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I Think I'll Take a Walk
Author's note:
Current events inspired this piece, and I simply hope no one sincerely regrets reading this.
I let myself stare into the mirror for a second before ripping my eyes to the ground, on the dark hardwood beams crossing the edges of the floor beneath the soft blue patterned carpet that my feet sink into. I’m not fast enough, though- I see. I see my slim, 5’6” figure wearing my favorite blue jeans, dark forest green t-shirt, and black slip-on sneakers with scuffs all along the white soles. My dark blonde hair falls just below my chin, my round face, small nose, hazel eyes fringed with golden lashes, sprinkling of freckles, and light skin that only holds the recollection of a tan. If I keep looking, I can see myself where things used to be. I want to keep looking, seeing that nothing about me has changed, on the outside at least. But it’s been too soon and looking also means seeing where I am now first… so my eyes flick away faster than time passes when you only wish it would slow down. I hear a soft knock.
“Harper, sweetie, can I come in?” my Aunt Marissa says through the door tentatively.
“Sure,” I mutter tonelessly. My Aunt opens the door and leans into the room. Only the top half of her is visible, with her slightly graying blonde hair in a ponytail, an apron on, light wrinkles forming around her mouth, and obvious unease in her green eyes.
“Are you ready? There’s breakfast downstairs, and I don’t want you to be late on the first day of high school,” she states.
“Okay, I’ll be down soon. Thanks,” I reply, arms crossed and hands rubbing my elbows.
Aunt Marissa opens her mouth as if to say something else, but then it snaps shut, she smiles tightly, and closes the door again. I realize I’d begun to hold my breath, and exhale. I wish I didn’t make my Aunt so nervous, but it’s hard to make any extra efforts now. It would also help if I could know why I even make her nervous… but I think it’s because she used to always say I look so much like my father. It’s not that it’s not true anymore, it’s just that she stopped saying it- understandably. I grab my phone and navy blue backpack from where it’s leaning against the foot of my bed, head out of my room, take the stairs down two at a time-which is a mistake because I’m incredibly clumsy and almost tumble down- and loop through the living room into the kitchen. My little cousin Daisy is already sitting at the table, eating cereal. Daisy leaps out of her chair when she sees me and her spoon clatters on the table. Her small bright blonde braids bounce up and down as she runs towards me in a pink skirt and a blue shirt with a unicorn on it, giving me the biggest smile she can considering she’s missing two of her front teeth. She hugs me, but at five years old her hug only reaches my legs and torso.
“HARPERRRR!” Daisy shrieks.
“Hey, kid,” I respond, bending down to hug her back. Daisy is hands down the best part of this living arrangement- I used to be an only child. I pick up Daisy and set her back down where she was sitting, then walk to the counter where the cereal is out.
“Your Uncle left for work early this morning,” Aunt Marissa says, sipping coffee, “but he says good luck to both of you for your first days of school.” I nod lightly, dumping name-brand cereal and milk into a bowl I took out of the cupboard. I grab a spoon out of the drawer and sit down at the table next to Daisy. She’ll be a first grader this year.
“So, Daisy, are you excited?” I ask, in between bites of cereal, scrolling through my texts and social media. Daisy nods sharply, her mouth full and milk dripping down her chin. I can see Aunt Marissa beginning to lean over, but I beat her to it and use my napkin to wipe Daisy’s face.
“I’m sure you’ll have fun in class,” I add. Daisy’s lucky. What I would give to be in first grade again… I don’t know how I’m already in high school. I finish off my cereal and stand up from the table.
“I can give you a ride, Harper,” Aunt Marissa offers.
“Thanks, but I really like walking. It was nice of you to offer, though. It isn’t too far,” I flash a small smile, feeling like I was a bit too quick to refuse.
I pick up my backpack and hug Daisy one last time, before waving to both her and my Aunt and walking out the kitchen door that empties into the side yard. I glance down at my phone, turning it on just to see the time.
7:40.
School starts at 8:00.
Thank goodness my Aunt and Uncle live five minutes away from the high school because I’m an exceptionally slow walker. You’d think since I’m barely walking that quickly I’d be less of a klutz, but that’s sadly just not how it is. I pull my earbuds out of my backpack, plug them into my phone, and turn on some music.
I start down the cul de sac and onto a smaller street that dumps into the wide road our high school is on. We live in a very small town- it has two elementary schools, a middle school, and a high school. There’s only a few of some things, like supermarkets, gas stations, and restaurants. And there’s only one doctor, dentist, community center, preschool, and law firm. The nearest mall is a town away. The nearest colleges and airports are cities away. The city hall here is basically the size of a modest house, the town newspaper publishes articles that largely revolve around crops and the weather, the fire department has one truck and the police department has two cars and a single cell. Everyone knows each other somehow, and people only leave to go to college. Many times, they come back. If they leave for good, they rarely come back later.
Sometimes I honestly hate being here- but there’s one time that I’ll always love it, and that’s when I’m walking. The sidewalks and streets are all cracked, there’re vacant lots filled with tall grass everywhere, wildflowers on almost every corner, and besides the small, slightly shabby houses that line all the streets, everything in the distance along to the horizon is completely flat, like a sheet of paper. The few trees that line the streets are beginning to tint with the wash of autumn color. It’s comforting, because it’s always been that way, and I can count on it to stay that way.
I reach the sidewalk in front of the high school.
7:53.
It’s sunny out but not too hot, and puffy white clouds dot the sky. The beaming rays being sent down from above make the bricks on the looming building before me appear to be glowing. I see kids I remember from middle school and many I remember from elementary school. Like I said, just about everybody knows each other. I walk across the grass and to the steps right in front of the school, not really wanting to talk to anyone. It’s a wonder I don’t trip over people, because I’m staring at my shoes. I put one foot in front of the other and climb the steps, where I stop for a second and look at the door.
Crap.
There’s a horizontal bar across the door to open it, and I can see through the glass it’s the same on the other side. There aren’t any signs anywhere. How am I supposed to know if it’s push or pull? No one else is trying to get in or out right now, but I can’t just wait for someone. I actually hate unclear doors. I feel annoyed… am I seriously going to let myself get frustrated by a door? I reach out to grab the handle and push.
Why am I so stupid?
I fly backwards. Right as I pushed, a girl on the other side of the door pushed the door out significantly harder and my elbow was locked, so instead of bending and just opening the door it jolted up through my shoulder and I fell back. Some upperclassmen who had been standing on the stairs give me one slightly concerned look, and then burst out laughing. I pick myself up quickly and walk into the school, letting the hair fall into my face so no one sees me.
7:55.
The bell rings, and I weave through the crowded hallways to find my first class, Honors English. All my other classes until lunch, PE, French, and Biology, move slowly. It’s just syllabus after syllabus. None of my teachers seem particularly terrible, but none of them are that great either. Every time they reach my name on the roll sheet I get a pitiful, nervous glance when they recognize my name, but I just stare back stoically and wait for them to say my name so I can respond with “here.” They’re nothing special- english is taught by a middle aged woman who says she loves literature but you can just tell she really loves trashy romance novels and romcoms. PE is led by the football coach, whose favorite students are all too obvious(the jocks and cheerleaders). The French teacher is severe looking, and her bun seems so tight that it makes my head hurt just looking at her. My biology teacher is a quirky older man who has a whole wall of snakes and frogs, and probably lives in his classroom. It would be hard for anything now to be better than the teachers I had last year. And the life I had last year.
