“We should tackle your room tonight,”
Mackenzey unlocks my apartment door.
“I’m too tired to tackle my room today,” I
drop my jacket over the back of a recliner. “Going back to school is absolutely
exhausting.”
“Pick up your jacket, young lady,” Mack
comes in behind me, hands over her hips.
I head off to my room, and my tanned
leather jacket lifts up and follows me. I pull my book bag off and set it on my
bed. The jacket falls beside it. I change into a Victoria’s Secret long-sleeved
tee shirt and sweatpants.
“Where do you want me to put your
magazines,” Mack calls from the living room.
“Are you cleaning again?” I call back. I
pull my schoolbooks from my bag. I need Internet access to do my history work,
so I grab the needed book and make my way over to my computer.
“Seriously, babe,” Mack appears in my
doorway. “I can’t find your magazine rack.”
“That’s because I moved it in here.”
“Oh.” She finds it settled under the window
by my bed and sets some magazines from the living room on it. “Are you sure you
don’t want to clean your room today?”
“I’m sure,” I say as I pull Facebook up
over the webpage.
“What are you doing?” she looks over to
find me staring at the Facebook login screen. “Oh, you’re going to tackle that
today.”
I nod slowly. I move my cursor to the sign
in bars and login.
“Woah,” she breathes on my neck.
I have dozens of messages, hundreds of
notifications, and one friend request.
“Is that Toby?” she gestures to the friend
request.
I click it. Indeed it is. I accept it.
“Well, I’m going to dust your coffee table.
You have fun flirting with Toby.” I flip her off, and she smacks my middle
finger just before she bounces, giggling, back into my living room.
I pull up my notifications. Most of them
are wall posts, so I move to my profile.
Hundreds of wall posts. I scroll through
literally hundreds. Most of them are
simple condolences and “sorry for your loss”es. Some of them are a bit longer,
but still leave me with the same nasty feeling. But then I stop at one.
Mrs. Martinez, my clumsy, old math teacher
left a note on my wall just the morning after prom. I think it’s a little
inappropriate for a student to have her teachers of her friends list, but Mrs.
Martinez requested me early last year, so I accepted. I read her message.
Brigitte, Brigitte,
Brigitte. I can’t believe it was just last night that your parents chaperoned
your prom. Your mom looked so gorgeous in sparkly red. Your dad just as
debonair as always. When I saw them looking at each other, I didn’t think I
could see another love so strong. Until I saw their gazes fall on you.
I choke a sob.
You were dancing
with your brother, and the two of you were so happy together. Your parents
looked so happy to be just that, your parents. It was the last time I saw the
four of you so happy.
I am so sorry that
this is happening to you. I thank the Lord as I type this that you still have
your brother to take care of you. Stay strong, the two of you.
I cry hard as I type a reply.
Mrs. Martinez,
We haven’t been
strong. We’ve been apart. And I haven’t been strong enough to get on Facebook
until just now.
Thank you so much
for your words, though. They are the only ones on here that really captured my
attention.
My parents were so
happy in that moment. My parents were always… so happy.
So, thank you.
After I hit enter, I drop my head to the
desk and just sob.
The noise of Mack moving around in the
living room stops for a moment. I can tell she’s thinking about coming to see
me, but she probably believes I need my space. And I really do. She starts my
vacuum cleaner up.
Several minutes later, a chime sounds on my
computer.
I look up.
Toby messaged me.
Bridge. Brigitte.
I laugh. I type a reply.
Hi, knight in
shining armor.
I wait a couple of minutes as the screen
tells me he’s typing.
Knight in shining
armor, huh? I think I like that.
I’m feeling a little flirty after my
sobbing session.
I think I love it. I
might have to call on you to save me again sometime.
Again, the screen tells me he’s typing
almost instantly.
You plan on getting
into a car accident again?
A sob starts fresh in my throat. I’m sure
he didn’t mean to make a joke of my parents’ death, but after having just read
such a sweet condolence from my teacher, the pain is new again in my heart. I’m
about to get up to leave my desk when the page chimes again.
I’m so sorry. I didn’t
think about that being so insensitive. I’ll save you from anything, not just
from car wrecks. Brigitte, I’ll save you from this pain.
I close the Facebook page and turn my
monitor off. I climb back on my bed. Crawling over to my pillows, dragging
fistfuls of sheets with me, I pick up my book bag and dump it of its contents.
The small bottle of fairy dust rolls across the bed.
I capture my prize and empty half of the
powder on my palm. It doesn’t take me long at all to snort it up.
I curl into my pillows and sob, fresh.
“Brigitte,” my best friend comes softly
into my room. She climbs up on the bed with me and pulls me into her arms. Her
comfort is exactly what I need.