One

Emily is gone. Emily's dead. My best friend is gone. Whichever way I say it, it still hurts. My one and only friend, practically my sister, is gone. As I stare at her grave I notice that her father isn't crying, which really stood out considering he was the only one that wasn't. I couldn't understand how this could have happened. Death never really happened to me. My family was all alive and well, not that I was still a part of it, but they were breathing at least.



While the Priest or whomever you would call him, sat there reciting things about the earth and ashes, I couldn’t help remembering that Emily didn’t want to be in the ground, she told me.



It was one of the first times I came over to her house to visit. We were sitting on her bed painting our nails this coral color that we had just bought from Wal-Mart, and we were talking, just talking, nothing special, when her mom came in with a pile of mail in her hand. Her mom was very fit for her age; she went on a run every morning and did the Warrior Dash every year, as well as other marathons, sometimes she'd force Emily to run with her, which then included me into the mix, which did not sit well since running was not my strong suit. Her hair was a dark brown, almost black looking and was shoulder length. You could tell she was the student that never aged from high school; she still had the curves and the flawless skin she possessed back then. She was granted the gift of always tan skin from some ethnicity that I do not recall, Indian or something, which was passed down among the generations, and looked killer good on Emily, and made me look even paler in comparison, which is almost impossible considering I am already a redhead. She didn’t look up from it while she passed Emily her letter she got from her grandpa, the one on her dad's side. When Emily got up to grab it, her mother’s eyes flickered from the mail to her nails. She was very upset. She started Yelling at Emily how rude it was to paint your nails a happy color when they had a funeral the next day. Emily was screaming back at her mom, and her mom just stormed off slamming the door shut behind her. Emily was still upset when she sat back down on the bed and started removing the nail polish from her fingernails.



"It's not like I couldn't just repaint them before the funeral or something, and besides why do funerals have to be black anyway? I HATE black, it just seems so depressing."



I gave her my well thanks look, and she replied by saying, "Okay, well I know your favorite color is black, which I totally don't get, but that's just you. It fits your personality."



I roll my eyes, “it fits your personality," I mimic, "you do realize that you just called my personality depressing, right?"



"Well you knew what I meant, and your personality is kinda depressing. You just carry around this Black cloud most of the time, well unless your high, which is almost always, so I guess not ALL the time. But your normal personality consists of one thing: straight up bitch."



"Sometimes I wonder why we are friends, and then I realize you’re just as big of bitch as I am."



With that she just threw her pillow at me, and in the process made herself smudge her nails. "Fuck!" She screamed. Then we were both giggling in our uncontrollable way, when her Mom burst back through the door.



"What did I say about swearing? I swear to god you kids are gonna put me in my grave." Then realizing she just made a funeral joke she prayed and said sorry to god, doing that whole cross thing on your head and arms and shit, then walked back out.



Emily looked over to me and we held eye contact for a moment to long then burst out laughing again. After we both regained ourselves she says, “Again with the funerals, Depressing, and black, and now we aren't allowed to make jokes about it, my mom is losing it I tell you. I never want to have a funeral; if I die I want to have a party with a disco ball and all my favorite songs blaring through the speakers. I don't want to be buried either, just burn me up and wear me around your neck, like one of the locket things, but inside you could have my ashes.”



Now sitting here at this funeral just didn't seem right. I could do it. I started walking away when I caught sight of my mother, a short, curvy woman with brown hair that was dyed bleach blonde and pale skin. She smiled at me, a small but acknowledging smile. I froze in place, then when I saw Frank, My step dad, behind her. I turned around and walked the other way. I got into my barely running Pontiac and drove off, away from the depressing and black funeral, blaring “We are Never Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift, Emily's Favorite song.



When I reached our Apartment, well just mine now, I pulled into the gas station Super America parking lot behind our house. After listening to Emily’s playlist on repeat about ten times, I just sat there in silence, not really sure what to do next. After me and Emily got emancipated last year we got a place together and decided we would finish out our high school away from home. We moved to Alexandria and got a cheap place underneath some old couple’s house. It was small, but big enough for the two of us, now only me. There was so much more I had to figure out, how to pay both halves of the rent, how to get a new job, having recently quit Taco Bell, but the biggest thing was to find out more about Emily’s death.

The police report didn’t say much, claiming that she fell and hit her head before taking a bath, but Emily HATES baths, she claimed that you just sat there in your filf not getting any cleaner then you were before you got in. I tried telling that to the police, but all they said was, “Yeah well, people change their minds every day.” After I kept pressing and pressing on the subject some young female officer sat me down and told me this, “I know you cared for the girl, but you got to stop doing this to yourself, if you keep believing that there is more to this you are going to drive yourself insane trying to find something that’s not there.” She looked at me with these eyes that screamed you’re a sad little puppy and I have sympathy towards you.

I couldn’t let them let this go, they had to keep searching for more information, so I sat back, folded my arms and said, “Emily hates baths. She never takes them, like ever. I know she didn’t just change her mind.”