I’m grateful it’s finally lunch time- for all of two seconds. I stand in the cafeteria line and get the food they’re serving today even though it looks mostly inedible… some kind of pasta maybe? I look out at the whole room and see if there’s anyone I can sit with. I see Lindsay at a table in the middle, sandwiched between Tommy, the varsity kicker on our football team and Bailey, the girl who’s been the most popular in our grade since kindergarten. She looks more like a doll than human. Lindsay sees me looking towards her, and I can see the message she’s shooting, no matter how far away:
Don’t even think about it.
So I don’t.
I leave my tray at the drop off window. I’d been losing my appetite all day, anyway. I start to make my way out of the cafeteria, but I know I won’t make it far with hall monitors at every corner I turn. Luckily there are bathrooms right outside the swinging doors that I manage to open on the first try, and I duck into the girls bathroom, locking myself into a stall. It’s deserted; no one goes to the bathroom until some ten minutes before lunch ends.
I’m an idiot. Why did I even look at Lindsay? I put my head in my hands. There’s still at least 25 minutes left of lunch, so I dart out of the stall and splash some cold water on my face. I need to calm down. I stay in the stall until lunch is almost over, trying to stay distracted by scrolling through my phone images. I feel numb, and my breathing is shallow. A few minutes before the bell rings I get out of the stall and wash my hands, so I’m not conveniently leaving right as we’re forced to go to class. The bell finally rings, and I begin to walk to my second to last class, photography. I’m so close to the door, yet I still feel far away. I try to breath deeply, but it seems really, really hot all of a sudden. And there’re so many people jostling around the hallway… I just want to get to class so I can sit down. Then, as the door in front of me flashes in and out of existence, I feel myself tip backwards and everything goes black.
My eyes flutter open, but the fluorescent lighting is far too bright and they snap shut. I’m lying down, propped up on a plastic-y surface that has rough paper in a wide stripe down the center. My forehead feels icy because of the cold pack wrapped in a tissue that’s laying across it. I open my eyes now and let them adjust.
There’s a woman with short brown hair that has botched blonde streaky highlights in it, wearing black cat eye glasses, an ill fitting patterned dress, black patent boots, and a white coat. Her face is wrinkled around the eyes and around her thin lips.
“What happened?” I ask, softly.
“You fainted in the hallway. Some kids, I think they’re sophomores, noticed and brought you to me, and I’m sure they’re now using the passes I gave them to skip class for as long as they can. Anyway, you were sweating so I put the ice pack on you. It’s only been a few minutes. I’m Nurse Kathy, by the way. I suggest you get back to class ASAP- teachers hate missing kids on the first day,” the woman explained matter-of-factly.
“I don’t think-” I try to interject.
“Can I get your name so we can add this to your file and I can write you a pass?” asks the nurse, ignoring me.
“Harper… last initial S? I’m fairly sure no one else in this place is named Harper,”
The nurse glances over top of her glasses at me- her eyes widen and then I see them settle into feeling bad for me.
“Oh, honey you’re the- I’m so-” Nurse Kathy tries but I feel myself snap.
“Yes, I’m the girl whose parents overdosed together just months ago, leaving me an orphan. They got hooked on opioids they weren’t supposed to take nearly as much of and then dropped dead. It’s all very sad, thank you SO MUCH for the pity, greatly appreciated. Now would you please write me a pass so I can get away from you already?” The second it’s out of my mouth I feel my face turning red. I feel the tears begin to rim at my eyes, which is what happens when I get flustered, but I push them back. The nurse’s face pinches up even more. She looks like she’ll try to say something, but instead she just crosses the room to her filing cabinet, yanks out a file and exits into the office- presumably where they keep the passes.
I get up and set the cold pack on the bed where I had been sitting. I reach to grab my backpack which is leaning against the counter across the room, and when I stand back up I see the box sitting so innocently on the counter. A row of black cases, each adorned with a red cross and a word- but these are no first aid kits. I breath in sharply, and before I know it I’m taking one of the cases, shoving it in my backpack beneath all my books and folders, and rushing towards the door. I sling my backpack onto my shoulder and I can feel it pressed against my back, which is slightly uncomfortable for a hard case. But I’ve never felt safer in my life.
I push through the door where the nurse is standing, whispering over the front desk to the two office ladies. Their heads snap up in unison and the conversation hits pause the second they all realize I’m there. I give them my fakest smile, and begin to walk out of the office. I pluck the bright pink hall pass right out of the nurse’s hand on my way out, and soon I’m in the hallway. It’s significantly calmer when it’s empty. I walk slow.
Why was I just so rude to the nurse? She wasn’t trying to be rude… I’m so freaking tired of everyone. Does no one realize it makes it hard for me when they won’t let me forget? I shouldn’t have done that though, now they’ll think I’m some psycho and treat me even more fragilely. Great.
I make it to photography for the last five minutes, and then I go to math. I’m so relieved when the day finally ends. I make a beeline for the door, and take a long breath when I finally get outside and there’s fresh air. I decide to take the long way home, which is still less than 20 minutes but considerably longer than the short way, and will take me on a loop through town.
Mostly I just pass more residential streets, but I also walk by the bank that’s on the edge of downtown. I keep walking, not listening to music like I was this morning. I’m at the farthest part of my loop from home, and close to the cemetery. Where my parents are.
Every time I walk by here, I think about stopping by their graves for a few minutes, and leaving mom’s favorite flowers, chrysanthemums. And every time, I start speed walking back to my Aunt’s house. I can see their graves from across the street and over the three-foot high wrought iron fence, with the gray stones and fuzz of bright green that’s only starting to grow back. I’m almost at the house now, and I can’t stop thinking about what I said to the nurse. I use my key to get inside, then quietly pad up the stairs to my room and shut the door. I think saying what I did was a mistake. Oh, mistakes. It makes me think of last year.
It was a week or two into eighth grade U.S. history, and we were just starting with the pilgrims and the colonies and all. My teacher was already my favorite teacher, and even the thought of going to her class made me happy.
“Why do all of you think we learn about history?” she had asked over everyone. This was met with silence, but that didn’t keep the small smile off of her youthful face. For a teacher, she was young- about 30. She had long dark brown hair and sky blue eyes, and she was pretty tall.
“I’m sure all of you have felt bored with history at least once, or all the time, when you learned it in previous years. But learning about history is important! Have you ever heard the saying ‘A fool learns from their own mistakes, but a wise person learns from the mistakes of others,’ ?”
This time, she was met with nods.
