Heroes

         The bell rings and the teacher walks to the front of the class. “Alright, settle down.” She says. She waits for the room to get quiet before she continues. “Today, being the last day before winter break, I don’t expect you to be here. Not mentally, anyways, which is why I have decided to throw out the test, and instead, give you free reign today. That does not mean you can leave the room. And you cannot be too loud. Other than that, you may do as you wish this period.”
         The class lets out a cheer and it immediately turns into the dull roar of thirty-three people talking at the same time. I pull out my iPod and put on my headphones. As the rest of the class continues talking, I press the play button and close my eyes, once again lost in my thoughts and my memories.
         “Do you really have to go?” I ask, tears forming in my eyes.
         “I’m sorry. I have no choice. My mom says we need to get as far away from him as possible. But, I’ll be back for Christmas. She can’t keep me away from my dad all the time. I’ll email you every week, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
         I wipe the tears from my eyes and realize that she is also crying. I embrace her and whisper in her ear. “It’ll all be okay. You’ll make new friends, and it’ll be Christmas before you know it. I’ll see you soon.”
         She hugs me back and kisses my cheek. “Goodbye.” She whispers. She turns around and gets into the truck. As it pulls away, she turns around in her seat and watches me from the back window. I stare back until the truck goes around the corner and out of sight. I stand there for what seems like hours before heading home. I go straight to my room and close the door. I throw myself onto the bed and cry. I cried for a long time. My best friend, my only friend, is moving away. What do I do now?
         As the final words of Switchfoot’s “Yesterdays” fade out, I realize everyone is gathering their stuff. The bell just rang. School was out. My heart sinks. Winter break. My favorite time of year. I grab my backpack and get out of my seat. When I’m almost out the door, someone calls my name. My heart races. Someone actually is excited to see me. My heart stops just as fast when I realize it was the teacher who called me. I walk up to her desk and ask what she wants.
         “I’m concerned about you. Your grade is slipping, your assignments aren’t getting turned in, and what does get turned in is of very low quality. What’s going on?”
         “I guess I just have a lot going on right now.”
         “Is there anything I can do?”
         “I don’t think so. I just have to figure some stuff out.”
         “Alright, let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”
         Can you go back in time?
         “Alright, I will. Have a nice break.” I turn around and head through the door towards my bus. Then I stop. There, right in front of me is… no, not her. Someone else. I swear under my breath. I hate this time of year. I see her everywhere, even though I know she’s gone. I’m going crazy. As I’m about to get on the bus, I change my mind. I’d rather walk home, even though it’s more than two miles. Maybe this way I can clear my head. I slip my headphones back on and start the trek home.
         RING RING. RING RING. I grab the phone and push talk. “Hello?” I say, half asleep. I hear the voice on the other end, talking to someone in the background. I know that voice. It’s her sister. “Julie?”I ask.
         “Yeah, um, hi.”
         “What’s up? What time is it over there? Two in the morning?”
         “Something like that. I haven’t looked at a clock for a while.” I can sense a panic in her voice. An extreme urgency. I’m wide awake now.
         “Julie, what’s wrong?”
         “It’s Hannah…” her voice trails off. My heart sinks.
         “What about her?” I hear sobs on the other end.
         “She’s… she’s… dead.” she chokes out. My heart dies, like it got shot twice, resurrected, then shot twice more. I start crying now. Through our sobs and gasps, I figure out what happened.
         Three days earlier, I got an email from Hannah. She was invited to a Christmas party. She had her doubts about going, because she still didn’t have many friends. Only a few. I told her she should go, go have fun and make some new friends. That’s what I told her.
She went to the party. Or, tried to. As she was crossing the street, a pickup ran the red light and smashed into her body, killing her instantly. At least I have that to be thankful for, that it was quick. The police arrive on the scene and discover that the driver was drunk, twice the legal limit.
         “I’m sorry.” Julie says, “I thought you’d want to know.”
         “Thanks.” I choke out. I push the end button and put the phone back on its stand. I go over to my dresser and pull out a knife I stole from my brother. I flick it open and run the blade along the back of my forearm. That was the first time.
         I get to my front door and pull out my keys. Once inside, I set my backpack on a chair and boot up my laptop. Once the music is playing and a word document is open, I begin to type…
         Tears are streaming down my face. I save the document and shut off the computer. I glance at my cell phone, but, for the hundred thousandth time, no messages, no missed calls, nothing. It’s not fun being alone. Whether it was by choice or circumstance, I don’t remember. I think it was a little bit of both.
         I had some friends after her, but I don’t talk to them anymore. Two of them, my best friends, I tore their friendship apart. It still kills me. They both loved me, and I loved them both. They say when two girls like you, you’ve got it made. How wrong can someone be? It’s a nightmare. You like them both, and you can’t decide who you want to be with. So you choose one, maybe a little too hastily. I was pulled into things I’d never thought I’d do. I started lying to my parents, stealing, and breaking curfew to go over to her house. What an idiot I was. I don’t know why, but her grandpa hated me.          So one day she texts me and says “This isn’t working. I can’t do this anymore.” My heart shatters again, for what seems like the millionth time. In my struggle to keep these two girls friendship together, I ended up breaking it apart. I don’t know if they talk to each other, but I don’t think they do. I grab my knife from its drawer and run it down my arm again.
         December 20. I know what’s going to happen tonight. It happens every year. I get ready for bed, and lie there for what seems like an eternity. Nobody knows what’s about to happen. I’m about to have that dream again. I try everything I can to stay awake, but eventually sleep overcomes.
         “Come on.” She laughs. “We’re going to be late.”
         “Alright, I’m coming.” I laugh back. We make our way down the street to the corner. As we walk in silence, she suddenly speaks.
         “I’m going to die tonight.”
         “Are you now?” I laugh, sure it’s just a ruse.
         “I am. And there’s nothing you can do to save me.”
         “We’ll see about that.” I laugh again. We reach a street with a light. We wait for our signal, and once it changes, she steps out into the street. I start to follow her, but stop when I hear squealing tires. A truck, a red pickup, slams into her body and she flies through the air, her skull cracking on the concrete. I run to her and kneel down, propping her bloody head up with my hand.
         “I told you. I’m going to die tonight. You can’t save me. No one can.” And she dies. I scream into the air and then whisper goodbye, tears running down my face. I close her eyes and lay her head down.
         I wake up covered in sweat. I walk into the bathroom and shower. Washing away the sweat, and washing away the tears. I only wish it could wash away the pain. After twenty minutes, I get out and get dressed. I look at the clock. It’s only three in the morning. I slip on my shoes and slip out the back door. I run. Run to the school and back. It helps clear my head, running in the night. But my parents don’t approve.
         They don’t approve of a lot of things. They don’t approve of my coping techniques, or my plan for the future. They want me to get a diploma. But I don’t need one. I want to be a writer. I can get my GED in the next few months, and then take some classes at a community college. I don’t need a diploma for that. But they just don’t understand.
         Maybe they want me to be some great, important person. I don’t know. But that’s not what I want. I want to entertain with my writing. I want people to enjoy it as much as I do.
         I just can’t take anymore. This pressure from my parents, my teachers, myself. It’s just too much. As tears fall from my face to the floor, I open my drawer and pull out my knife once more.