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Description
     I listened to song after song. Each one made me cry. It would only take one word to send me back to another time; to run an old, regrettable conversation through my head; to imagine my actions and words in a different way, the way it should have been.
     The most frequent conversation was the last I would ever have with my best friend.
     “You know the stuff you do, it isn’t right. You don’t need to drink, you don’t need those drugs, you don’t need to take these risks. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. I love you. Everyone back here still loves you. It doesn’t matter how far away you are, we all still love you.”
     “You don’t understand. I have a new life, new friends and a new family. I’m not the same person I was back then. No offense, I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but that’s who I am. You don’t know me anymore.”
     “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t even care anymore. It’s your life, do whatever you want. I’m not your mother so I don’t care. Drink, get completely wasted. It doesn’t make any difference to me as long as you’re happy.”
     “Bye.”
     It wasn’t really an argument, just a disagreement; a minor clashing of opinions. I didn’t mean some of the things I said, but I’d wait to apologize. I didn’t want to seem too weak or I wouldn’t get my point across. There would be time.
     So the months went by and I thought about her everyday. I thought about the things I said, the things I shouldn’t have said, all the things I wanted to take back, the apologies I wanted to say. It would have only taken a few minutes, you know. I would have felt so much better, but I had too much pride for that so I let the months slip by until finally I received a call.
     “Hey Sadie. This is Leslie. Do you remember Amber McDougal?”
     “Yeah, of course I do. She was one of my best friends.”
     My voice shook. I already knew what was coming. People don’t just call you up and ask you about past friends at random. Things just don’t work like that.
     “There was a car accident. She’s dead. She’s gone.”
     So I called that number. The number I’d thought about calling for so long. I called over and over and over again just praying she’d answer if I kept calling. I called and left voicemail after voicemail quelling the voice inside my head telling me it was pointless, telling me she was gone and she was never going to answer.
     After my ear had started hurting from pressing the phone against it, I began to reach out to her friends, asking for more information, still praying it was just a mistake.
     I expected my efforts to be in vain. I’d only met a small group of her friends, perhaps once or twice. I didn’t expect them to remember me or even respond. In a jealous rage that Amber’s father had taken her away and that she wasn’t begging to come home, but instead making new friends that led her to drugs and alcohol, I’d made it very clear I had no intention of making friends with her friends. I suppose that was unfair since I’d judged them and never gave them a chance. I was jealous. I was blind. I was stupid.
     One responded only to clarify that she really was dead. It was very curt, but I didn’t blame him. I’d never shown him kindness, why expect it when he’s mourning the loss of someone he loved and I, removed from the situation, cut in to ask if it’s true? The next to respond was more kind. He told me everything: how the driver was drunk and high; how they piled into the care with him in much the same condition; how he hit a mailbox; how they pleaded for him to pull over; how they tried to escape; how he took off while she was halfway out the door; how the car spun out of control; how she hit the light pole and was crushed between it and the car; how they called the police; how they watched them lay the white sheet over her body. He apologized to me. He said he’d keep me updated about the funeral arrangements.
     More of her friends responded. I received message after message telling me how much she loved me; how much she talked about me; how much she had missed me; how much she had wanted to go “home”. But the last thing I said was I didn’t care and no amount of messages would ever remove that guilt.
     The day of the viewing was the hardest. Going to school with the evening’s events looming over your head, the hour and a half drive in silence, always thinking about the way things were and the way things could have been. Just seeing the pictures brought tears to my eyes. I left messages to her on posters and tiny pieces of paper, left a message in a book, and all the while I knew that they were messages long overdue and messages she would never receive.
     On one poster I read a message from her ex-fiancé. I’d met him one summer, actually knew him pretty well. He visited me a few times even after they’d broken up, but I showed him contempt because I blamed him for the new Amber. His message said “I still love you.” I broke down and started sobbing.
     My friends ushered me to a seat as the service began. I can barely remember everything that was said; I was crying too hard to listen. I wanted to talk to her father, but I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to see her one last time, to say good-bye, but I couldn’t look, I didn’t want to admit, to accept, that my best friend was long gone.
     In fifth grade I had no friends. As a rule no one spoke to me. But Amber always broke the rules. She was the first person who ever walked up to me and spoke to me by choice. It was the first time I’d been invited to join another group. She was the first real friend I ever had. So where was I when she needed me?
     I went up to the people who wrote to me and introduced myself. The kid who sent me the first message to tell me Amber was dead apologized for his rudeness. Each one hugged me and told me how much of an honor it was to meet me. I was still hurt. I knew I’d made a very grave mistake and I would live with my guilt for the rest of my life.