“That’s why we learn history. We learn about everyone’s mistakes so we don’t make them again,”
She finished class with a short lecture about all the events that led up to the Revolutionary War, and since history was last period, we were all dismissed. I said bye to the teacher and told her to have a great day, then I went out to the tree on the corner outside of the middle school, where my best friend Lindsay was waiting for me already. We hugged, and then started on our way walking to downtown. It was a Friday, and Lindsay and I hung out together every Friday. Today we were going to get ice cream at Carson’s Creamery, and then we were going to go back to Lindsay’s house and watch our favorite movies. As we walk down the street, arms linked, I ask Lindsay about her day.
“It was meh. I can’t believe my science teacher, he is absolutely the worst ever. We haven’t done or learned anything even related to science. Also, history class is so boring. All we do is watch videos and take notes every single day!” she responds, animatedly.
“What about you?” she adds.
“It was ok. I totally agree with you about science, I can’t stand his class! English has been boring, we’re just annotating this article… but I love my history teacher, her class is the best.”
We round the corner to Carson’s and open the door, sending the little bell jangling. Being eighth graders is great, since we’re at the top but the work really isn’t harder. There are a few other kids from school there, and we half-heartedly wave. Everyone in this town knows each other; you can’t pretend anyone is a stranger. Lindsay and I get the same order we always do- triple chocolate for her and strawberry for me. I always wonder why Lindsay and I became friends because we’re pretty different. We’re both blonde, but her hair is long and wavy and mine’s shorter and straight. Her eyes are blue, and mine hazel. She’s more of a girly girl than me when it comes to clothes, and she makes things effortless but I’m awkward and clumsy. We’re a similar height and build. She’s an extrovert while I’m an introvert, and while her grades have always been enough to get by, mine are always perfect and she can be a little naive. Whatever it is, we’re best friends, and a lot of that is probably because we’ve been neighbors since we were born, and we’ve been inseparable that long too.
We walk down the street and through town, licking our ice cream cones, in the direction of our houses. My parents are still at work, so this week we’re going to Lindsay’s. My mom is a nurse who helps deliver babies, and my dad is a lawyer. They work late a lot.
Soon enough we’re walking down the street our houses are on, where they face each other. Lindsay’s house is two stories, with white wood, dark shingles, a wrap around porch, and a red door that has a cute golden knocker on it. It’s symmetrical, with two wide windows on each side of the door that jut out from the front of the house. On the inside, they’re window seats. There’s a big pecan tree in the front yard with a tire swing hanging from it. When we walk under it, the shade swoops over us like a cool breeze.
“Hey Mom,” Lindsay half-yells as we walk into her house. Lindsay’s mom is a wedding planner, and spends most of her time working out of their house. Her dad is a realtor.
“Hi girls!” her mom says quietly, looking up and waving from the kitchen where she’s standing with a cell phone perched on her shoulder. We hear her say something about venues being booked as we head up the stairs to Lindsay’s room. The stairs creak slightly as we walk up them, and I see one of the family photos that line the wall in a slope along the stairs shake faintly.
Lindsay’s room is just like her- organized chaos, but it still looks pretty. It’s mostly white, with some pink touches, and the regular staples of a teen bedroom: desk, bed, drawers, and a bookshelf that’s dominated by her volleyball trophies. We dump our stuff on the floor and sit next to each other on her queen sized bed, balancing her laptop between us. She runs downstairs to make popcorn while I find one of our favorite movies. We watch that, and then a few episodes on TV, until dinner. Lindsay’s family always eats dinner at the table. Afterwards we go back to Lindsay’s room to play board games and gossip, but halfway through our third round Lindsay’s mother pushes open the door. She looks worried.
“Harper? Sweetie, your parents had a bit of an accident…”
“They WHAT? Oh my god, are they okay? Was it bad?” I almost scream back.
“Well, it wasn’t good, but they’re alive. The car had a brake malfunction and they hit a tree. The hospital called us because we’re secondary contacts and they wanted to know if we knew where you were. Anyway, your father cracked a few of his ribs, and your mother didn’t break anything but she got scraped up pretty badly. They also suffered other bruising, but the doctors don’t think there’s any internal bleeding, which is lucky,” Lindsay’s mom explained. I could barely open her mouth, but managed to force out words and push back my tears.
“Can… can I see them?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Yes, of course honey. I’ll take you to visit them now. The hospital says it may be a few weeks but you can stay with us for tonight, then your Aunt says you can stay with her for the remainder of the time they need,” Lindsay’s mom wraps me in a hug.
“Everything is going to be okay.”
The three of us pile into Lindsay’s family sedan. Lindsay still hasn’t said anything. It’s a half hour drive to the nearer town that has a real hospital, since the medical center here is more of a small clinic. We meet my Aunt Marissa in the waiting room, and she takes me to the room my parents are in while the Lindsay and her mom stay in the waiting room.
I feel the air leave my body at the sight of them. My mother’s face is all bandaged up, and there is a huge bruise on my father’s neck. They are both sleeping, and very pale. A few tears roll down my cheeks, because even though I know they are, they sure don’t look alive.
A nurse walks into the room. Her young face looks tired.
“You must be their daughter. I’m so sorry this had to happen, but I’m glad to assure you they will be just fine and back to normal very soon,”
I nod slowly.
“Luckily they don’t need surgery, just some time to rest and mend. Your mom will be all better and ready to go home in a few days, but your dad may be longer. Right now they’re still sedated because with their injuries they shouldn’t be moving, and they would be in a lot of pain if they weren’t. To be cautious the doctors have prescribed them a decent course of painkillers so their recovery is calmer,” the nurse explained. We thank the nurse, and stay together in the room, looking at my parents in silence for I don’t know how long. Eventually we go back into the waiting room. I begin to walk away, calmer now that I know my parents will be alright. Aunt Marissa is immobile.
“I think I’ll stay here tonight, so they’re not alone when they come to… I’ll see you at my house tomorrow Harper?”
“Of course. Thanks, Aunt Marissa.” I hug my Aunt, and go back out with Lindsay and her mom to find their car. They’re silent the entire ride home. I run across the street, to my blue painted one story house to grab some of my things, and then go back to Lindsay’s house. We make hot chocolate and head back to her room, changing into our pajamas.
“You okay?” Lindsay asks meekly.
“Yeah… I think.”
That was the last mention either of us made of the event before playing truth or dare and pretending nothing happened. It’s just easier that way. But that didn’t stop me from waiting until I heard Lindsay’s breathing to slow as she slept for me to cry myself to sleep.
The next day I got picked up by Aunt Marissa and went to her house, where I lived among Daisy and Uncle Bob for five days, until my mom was released. She still didn’t look very good, but she wasn’t in need of hospitalization. My dad was a long month, some bed rest, and physical therapy away from being all better.
It was almost Thanksgiving, and we had a lot to be grateful for. Until my parents went and ruined the whole thing. But it wasn’t really their fault… was it?
It doesn’t feel like that happened a year ago, now that I live with Aunt Marissa for the next four years rather than five days. I miss history class so much. And hanging out with Lindsay. I take all the syllabuses out of my backpack and run downstairs to leave them on the kitchen table for my Aunt to sign, the packets of heavy expectation that they are. This is going to be a long year.
