of our students, John Avery, passed away. I would like to ask that we give him a moment of silence.� There was the dutiful hush, and then the class went back to talking and laughing and scribbling away on their papers. I sat in stunned silence at the disregard. Looking around at the blithely happy faces, I wondered whether any one of us had a soul left, that we could just forget you that quickly. Then I continued stiffly on, because I didn't know you. I was no better than the others. Did you hear the hissing whispers as the news blazed like wildfire throughout the school? Were you watching the clumps of students tearfully hugging in the hallways? Did you see all the kids checking their yearbooks to find your picture? Did you see the way the normally boisterous school was subdued over you? Second period I plopped in my chair behind Melissa and Laura, and Melissa was crying. Did you notice? Did you see how her mascara ran heedlessly down and her pale blue eyes were red-rimmed? I comforted her as best I could, but my sympathy did nothing to replace the void you left. I think everyone wanted to freeze time and try to digest the stomach-punch they had been dealt, but the choir had a concert that night and life goes on. The director stood next to me, at the head of the line as we headed for the auditorium to practice, and I glanced over and her chin quivered, a sheen over her eyes, and I tried to still the sympathetic sting in my own. Wordlessly I willed her to hold it together, to be the example. God knew the rest of us were incapable of that. She pretended to be straightening her music, her back to us, then turned around with a red salty face and told us, �I knew John very well, and his loss is really hitting me hard. I want you guys to know I love you all so much, and if-� she touched her mouth with her hand, and continued, �if there�s ever anything I can do for you, if you need someone to talk to, you know I�m always here for you.� Melissa whispered, "My God, John-" and dissolved in tears. I squeezed her hand, and the rest of the class wept, even the guys. In third period, half the class was sobbing. The other half bit their lower lips, blinking fast. The English teacher handed around tissues and we spent the period trading memories and rumors of �how�, learning the truth from the girl who lived across your street. It�s amazing how fast lies can spread when people are hungry for a story to tell. We longed for scandal, for mystery, for deep dark secrets that could somehow make up for your lack. We wanted to justify you. The rest of the day was like a dream, walking slow and unsteady, misty, timid, hearing the whispers and wondering why they had to be there. Wondering why you had to disappear. We hung purple ribbons for you, John. Everyone tied purple ribbons in their hair, pinned them on their shirts, hung them from their backpacks and taped them inside their lockers. We struggled to concentrate, we sat in desolate slumps, and the only thing anyone could focus on was you. I never thought that one person could be so much to so many. I don�t suppose you did, either. Everyone remembered all the things you had done, all the places you were headed, all the future that snipped off at the end when you left us. When I got home, I looked into the mirror and saw a hollow-eyed ghost moaning back. And then I lost it, the image blurring behind a water curtain over my gaze. I've never lost anyone important to me, John. Never anyone close. When others grieved, I was their shoulder, their hug, their rock to lean on and cling to. Now the rock melted into salty tears, so I could fade into a saline fog and pretend no one saw me crying. There was no reason for me to cry for you, John. I didn't know you. And yet I cried- great wracking sobs that shook my shoulders and shattered through the pillow I threw over my face to muffle the sound. Continue |