The Officer sighed and sat back staring at me a bit longer before saying, “Hated, she hated baths, past tense my dear, I am so sorry this happened, it shouldn’t have, but she’s gone now. Gone, and she’s not coming back. Speaking about her as if she is still living is only making things worse for you. You need to understand that her death was an accident, we have more than enough evidence to prove it.” That was when she handed me over the pictures of the crime scene. Emily’s naked body sat lying on the floor, she was lying on her side so you couldn’t see any private parts but you could tell she took good care of her health. Her long, dark hair all tangled into a mess, and the bath was overflowing with water, flooding the floor. Her eyes were open, her big brown eyes that got people to fall in love with her the instant she looked at them, but they weren’t the same, they were lifeless, no soul in them at all. When we used to watch America’s Next Top Model together Tyra always said to be a model you have to be able to smile with your eyes, and Emily was always the master at that, but these eyes, these eyes were not smiling anymore.

I sat there staring at the picture of my dead best friend. Something was off, and it wasn’t just that she was dead. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but there was definitely something wrong with that picture. After what felt like an hour, I heard a grunt and looked up. The sheriff was standing behind the empty chair that was previously sat in by the female officer. The sheriff was a decent enough looking guy; he had a full head of sandy blonde hair that fell just over his eyes. He was tan, one that you get from the sun and had a muscular build and a very serious look on his face. I just looked at him expecting him to speak, but he didn’t, he just sat down and gazed deep into my eyes, and I could have sworn he was looking for my soul. Then he cleared his throat and spoke in a deep voice, “I understand you are Emily Holan’s roommate.”

Yeahhh… I thought to myself, and what about it. “More like Best friend.” I stated.

He didn’t laugh or get mad at that, he just sat there still gazing for my soul. Moments passed, then minutes, and I was about to get up and leave when he cleared his throat and said, “Well. I’m glad to see she has a devoted friend, but if I may ask what are you doing here? This is the third time I have seen you here without being called in, and if I recall a couple years back you hated us pigs and we ought to go be made into pork already, with that attitude I assume you wouldn’t be the one to hang around the police station for fun.”

Oh, so he remembered that little statement did he, I could have sworn he wasn’t listening to a word I was saying that day. Not that I would have if there was this prissy kid whose grandparents kept bailing her out of jail, but still I couldn’t help but let out a smile at that. “I guess I am more memorable then I thought. Sorry about that by the way, not that you didn’t deserve it, but whatever. I am here so much because all of you officers are sitting here doing nothing while Emily’s case still sits unsolved.”

Not a moment of hesitation before he replies, “Look, kid, you have got to stop. The evidence sits right in front of you. It’s over. It has been solved, her death was an accident.”

Not him too, he may be more of an ass then the rest but he never gave up until he was for sure, something I usually hated about the guy. “So I have been told,” I say annoyed.

“Let it go. It’s hard to lose someone, I know, but this is too far. Leave, go on vacation, do something a little more useful with your time, because this, this is getting you nowhere.” And with that, he got up and left. He didn’t say goodbye, all the said was, this is getting you nowhere, yeah as if I didn’t already know that. I grabbed the pictures and stuffed them into my purse before I left the little room with the metal table and chairs being watched through the glass. I have seen that room to many times.

When I was halfway out the door the lady officer came up behind me and handed me a piece of paper with an address on it, and a name: Dr. James Poppy, before walking away with the same sympathetic expression sitting on her face.



I drove past the address and it was a shrink. I was so angry that I never actually showed up and I kept my distance from the police station. I suppose I better go inside. I dragged myself out of the car and walked to my apartment. It was suppose ably a two bedroom, but it was realistically more like one and a half. I got the bigger bedroom after a series of bets between me and Emily, which I am sure she let me win to make me feel better. I walked into the too small kitchen for even one person to be in and saw the picture of Emily on the fridge. When I brought them home from the police station I didn’t know where to put them so I just threw them up on the fridge and caught myself starting at them from time to time, trying to figure out what was so off about the picture, now I know that it is strange having a naked crime photo on your fridge but no one ever comes over anyway, and it keeps me from stuffing my face.

I picked up the photo from off the fridge and walked over to the bathroom. I held the photo till it matched the background, standing in the same spot the photographer was. Everything was the same, the all-white tiles covering the wall and floor. The tiny tub and shower against the far wall, with a small vanity sink adjacent to it. The only thing missing was the water and Emily. All of the cosmetics were sprawled across the bathroom in random spots any place they would fit. I don’t get it, I know something is wrong with this photo, but I just can’t figure it out. I go back to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee. I used to hate coffee, every morning Emily had a fresh batch on the counter and she always told me it was a better way to stay awake then drugs, I tried one sometime but it was nothing compared to Adderall. When I got home from the Police Station the day after the death, there was an old batch still full sitting there waiting for Emily to drink it. I threw it out of course, but every morning it just wasn’t the same not having that coffee smell fill the kitchen, so soon I found myself making it daily, then sad to see it go to waste I finally started drinking it.

I sat at our small round table stuffed in the corner of the kitchen and drank my coffee. I just sat thinking about everything. The past, the future, now. I couldn’t take it anymore I chugged the last of the coffee and threw the cup in the sink, I heard a crack but didn’t care enough to go and check if I had broken yet another coffee cup. I grabbed my keys off the hook and ran out the door.

No less than 20 minutes later, I arrived at my dealer’s house. Walked inside and when he saw me he held out a needle and said. “I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon.” I smiled and wiped the tears from my eyes. Finally, I thought to myself. I’m sorry Emily.