I close and lock the door to my Aunt’s house behind me- thank god for the heater. It’s freezing outside and sleeting, which is probably the absolute worst kind of weather. Sleet combines all the worst parts of snow and rain and none of the good. I’ll be home alone for an hour or so- Aunt Marissa took Daisy from school to go buy a Christmas tree. I declined, feigning fatigue and a small cold.
I’m grateful that it’s almost winter break. After tomorrow, two weeks separate me from going back to school, and now I can do what I actually intended by not going to the tree farm. I take the envelope out of my coat pocket, and rip off the top crease to open it. I unfold it and scan the words even though I already know what it says.
I know it’s rude, but as I stare at my grades I can’t help but think this looks more like Lindsay’s report card than mine. That’s why I’m here now, though. So I can make sure no one sees it. I ball up the paper and walk out the side door of the house to where the trash bins are, and put it in the recycling deep beneath the week’s newspapers and a pizza box.
I used to be obsessed with A’s and doing perfectly, but now I can’t bring myself to care. It’s not like I’m failing or anything, but I know seeing that would worry my Aunt and I really don’t need to deal with her right now.
I sit down at the kitchen table and look out into the gloomy yard. I’ve never been able to make up my mind about how I feel towards winter. It’s always too cold and seems to represent dying things, but somehow it seems cleaner and brighter than the other seasons. And it means the prospect of breaks and snow days. I stand up and push my chair back, walking towards the pantry. I rummage through the boxes and bags and containers until I find tea bags, and I take out the chamomile. I have nowhere near enough energy to make tea with a kettle, so I fill my mug with water and put it in the microwave set to one minute. This is my favorite mug- it has the logo and mascot from my mom’s alma mater. She grew up in California but moved here when she met my dad, and now none of our family is on the west coast anymore. Either way, she got the mug in college but later said it may as well be mine, for all I use it. It’s one of the few things I took from the house that wasn’t from my room.
Soon the timer on the microwave dings, and I take out the mug. Plunging in the tea bag and swirling it around, I walk back to the table to sit down again. I drum my fingers along the table’s smooth surface, waiting for the tea to be a perfect temperature. For just a second, I feel a hint of loneliness.
I would always hang out with Lindsay almost every day of the break. Our families went Christmas tree shopping together, ate Christmas dinner, went to our church’s Christmas pageant, and Lindsay would always come over so we could make cookies or have a snowball fight if we were lucky enough for the snow to start early enough one year.
But those happy memories are only from years that dip further into the past. Last year was far from perfect.
It’s the last day before winter break of eighth grade, and I only have history left. We’re going to be having a free day and she’ll pass back some of our work from the unit we just finished. I walk into the classroom. I don’t think I’ve ever had a teacher I love so much- there’s just something about her. It makes me want to do everything perfectly and act like an amazing person whenever it concerns her. I guess there are worse things to be. I’m the first one there which would normally bother me, but never in her class. I say hi and begin to walk to my seat, but she stops me.
“Harper! I want to talk to you about your project,” she says, nicely. Even so, I feel my stomach flip. Did I do something wrong? I follow her to her desk in the front corner of the room. She pulls my canvas with a few papers attached out from beneath the piles of projects. We had to write about what we had learned this semester in whatever form we wanted, as a song, essay, or poem, and then make a big art project about it. Mine was a big water color.
“It’s absolutely amazing! You must have put so much effort into this. Your writing is impactful, and the painting is so beautiful! I don’t know how you would part ways with something so lovely, but I wanted to ask if I could keep it to show as an example? I made a copy of the feedback for you since it’s on the back of the project so that way you can see,” she explains, pulling another piece of paper out from the stacks on her desk and handing it to me.
I breathe a sigh of relief and feel my face glowing with my delight in being praised- because I really did work hard on it.
“Of course you can keep it, and thank you so much!” I respond, smiling. By now, a decent amount of kids are in the class so I walk back to my seat, scanning the rubric. She gave me extra credit for it, so it’s safe to say I’m incredibly happy for all of history class and after school too. She is seriously the perfect teacher.
I meet Lindsay after school and we begin walking back to our houses. I’m having dinner at her house tonight and we’re exchanging gifts, since this year Lindsay’s family is going to visit her grandparents in Florida for the holidays. My parents can’t come; they’re busier than normal. Lindsay and I chat excitedly as we walk home, the air cold but without snow or rain. I can see the ghosts our breath make in front of us when we breathe and talk.
When we get to Lindsay’s house, which has a wreath on the door and lights strung on the eaves, we walk in to the amazing scents I always associate with the holidays. In the kitchen there are sugar and gingerbread cookies in all types of shapes: boys, girls, candy canes, trees, snowmen, and stars. There’s ham in the oven and mashed potatoes, rolls, and salad being made by Lindsay’s mom. There are also bags of frosting and sprinkles by the cookies, which Lindsay and I carry off to the dining table to decorate in all sorts of festive manner.
By the time our cookies are finished, dinner is ready. We eat and talk, and while it’s nice, I wish my parents could be there. It isn’t quite the same without them. Afterwards, Lindsay’s parents go into the kitchen and start washing the dishes while Lindsay and I eat our cookies and give each other gifts. Hers is in a small blue bag with white glittery snowflakes on it, and mine is in a little green box with a red ribbon.
“On three?” Lindsay suggests with a glint in her eye. I nod, and then we grab our presents and get ready to rip them open.
“One… Two… THREE!”
Little pieces of tissue and wrapping get on the table, but we don’t care. Lindsay and I are laughing and shrieking as we see the identical boxes- we got each other the same gift! We both pull out the rose gold charm bracelets with a little heart that has our different first initials on it. They’re from our favorite shop in the mall.
“I can’t believe we bought each other the same bracelet,” Lindsay says, still laughing.
“Great minds think alike,” I respond through my laughter. We get up from the table and exchange hugs and thanks, and run off to show her parents. By the time I leave it’s fairly late at night but my parents still aren’t home. I watch Christmas movies on TV in my pajamas and eventually fall asleep there. That was a very good day, almost like early Christmas- but I didn’t know it would be better than the Christmas to come.
On actual Christmas that year, my parents didn’t get home until midnight the night before. I had decorated the tree all on my own after using the small amount of free time they had to get them to take me so we could buy a tree. My parents hadn’t been the same since their accident- by now they were far past recovery, but somehow significantly more distant, always busy, and often forgetting I existed.
I walk out of my room on Christmas morning at about 9:30 to the living room where our tree is, and there are no presents under the tree except for what I had gotten my parents- which was a book by an author my mom liked and the deluxe edition of a vinyl record my dad said he had as a teenager but could never find after college. I’m a little confused, because most of the time my parents leave presents for me and most of the time they’re already awake and sipping coffee or making breakfast. But they aren’t. And the house is quiet.
I go to their room and open the door softly where they’re sleeping. They aren’t wearing pajamas but rather the clothes they go to work in- my father in dress pants and a collared shirt and my mother in scrubs. I wouldn’t describe them as sleeping- it almost looks like they passed out there. My mom’s lips are blue, and her skin yellowing. My dad has odd patches and wrinkles to his skin that I know weren’t there before, or ever.
