Lessons from a Dead Girl(42)

What really happened?

Leah was drunk. Leah was stoned. Leah was going too fast.

She didn’t even try to take the turn.

She went straight off the road.

“But it was me,” I told them. “She was going too fast because of me. I was the reason —”

“It doesn’t matter,” the police officer told me. “You weren’t doing anything wrong. That girl had a death wish. Just look. Look at the evidence.”

He told me about the scars on her wrist that I never saw. He reminded me about the drugs in her system. He told me, quietly, about the bruises they found on her ribs, back, and upper thighs that had been on her body before the accident.

“That girl had some serious problems,” he said. “She was headed for disaster.”


“But I left,” I tried. “I left her there.”

He nodded and was quiet for a minute. “Your friend died the second she hit that tree. You couldn’t have saved her. Losing your friend? That’s gonna stay with you the rest of your life. Whatever you think you did, that’s up to you to figure out.”

I’m still trying.

If what he said is true, and Leah really did have a death wish, I believe I was in the very place Leah wanted me to be. I think she wanted me to see her drive away from me.

I’ve rethought a thousand times the way she looked at me that night. I was so sure it was hatred toward me. But now I think maybe it was the hate she felt for herself. I think she hated herself for what she let happen to her as much as I hated myself for what I let happen to me. We were both victims. I know that now.

I went back there, to the place it happened, a few days after the accident. There were stuffed animals and candles and letters for Leah all over the side of the road where the tire tracks led into the woods.

I don’t think it was the memorial Leah would have liked. I think she would have preferred a more dramatic funeral, like the ones on her mom’s soap operas. Sam would have been there, looking guilty. Maybe he would have stood dramatically and confessed to what he’d done to damage her all those years ago. And the boyfriend. He would have stood, too, and wept like a baby and said how sorry he was for hurting her. Maybe all the boys who used her would show up, crying and remorseful.

Brooke would be there, too, and Christi. They’d be properly sad and big-sisterish. And our parents would be sobbing down in the front row.

And where would I be, that plain, quiet girl Leah was always dragging along?

I’d be up at the front, where everyone could see me.

I would stand at the altar above Leah’s shiny coffin and deliver the eulogy. I would tell the truth about Leah Greene. I would say she was my troubled friend. I would admit that I let her down. I would explain that, in many ways, we let each other down. But I would say that I forgive her. And while I spoke, I’d feel her watching and listening, trying to decide if she forgives me, too.

Instead there was only a sad roadside altar of cheap stuffed animals and plastic flowers put there by people who didn’t really know Leah at all.

It’s different here, though. It’s only me. Jess and Web drive me here, but they wait in the parking lot. I know they don’t understand why I come here, but they are my friends, so they don’t ask why.

They never did. They just showed up after it happened, sat on my bed with me, and let me tell them the truth. All of it.

When I finished, Web looked at me and shook his head.

“That girl really messed you up,” he said.

Jess put her hand on mine. “But you have us now.”

“Yeah,” Web said. “And we’ll only mess you up in a good way!”

Jess elbowed Web, and then they both hugged me. I let them fold me into their warm arms before I pulled back.

“Thank you,” I said.

“We didn’t do anything,” Web said.

But they had. They passed the friendship test.

Now I sit and look at Leah’s name, perfectly and permanently etched into the polished black granite stone. When I move, I can make out the reflection of my shape, and I imagine it’s Leah looking back at me.

I don’t speak out loud. I don’t want to interrupt the sounds around us. The birds singing to one another, the wind softly swimming through the leaves above us. Instead, I talk to her inside my head. I tell her I think I understand why she did what she did. That in some strange way, I’m grateful for all the painful lessons because of what they taught me in the end. I tell her that even though I still don’t completely understand why she did all the things she did, I really do forgive her.

I tell her I’m sorry I didn’t see all the trouble she was in. I tell her I’m sorry I didn’t push her to tell me about Sam sooner or try harder to find out if the suicide rumors were true. I tell her I did care, but I was so caught up in being hurt and scared and hating her, I didn’t see her pain. And I ask her to forgive me back.

I nod to say good-bye, and I almost believe she’s nodding back at me.

But she’s not.

It’s me nodding. Me nodding to her, and to myself. When I stand, I see the shape of my legs reflected in the stone. I step backward. Backward. Backward until I can’t see my image there anymore. Then I turn and walk away.

In the distance, I see Web and Jess leaning against Web’s car. When they see me coming, they wave, as if I wouldn’t be able to find them in the nearly empty lot. I wave back, smiling for the first time I can remember. And then, instead of walking back to them, I start to run.