     I gathered my courage and approached Geoff, Amber’s ex-fiancé. He recognized me right away and hugged me and everything I had wanted to tell him disintegrated into tears. My friends were waiting for me so we could make our way home, but if there was one person I needed to talk to, it was Geoff.
     As my friends dragged me away he told me to meet him at a parking lot about an hour from my home that Friday. He didn’t give me any other details, but I knew what I was getting myself into.
     I listened to song after song, doubting my decision to come. I trusted Geoff; he’d never given me a reason not to. He had no intention of hurting me; he was only trying to help.
     The bonfire lit up the entire parking lot. I recognized a lot of the people from the viewing; some I’d never seen before. I made my way closer to the group and a few guys, including Geoff, broke away to greet me. I could smell the liquor on them when they were still a few feet away. They hugged me and brought me closer to the fire.
     Everyone was either laughing or crying. It was a celebration and a memorial. They drank in her memory, to her life, and they kept their parties going as if she’d never left, just the way she would have if anyone else had died.
     “Did you ever drink before? I’m pretty sure Amber said you haven’t but everyone up here drinks so that seems kind of weird to me.”
     I shook my head. Everyone back home drank too except for a few other people. I didn’t even have a clue as to how alcohol tasted. I was going to try, to give them all the benefit of the doubt and, after the way I treated them, it was the least I could do.
     “It’s great. It takes a little getting use to, but after a few drinks it’s amazing. It’s like medicine. It makes all the pain go away. I can’t even tell you how you’ve made it this far without it.”
     He opened a beer bottle and handed it to me. We all stood in a circle. They chatted casually, anxiously waiting for me to take my first sip. I leaned back against the fence. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. At this point numbness sounded great. Hell, I was halfway there. I’d just driven an hour to be there and I’d told my parents I was staying at a friend’s house. There was no going home without giving a lengthy explanation as to why I smelled of liquor and fire.
     I didn’t want to. There was no medicine for loss. Numbness sounded great, but what would happen when it went away? Amber would still be dead. I would still feel regret and guilt. Would I have to spend the rest of my life drinking just so I would never have to feel the pain?
     Was I going to run away like that? I already had. Instead of standing my ground and telling Amber how I really felt, I’d let my cowardice get the best of me and I told her that what she did didn’t matter to me. I took the easy way out to avoid fighting with her and this is how it ended.
     Prior to the viewing, one of my friends told me it was my fault. “You were the only one left. You were the only one she still talked to. You were the only one she actually listened to. You could have kept her from this, but you didn’t love her enough to tell her the truth. This is your fault.” To some extent she was right.
     I didn’t want the numbness. I wanted to feel. I wanted to cry; I wanted to scream; I wanted to be honest. I could drink, but in the morning Amber would still be dead. What was it worth, those hours of numbness? Alcohol was the reason I was there in the first place.
     I swung the bottle into the fence post. The glass shattered and droplets of beer rained to the ground. I was left with the neck of the bottle, jagged edges as sharp as a knife, perhaps sharper.
     I was mildly aware that everyone was watching me. I brought the edges of the bottle across my left shoulder with a scream. Geoff grabbed my wrist to prevent me from harming myself further, but I struggled. My arm jerked towards my face, slicing my cheek, just missing my eye. The bottle fell to the ground with the blood from my arm and face.
     Geoff released me and I turned to leave. I could hear the other guys holding him back and telling him to let me go. I knew he didn’t mean any harm, it just wasn’t for me. I had cut myself deep enough to leave a lifetime mark, stained my clothing with blood diluted only with tears, all a reminder of what alcohol had done.
     I turned back and waved goodbye. Everyone was still staring at me. I got into my car and drove off. I didn’t need to prove myself to anyone. I only needed what I believed in. They understood, they would forgive me, but I would never forgive myself and I would never forgive alcohol.

Description
     I listened to song after song. Each one made me cry. It would only take one word to send me back to another time; to run an old, regrettable conversation through my head; to imagine my actions and words in a different way, the way it should have been.
     The most frequent conversation was the last I would ever have with my best friend.
     “You know the stuff you do, it isn’t right. You don’t need to drink, you don’t need those drugs, you don’t need to take these risks. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. I love you. Everyone back here still loves you. It doesn’t matter how far away you are, we all still love you.”
     “You don’t understand. I have a new life, new friends and a new family. I’m not the same person I was back then. No offense, I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but that’s who I am. You don’t know me anymore.”
     “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t even care anymore. It’s your life, do whatever you want. I’m not your mother so I don’t care. Drink, get completely wasted. It doesn’t make any difference to me as long as you’re happy.”