Something could be wrong.
But it’s not like I would know what to do.
So I walk over quietly and shake my mom ever so gently to try and wake her up. She stirs, and then wakes up, eyes widening at the sight of me as I say, “Merry Christmas!” She winces and then tries to smile, forcing herself up.
“Merry Christmas, honey!” She yawns, and then seeming to realize why I’m there, stands up frantically and runs to their closet, pulling out a shopping bag.
“Harper, I am so sorry. I meant to put your gifts under the tree yesterday, I really did. It’s just… And, I know it’s not as much as usual. But the medical bills we racked up from the car accident were a lot and having to take time off work to recover, I,” she gulps. “I’m just so sorry.”
My dad still isn’t awake. I take the bag and hug her, forcing back my tears and trying to smile.
“That’s okay, mom. I understand. I’m grateful to have anything at all. You and dad should go back to sleep, but when you’re ready your gifts are under the tree. It’s just… ”
“What, honey?”
“What’s wrong?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Nothing, Harper. Everything is alright.”
I don’t believe her but I can’t bring myself to push it anymore… I’m too afraid to know.
I feel like the adult, having things together and taking care of them. But what else can I do? My mom looks like she wants to care, but it gets overrun by dazed distraction, and she lies back down. I walk out and into the hallway, sinking down against the wall as I feel the tears rush down my cheeks. I go out to the kitchen and finally look at what they gave me, though my vision is blurry through tears. There’re some dark chocolate bars, my favorite. Matching lotion and shower gel in holiday scents. A gift card for multiple stores in the mall. It’s all decently thoughtful, but I find myself shoving down the thought that Lindsay has gotten me better gifts for a single birthday.
Stop it, you’re being selfish. They’re obviously going through things. You’re lucky, some kids aren’t even fortunate enough to get food and clean water.
I just want to know what’s wrong, and help my parents, for them to help themselves, for things to be like they used to, to be at school so I can see my history teacher and love her because I know at least she cares. I eat cereal and watch TV. My parents are still in their room.
I waited too long, and my tea is cold now. I leave it on the table untouched and go to the family room, lying down on the couch. The family photo we all took some ten years ago is hanging over the fireplace. My grandma and grandpa are in the back, then Aunt Marissa and Uncle Bob, me in the very front, and behind me are my parents. Daisy wasn’t alive yet, so she isn’t in it. We’re all in front of my grandparents’ house, smiling, wearing summer clothes. If we were to take it again five years ago, both my grandparents would be gone. If we took it now, my parents would be gone too. They look so happy in the photo. If I could only talk to them now…
Dear Mom and Dad, I think.
I wish you were still here. I wish nothing had to change. I wish I would’ve understood what was happening before you died. In a lot of ways I blame myself. I didn’t notice or pay enough attention, I was busy only focusing on myself when you needed help. There are things I could have done. I regret so much of it. On the other hand, I’m angry at you, which is making it harder for me to miss you like I know I really should. Sure I wasn’t there for you, but you weren’t there for me, and you’re my parents. The only set of parents I got to have, and you took yourselves away from me. I felt even more isolated before you died. I know it’s easier to blame the doctors, or the police, or that runner, but I find myself blaming you too. I just wish none of this had ever happened. I’m angry, sad, and confused about how to feel. I’m so sorry.
Love Sincerely, Harper.
The next morning, I walk to school. The sleet has stopped, but now everything is muddy, damp, and extremely cold. I’m glad it’s the last day of school before break, since we hardly ever really do anything and we go home early.
In english, we have a short assignment to take up the time. It’s just a prompt that we write about and turn in at the end. I see it on the board in blue dry erase letters- What is your happy place?
I take paper out of my binder and a pencil. I almost begin to write, and then decide I should think this out first.
My happy place… what does that look like? My parents would still be alive, of course. They’d be happy and healthy and having less extreme work hours. We would do things together, eat as a family, they’d help me with my homework when I needed it. We would have a family dog, a golden retriever. We would celebrate all the holidays with our same traditions and then some. I’d be best friends with Lindsay still. We would hang out on Fridays like we used to and sit together at lunch. Oh, and my history teacher from last year would be my only teacher.
Before I know it, the bell rings, snapping me out of my daydream. My paper is still blank, and I’m gripping my pencil so hard my knuckles are white. I leave the paper there and don’t turn anything in on my way out. The thing about that assignment is that I can’t actually do it- my happy place doesn’t exist.
The rest of the day is a boring blur of getting papers back and watching movies. I feel lucky when the final bell rings, and I walk home.
In a few days it’s Christmas, and we had just finished opening gifts when the doorbell rings. It was a nice morning, Aunt Marissa and Uncle Bob gave me some books and clothes and a new phone case, and I’m already having a better Christmas than last year. My Aunt disappears into the kitchen to start making pancakes, and my Uncle takes Daisy to her high chair. I’m alone by the tree and about to join them when I hear the doorbell ring.
“I’ll get it,” I yell to my relatives in the kitchen. I walk to the front door and open it, not expecting in the least who’s there. Smiling at me, holding a box, but with fear in her eyes- it’s Lindsay. I try and form words from my mouth but I just stand there, gaping, literally speechless.
“Merry Christmas,” says Lindsay. She looks so unbearably hopeful that I can’t take it anymore, I’m still mad at her. Who does she think she is to show up like this? I slam the door in her face.
I’m completely in shock. What was that? Why did she show up here, today, at all? Lindsay's voice interrupts my thoughts, muffled by the door.
“Please, Harper. I just want to talk. If after I’m done you still want to slam the door, I’ll accept it. But please hear me out first,”
I open the door halfway and stand in it, with my arms crossed. It’s cold, and my hands are rubbing my elbows.
“Why should I do that? Why should I even care after you- you…” but I know why. I’ve never been able to say no to Lindsay.
“I’m so sorry, Harper. I was terrible- after your mom and dad passed away my dad told me if your parents are like that I can’t be around you, but it just made me abandon you in such a terrible time. I really, really didn’t want to. But I was afraid, too! I didn’t want anything to change because of everything that happened,”
“Excuse me, you didn’t want anything to change so you up and changed EVERYthing? Last year was when I really needed someone, Lindsay. I needed you.”
Lindsay’s eyes widen and her hand leaps up to cover her mouth, until her voice comes back. She gulps.
“I made a mistake, Harper. I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”
I don’t want to. At the same time it’s all I want. Lindsay’s eyes are tearful, and I’ve known her long enough to tell she’s sincere.
“Okay, come here,” I relent, and pull Lindsay toward me for a hug. Then something else pops into my mind. My arms loosen and I pull back.
“Why did you become friends with those kids? The popular ones? I’ve seen you with them literally every day. And are you still going to be friends with them?” I’d been confused about this since when I found out, because I know from past years that at least half of her new “friends” get on her last nerve. Lindsay avoids my gaze.
“I… I don’t know, it just seems like they were willing to accept me. But then they tried to…”
“To what? Lindsay, what happened?” Even I can hear the worry in my voice. Lindsay opens her mouth as if she’s about to answer, but then Aunt Marissa walks up.
