Three years of my life were spent whining about a move across California.
Eleven months have been spent in mourning.
About half of those were spent in denial.
One week has past since I finally decided to do something about it.
There are so many things I want to say. So many things I wish I'd said.
This is sounding too much like a lame poem.
Enough with the complaining.
I'm done with that.
Maybe I'm not done yet, but I'm finishing. I guess it's easier to write things if you know the people important to you won't read it. Maybe the opposite is true. Either way, here's my story.I was sitting at home playing Maple Story, happy. I wasn't still whining over the whole move up north, I'd adjusted to middle school, and had friends that I really cared about. Oblivious to the world around me I talked online with friends. I hear a car; a knock on the door. I jump over to the top of the stairs to see who it is. Two police officers stand awkwardly in the doorway. Oh God. Quick steps back to the room; I'm hiding. I don't know why, but I don't want to know why they're here. Footsteps as my dad joins my mom near the door. Mumbled speech, "Do you know Devon Marvin?", more mumbled speech. What happened? It wasn't her parents voice, and it wasn't hers. Did she steal something? ...Hah. What kind of straight-A student commits theft? What kind of intelligent, sweet, funny, cheery, drama and band student does anything that causes an unknown voice to question your acquaintance? And even if she did, the police wouldn't come to us... Feet hit the stairs. My door opens. It's my mom. Her face is unreadable, and her tone is monotonous for once in my life. "Katie, there's a police officer that would like to speak to you."Horror, panic, frozen. What did I do? Am I going to jail? Wait, she said Devon. Is this a joke? What the hell is going on? I tread down the stairs and see two police officers standing in the living room. Both with beige uniforms. The woman with her hair pulled back, and the man with short cut hair. Both with guns, handcuffs and what appear to be tasers."Do you mind sitting down?" The first one questioned politely, but with neither a smile, nor a fraction of anything happy on her face. I nod warily, and sit in front of her, who also takes a seat. She has that awkward look people have when they say something they know will have a negative reaction, but they know it has to be said."Devon...""Devon is no longer with us." What? She ran away? Wait. Why'd police officers come? Why didn't they just call? We could call her or something. Why? What the hell is this? It's not her... The only other time this has happened is when she went for a walk and her parents didn't realize. I don't get it! I scream in my head. But on the outside I just stare. Stare at the police officer. Stare at the floor. Stare blankly while the gears in my mind move slowly. Slower than ever. But not so slow that they stop.Oh geez. Oh geez, oh geez, oh geez. No no no no. I'm wrong. I'm always wrong. I--
"Devon took her life on Saturday, Februrary 9th," the woman adds and pauses.Nothing. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to think. I can't move. Is this a sick joke? She's not ... She's not gone. She wouldn't do that! She wouldn't leave me! She got me this far in life - the reason I'm over the whole move up here. She's was HAPPY! HAPPY. WE SAW HER SMILE. SHE LAUGHED. My thoughts turn stronger as I realize the depth of the officer's words. She's lying, she has to be. It's not true
The woman looks at me sympathetically. I want to hate her for telling me. I want to scream at her that she's wrong. But really I know she's not, and it's better than if I were hear it through the infamous grapevine. She keeps talking but I don't hear her. I must have said something but it was undoubtedly insignificant and probably incoherent. She hands me her card saying, "Give me a call if you need anything, or give it to anyone who needs it. I'm so sorry." I shove the card into my pocket and try to focus on reality. She leaves and I stumble upstairs, and start scribbling on a piece of paper. No pictures, no words. Just violent lines. Like the thoughts in my mind. Jumbled, confused, nonsensical.Flash forward.- Skip through the months of denial; where I told myself she's not gone. She has to leave but she's coming back. I'll see her soon. I'm dying and I'll meet her again. It's a horrible dream. Anything. Anything to assuage the pain.
- Pass through the months of depression. Those months where I lost my emotion. I lost my personality, and I couldn't think straight. Where I didn't want to live; and I didn't want to interact.
- Jump past my efforts in school, and my grades; B's and C's, with a couple A's. A failed math final. The fact that I only did my homework when I felt like it. The grades that almost had me repeating the same math and science as a freshman in high school. Almost.
And you'll get to where I am now. I'm done with complaining. I'm sick of whining about everything that's wrong with my life, and onto smiling about what's good. I'm finished with that. As the New Year begins so do fresh starts, new goals, and revisions from the last year. That was my story, and this is the next chapter in my life.
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