“Is everything okay Harper? Oh, hello Lindsay! What a nice surprise. Do you want to come in? It sure is cold out.” My aunt is decently oblivious to any and all situations- I make sure of that.
“Thanks, but I have to go soon. Here.”
She hands me the box she had been holding.
“These are homemade snickerdoodles.”
I smile. “My favorite! I can’t believe you remembered.”
“Of course I remembered,” Lindsay replies with a wink.
“I need to go back to the kitchen, but thanks for stopping by, Lindsay. Merry Christmas!”
I wait until she’s out of earshot, then ask Lindsay what she was about to say before my Aunt got there.
“It was no big deal, I just realized I couldn’t be friends with them anymore. That’s all.”
I know it’s not all, but I don’t want to force it right now. So I smile, and we hug again, and I say goodbye. And I walk into the kitchen with my heart feeling light, where my family is waiting for me.
“Come here, Harper.” My parents and history teacher speak in unison at the bottom of the staircase I’m on.
“I’m afraid,” I whisper. Yet somehow they hear me, even a hundred feet away. I’m at the top of a staircase that juts out straight into the abyss, with beige steps in pinky lighting. There are no railings.
“It’s okay, Harper. When you’re with us it will all be okay,” my teacher says up at me.
“Harper, go back.” This voice I can’t place. It’s coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The sound is monotone, and hard to place.
“I can’t.” My voice sounds strangled.
“Harper, you want to. You want to go back. See them,” the voice encouraged. Harper saw her parents and history teacher smiling with their arms outstretched to her. She was crouched on the top step, and all sides but in front of her were straight down. Her knees were curled into her chest with her arms tucked around them.
“I can’t.” My response is the same. I remain motionless, and new tears rush down my face.
“Why?” The voice questions. My parents and teacher look hurt.
“Because,” I whimper. “I can’t!” My scream echoes through the abyss, and then my eyes burst open. My breathing is shallow, and pillow wet from the tears.
I used to get nightmares all the time when I was little, but they went away until my parents died. The only thing that hasn’t changed since I was so young is I have no ability to cope with them. I forfeit a night of sleep in capitulation.
The next day, a Monday, I feel like a zombie walking to school. I’m barely there. Luckily, we lose an hour of school to mandatory police safety programs today so there’s less actual school time. It’ll be in the morning and in the gym, then afterwards we have shortened periods. My entire mind feels like it’s wrapped in fog and nothing can get through.
I sit on the bleachers in the bottom corner, furthest from where anyone will notice me and closest to where I can we when we get to leave. Lindsay comes in a few minutes late and sits next to me. I hardly pay attention to the chief officer with a leashed German Shepherd talking about making good decisions and staying safe, until I hear a very distinctive voice breaking through his lecture to ask a question. It’s Tommy, the football player Lindsay used to hang out with. He isn’t particularly ugly, but he’s never been that smart. Or that nice. He has a slight lisp that he always pretends doesn’t exist because it used to be worse and he was made fun of, which is how I knew it was him talking.
“But, like, why are we even being told about some of this stuff? The only people who get addicted to the heavy stuff or are stupid enough to overdose are like, homeless or retarded.”
The second it’s out of his mouth I feel myself go numb, and my breathing quicken. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, as my brain struggles to understand why anyone would say something so… I stand up abruptly and grab all my stuff. Thank god I sat by the door, because I’m running through it in less than two seconds. I hear Lindsay yell after me, then everything fades away. I find the nearest bathroom and lock myself in the stall, feeling the tears come and a sob pulled out of my throat. I wad up toilet paper and try to dry my eyes. God, I remember the last time I felt so gutted. Only it was worse than this.
It was the week before spring break and I was in math, my last class before history. I take notes on functions, but then the phone rings. The teacher looks up from the phone and motions to me, telling me to take my stuff. Apparently they need me at the office and I probably won’t get back to class.
I walk down the empty hallway, with a billion thoughts flowing through my head like the light of every start rushing towards Earth at one time. Am I in trouble? It’s probably good, right? I don’t think I did anything wrong. But what if I did? What happened?
The office lady leads me into the principal’s. He looks tired, with graying hair and sagging facial features.
“Harper? I’m afraid something has happened with your parents.”
All I can do is blink back at him, and my mind which used to be every star is now the vacuum of empty space.
“They… well, they passed away. I’ll let the police explain, because they’re the ones who understand the situation best. I’m incredibly sorry for your loss, and we are happy to let you take some time off to grieve. All your teachers have been notified, and your Aunt has volunteered to take you in. If you ever need to talk, our therapist Dr. Hillman is always here.”
I can’t talk. I can’t think. I can’t move. I’ve never felt so much nothingness. I feel like my body is going through motions but my self doesn’t exist. I’m in a black hole, being stretched and warped into nonexistence. The same office lady leads me to the parking lot, where a police car is waiting with a bald officer wearing black is standing. He opens the door to the front for me, and we drive off.
“Your parents overdosed on opioid painkillers together and were found dead in a parked car on the outskirts of town. There will be a full autopsy, though based on our research they were first administered these painkillers after a car accident? But they also kept refilling the prescription long after it was supposed to be needed. We’re headed to where they were now, not because any of us think you should be there, but because your Aunt is there and you need to be placed in her custody. I’m sorry, kiddo.”
I’m staring out the window as all of this town flashes by outside, landmarks passing like comets with their dust tails. I don’t say anything, or cry, or react. I feel like I’m floating, like a string attached me to my only safe place and now it’s been cut in half and I’m helplessly drifting away through zero gravity. The officer opens his mouth with one more thing to say.
“I suppose this only leaves us with one question for you…”
“You want to know if I knew.”
He nods. We’ve reached the crime scene, if that’s even what it is, and I get out of the car. He walks over to me.
“I didn’t know. A lot of what I’d seen makes sense now, but at the time I didn’t…” I didn’t want to know.
“What had you seen?” The officer’s voice is gentle.
“They would come home late, and they were gone a lot, distant, distracted, tired all the time. My mom’s skin turned yellow and her lips and fingertips would be rimmed with blue sometimes. My dad got all these weird patches and wrinkles on his skin.”
“Thank you for being so brave,” the officer tells me as he jots down notes. That’s a lie, though. I haven’t been brave. I’ve just been here.
There’s yellow caution tape and flashing blue and red lights everywhere. I don’t want to see any of it.
The cop leads me to my Aunt, who’s shaking. We have to fill out some papers and they make my Aunt answer more questions, and they try to make sure we’re okay. They explain more about what happened, too.
A runner saw my parents and called 911 when he couldn’t feel a pulse. By the time they arrived there was nothing they could do, but they tried to administer Narcan and revive them anyway. It became clear what happened when they saw the pill bottles and all the same signs I had. Their bodies were being taken to a coroner.
Aunt Marissa insists she’s okay to drive, so we leave to go home because the police and EMTs insist they’ll take it from here. In the car is silence.
“Aunt Marissa?” I ask her quietly. “Can we stop by the middle school? I think I left some things in my locker.”
“Sure, sweetie. Whatever you need.” I can tell Aunt Marissa is trying to be calm, and I appreciate that, but I don’t want her to feel burdened. It’s about 5 o’clock by the time we get to the school. I feel drained.
My Aunt parks around the corner and I walk into the middle school, finding the front door locked. I was expecting this, but I don’t go back to my Aunt’s car just yet. I sit on the bench outside of the front of the school that faces the parking lot with my arms crossed in front of me, finger tips rubbing my elbows.
Suddenly I hear the door to the school open, and I don’t want to turn around. But then a voice that feels like home asks me a question.
“Harper? Why are you here? It’s awful late.”
At the sound of my history teacher’s voice I feel myself begin to cry. All the feelings my body had rejected came falling in like a meteor shower. I can’t believe I lost my parents. I’m an orphan.
“Oh sweetie, everything will be alright. The principal emailed me.” She sits on the bench next to me and hugs me. I feel a new thought surface.
“But.. aren’t I just a terrible person? I was the only one… I should’ve been able to do something,” I say through my sobs.
“Harper, I want you to listen to me. There is absolutely nothing that anyone could have done except for your parents themselves. You are not a terrible person, in fact you’re one of the best students I have ever had and one of the best people I’ve encountered, too. Sometimes life puts big, horrible things in our way. But how we react is what makes us who we are, not anything else about your past. I know you’ll persevere, and remember it is what your parents would have wanted most. They may have made mistakes, but that doesn’t have to be you.”
There’s a moment of silence as calm washes over me like light from some far away star finally reaching me, and I know what I feel with certainty.
“Thanks,” I tell her.
“Now are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll try. For you I’ll always try.”
“That’s real sweet, Harper, but I also want you to try for you.”
I nod. “I should go, my Aunt is waiting in the car.”
“I’ll walk you out,” She states reassuringly. Seeing her made me realize everything I was feeling, but she made it all better too. For now, anyway, she had been my telescope to view all of space and made the distant things feel clear, and close. Nothing would ever be quite the same. I stayed home from school for the next month, and Lindsay didn’t text or call or visit. When I came back Lindsay avoided me, and everyone else treated me in a manner so fragile you’d think I was a paper thin sheet of glass. I was grateful for my history teacher, however, because she was the only person who treated me like me. And it was what I needed. And she knew that.
Over the next summer I hardly did anything. But there was one thing I did almost every week, and that was my favorite walk. It took me through town- to my mom’s favorite chocolate shop, the library my dad used to go and do work or read at sometimes, the park where I learned to ride a bike, the clinic where my mom used to work, the law office my dad worked at, the restaurant we went for birthday and anniversary dinners, the church I was baptized at, and finally my old house. No one had moved into it yet. Every time I walked by one of those places that represented so much of my past, it made me smile at first, until it made me want to scream. All of these little dots along a timeline that used to be my life were meaningless now, without them. Any little everyday encounter or task felt useless, because it still wouldn’t bring them back. Nothing would.
It feels like an eternity before I see Lindsay’s shoes appear in the doorway.
“Harper? You in here?”
“Yeah,” I croak.
“Oh, Harper I’m so sorry that happened.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done and nothing to be sorry for.” The number one thing I learned after losing my parents is everyone apologizes, even if they don’t mean it, or even if it’s unhelpful entirely. But they feel the need to say something.
“After you left I realized, and-and- I yelled at Tommy saying ‘what is wrong with you?’ And then I talked to the officer and he said we can stay here for the rest of the time. He also told Tommy it was highly inappropriate to say something like that,” she explains. I sniffle.
“Harper, come out here.” Semi-reluctantly I open the stall and walk out, still wiping my eyes. Lindsay hugs me, and tighter than usual.
“I’m sorry, Lindsay. I just, I’m having a rough time. I keep…”
“What?”
“I keep getting these flashbacks, and it’s like my brain becomes fixated on that one time in the past and they can almost be debilitating with how they happen,” I say finally. I tell Lindsay about all of them, every detail, to the accident and Christmas and when they died. And it feels good to talk. It feels better to have someone listen.
“Oh, Harper, that must be really tough,” is all Lindsay says.
I tell her how I can’t decide if I should hate them for taking themselves away, or myself for not trying to help or noticing.
“It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t hate them either. They didn’t try to do this, and they didn’t think. They loved you, Harper,” is all she says. But then she pauses, seeming to mull it over, before saying something else.
“Why do you think so much of it had to do with the teacher?” My tears are gone by now, and I understand the answer.
“She was like a parent, someone who loved me, when my parents were gone. That’s why. It was… enough to pretend when I went to school,” my voice is a low whisper, but still level.
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Everything will be okay.”
Eventually the bell rings and we go to our classes, luckily none of which I have with Tommy. After school, Lindsay finds me.
“Hey, do you wanna go get ice cream? Just like old times.”
I didn’t really want to go anywhere, but I could tell she was trying. I nod my head and attempt to smile. We walk together to town, and soon we’re licking ice cream cones on the bench by the corner of City Hall while we talk about spring break plans. But then a group of people walk by us. And one of them is Tommy. They stop in front of our bench and I avert my eyes.
“Oh hey, Lindz. Looks like you just have so many friends since you stopped hanging out with us. It suits you- people nobody likes rarely ever have friends.”
His idiotic group laugh like it was just the funniest thing ever.
“Leave us alone, Tommy,” Lindsay’s voice is calm, but in a very scary way.
“What, are you scared?” Tommy winks at her, and then they all walk away. I can tell by Lindsay’s expression that his statement means more than what it seems.
“What was that about?”
“I just… they, there’s a reason I really stopped being their friend.” The resignation in her voice is obvious. And then Lindsay opened a door and let me into her past.
It was winter break and Lindsay was going to see a movie with Tommy, Bailey, Amanda, Ryan, and Cole. They all sat in the back together, eating popcorn and paying more attention to each other than the movie. Afterwards it was dark, and as a thin crescent moon hung in the sky they walked to the park. It was cold, but there was no sleet or snow anymore.
They’d tried to coerce Lindsay into doing drugs multiple times before- but she'd never done it. It just wasn’t really her thing, but she was never worried. Yet when her only friends revealed their stashes of pills, ones that were oblong, some brightly colored, and some white disks, she felt afraid. She didn’t know what any of them were, and she didn’t want to take them. That’s when Tommy asked her the same question as she tried in vain to refuse-
“What, are you scared?”
Lindsay knew they could get into huge trouble, so she called her mom to pick her up. She wanted to run or walk but she was afraid it wasn’t safe at night, and her mom didn’t question what happened because Lindsay made her pick her up at the opposite side of the park. A few days later, still somewhat distraught over what her friends had so wanted, she went to Harper’s house and apologized.
And now, back on the bench, I can’t believe this is why Lindsay stopped being friends with them.
“Harper, I’m really sorry. I’m just so happy I don’t feel like I’m forced to hang out with them anymore… either way, the second I left I realized the drugs were just the push I was waiting for so I had enough reason to stop being friends with them. I didn’t really like any of them- all they did was complain and treat everything like a joke and none of them really liked each other either. We were all just kind of there. And I missed you.”
“It’s okay, I’m glad you did what you did,” I give her arm a squeeze and I can feel her relax. For the first time since before my parents died, things actually feel the same way between Lindsay and me.
I am so incredibly happy this school year is over, and since I’ve been happier and friends with Lindsay again, the year has not actually ended too terribly.
I find Lindsay after school, because she’s meeting me at my Aunt’s summer block party later today. She’s stopping by home first since she no longer lives on the same street at me, but we excitedly hug each other at the prospect of having actually survived a year of high school. I think my parents would be proud… I really, really miss them.
Lindsay and I have been talking for longer than I realized, which is a mistake because I have to pick up Daisy from school. I’m taking her to the party since my Aunt needs to be setting up. I say goodbye to Lindsay and feel conflicted about which path I should take to get Daisy- the high school is minutes from home, but the elementary school is further, to the point where it’s actually closer to the house but you can’t get there in an easy and direct way. Glancing around the parking lot and surrounding streets, I see my chance. There’s a bike path behind the school that ends really close to Daisy’s school in a direct path through woods, lots, and behind a couple houses. It’ll be faster than main streets.
I walk quickly down the path, and it becomes clear no one has used this for biking or any kind of meaningful transport in many years. It’s overgrown in many places, and the ground changes between cement, asphalt, grass, and dirt for both big stretches and sporadic patches. The path is mostly straight, but several bends in it make it impossible to see what lays ahead for any significant distance. The next corner I turn, I see something ahead of me that I would not have anticipated if you asked me forty-seven trillion times what was around that bend. I feel myself freeze in my steps at the sight. I want to scream, but I gasp instead. This is in a tree lined and slightly overgrown part of the path, away from houses or streets. On the ground are two bodies, slumped against a tree trunk. Their eyes are closed, mouths open. I can already identify them: it’s Tommy and Bailey. The two most popular kids in school, and Lindsay’s former best friends. I hear myself try to call out to them in the hopes that they’re just asleep, maybe. I can see their chests struggle to rise and fall with each breath, but they won’t respond. I kneel down and shake Tommy’s shoulders, then Bailey’s. They don’t react.
But that’s when I see, strewn around them and jutting out of each of their arms- the needles. They look dirty, and little orange caps are thrown about the ground. There are two open packets on the ground, off-white powder dusted next to them. And bands tied around their arms.
I can imagine this is what my parents looked like, thanks to their freaking addiction. Only replace pain killing pills with heroin and needles… and this time replace hopelessness with hope. The sight almost makes me want to gag, or run, or scream, or cry. But that’s not what I do. This time, I know what to do, as I think all the way back to the first day of school.
I had fainted, and I woke up to Nurse Kathy in the office. And she left to go get me a pass, but as I stood to grab my backpack I saw a box full of cases. I walked away with one of the cases and I never took it out of my backpack. It made me feel safe.
I retrieve the case now, and think back to what had been on the box, in bold black type:
Naloxone Saves Lives.
I know, from research I did after losing my parents, that naloxone is called Narcan as a treatment, and it can be used to reverse the effects of overdose and revive people. So I open the black case, with its red cross on the front, to find instructions and two glass vials. Perfect.
Each is a single use, so I administer them to Tommy and Bailey. It takes several deep breaths before I can approach them without feeling like gagging. But I do it. Then I call 911.
I tell them my name, the situation, and where I think I am. When I’m told help is on the way, I remember I was supposed to pick up Daisy, and I frantically call my Aunt.
“Harper? Are you and Daisy on your way?”
“Hi Aunt Marissa, look I may not be able to pick up Daisy. I was walking, and there was an emergency. Don’t worry, I’m just fine, but I’m waiting for first responders to take over, I can’t just leave.”
“Oh my god, what happened? Do I need to come down there?”
“No, everything will be okay. But you may want to pick up Daisy from school. You can probably call Lindsay’s family, they were coming to the party soon anyway. I’ll explain everything later, right now I’m at the bike path that starts by the high school and ends at Daisy’s school… oh, good, the police are here. I am so sorry I will call back when everything’s okay.”
I hang up before my Aunt can say anything else. I see a police car ambling down the bike path, which is just barely wide enough for it. I wave and motion for it to stop. When the cop gets out I recognize him as the bald one who picked me up from school when my parents died, and I think I see a flicker of recognition on his face too. He speaks into his walkie talkie and a few seconds later an ambulance is backing into the bike path from the other way- I was much closer to the elementary school than I realized. Just around the bend is the street.
EMTs pick up Tommy and Bailey, swinging them onto gurneys and putting on oxygen masks. They’re taken into the ambulance for better care and to get their vitals. All the while I am asked questions, and I give the best answers I can. My name, what I was doing there, what I did, identifying Tommy and Bailey… everything. Then they ask if I have questions, and like the cop when my parents died, I only really have one.
“Will they be okay?”
A middle aged woman with dark hair exits the ambulance with a clipboard at the call of the police officer who had been asking me questions.
“They’re back and responding now, that’s for sure. Right at this second the kids are really groggy, and still feeling some of the effects. But long term? They’ve survived this. We’re in the process of contacting their parents and sorting out any charges for possession, but you saved their lives. If it weren’t for you giving them Narcan, they probably would’ve died. There was a lot in their system… it was close,” she explains. I feel myself give a small smile back that they’ll be okay. Suddenly I see Aunt Marissa’s car drive up to the curb, and she hops out, running to and hugging me.
“Harper, you had me so worried. What happened?” I want to answer, but the cop beats me to it.
“Ma’am, this girl found two of her peers overdosed on heroin on that path. She managed to revive them and called us, and if it weren’t for those quick actions the teens likely would have died. She saved their lives,” he explains.
I can see Aunt Marissa’s eyes well up with tears, and she hugs me tightly.
“Your parents would have been so proud of you,” she breathes. “I love you Harper. Thank you for making sure two more families don’t have to go through what we did,” she says, whispering through her tears to me.
“I love you too,” I reply. Done with questioning, my Aunt and I get into the car and start to drive home, where there’s a party waiting for us. We pretend like nothing happened, except my Aunt finds Daisy and I find Lindsay, telling them everything.
The next day, my first day of summer vacation, I go on a walk. My favorite walk, through all the past memories- except this time I don’t feel frustrated, or useless. It’s a beautifully warm day. I loop all throughout town before stopping at my final destination: the cemetery. I feel incredibly lucky that Tommy and Bailey won’t be added here… and I finally feel brave enough to visit my parents. I find their gray headstones, marked with names and dates and bible verses. They also say “Survived by their beloved daughter, Harper”
Survived. It’s nice to say with certainty that it’s true- I’ve survived this.
I leave the little bunch of wildflowers I’ve gathered on my walk between the two of them. The wind blowing through the cemetery combined with the sunbeams that filter through oak trees and land on me feel like a hug from them. My arms are crossed, hands rubbing my elbows, until I feel something inside of me let go and my hands fall to my sides. And I find more words coming to mind, except now I speak to them and not a family picture.
Dear Mom and Dad…
I have so much to tell you about.
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