     “Bye.”
     It wasn’t really an argument, just a disagreement; a minor clashing of opinions. I didn’t mean some of the things I said, but I’d wait to apologize. I didn’t want to seem too weak or I wouldn’t get my point across. There would be time.
     So the months went by and I thought about her everyday. I thought about the things I said, the things I shouldn’t have said, all the things I wanted to take back, the apologies I wanted to say. It would have only taken a few minutes, you know. I would have felt so much better, but I had too much pride for that so I let the months slip by until finally I received a call.
     “Hey Sadie. This is Leslie. Do you remember Amber McDougal?”
     “Yeah, of course I do. She was one of my best friends.”
     My voice shook. I already knew what was coming. People don’t just call you up and ask you about past friends at random. Things just don’t work like that.
     “There was a car accident. She’s dead. She’s gone.”
     So I called that number. The number I’d thought about calling for so long. I called over and over and over again just praying she’d answer if I kept calling. I called and left voicemail after voicemail quelling the voice inside my head telling me it was pointless, telling me she was gone and she was never going to answer.
     After my ear had started hurting from pressing the phone against it, I began to reach out to her friends, asking for more information, still praying it was just a mistake.
     I expected my efforts to be in vain. I’d only met a small group of her friends, perhaps once or twice. I didn’t expect them to remember me or even respond. In a jealous rage that Amber’s father had taken her away and that she wasn’t begging to come home, but instead making new friends that led her to drugs and alcohol, I’d made it very clear I had no intention of making friends with her friends. I suppose that was unfair since I’d judged them and never gave them a chance. I was jealous. I was blind. I was stupid.
     One responded only to clarify that she really was dead. It was very curt, but I didn’t blame him. I’d never shown him kindness, why expect it when he’s mourning the loss of someone he loved and I, removed from the situation, cut in to ask if it’s true? The next to respond was more kind. He told me everything: how the driver was drunk and high; how they piled into the care with him in much the same condition; how he hit a mailbox; how they pleaded for him to pull over; how they tried to escape; how he took off while she was halfway out the door; how the car spun out of control; how she hit the light pole and was crushed between it and the car; how they called the police; how they watched them lay the white sheet over her body. He apologized to me. He said he’d keep me updated about the funeral arrangements.
     More of her friends responded. I received message after message telling me how much she loved me; how much she talked about me; how much she had missed me; how much she had wanted to go “home”. But the last thing I said was I didn’t care and no amount of messages would ever remove that guilt.
     The day of the viewing was the hardest. Going to school with the evening’s events looming over your head, the hour and a half drive in silence, always thinking about the way things were and the way things could have been. Just seeing the pictures brought tears to my eyes. I left messages to her on posters and tiny pieces of paper, left a message in a book, and all the while I knew that they were messages long overdue and messages she would never receive.
     On one poster I read a message from her ex-fiancé. I’d met him one summer, actually knew him pretty well. He visited me a few times even after they’d broken up, but I showed him contempt because I blamed him for the new Amber. His message said “I still love you.” I broke down and started sobbing.
     My friends ushered me to a seat as the service began. I can barely remember everything that was said; I was crying too hard to listen. I wanted to talk to her father, but I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to see her one last time, to say good-bye, but I couldn’t look, I didn’t want to admit, to accept, that my best friend was long gone.
     In fifth grade I had no friends. As a rule no one spoke to me. But Amber always broke the rules. She was the first person who ever walked up to me and spoke to me by choice. It was the first time I’d been invited to join another group. She was the first real friend I ever had. So where was I when she needed me?
     I went up to the people who wrote to me and introduced myself. The kid who sent me the first message to tell me Amber was dead apologized for his rudeness. Each one hugged me and told me how much of an honor it was to meet me. I was still hurt. I knew I’d made a very grave mistake and I would live with my guilt for the rest of my life.
     I gathered my courage and approached Geoff, Amber’s ex-fiancé. He recognized me right away and hugged me and everything I had wanted to tell him disintegrated into tears. My friends were waiting for me so we could make our way home, but if there was one person I needed to talk to, it was Geoff.
     As my friends dragged me away he told me to meet him at a parking lot about an hour from my home that Friday. He didn’t give me any other details, but I knew what I was getting myself into.
     I listened to song after song, doubting my decision to come. I trusted Geoff; he’d never given me a reason not to. He had no intention of hurting me; he was only trying to help.
     The bonfire lit up the entire parking lot. I recognized a lot of the people from the viewing; some I’d never seen before. I made my way closer to the group and a few guys, including Geoff, broke away to greet me. I could smell the liquor on them when they were still a few feet away. They hugged me and brought me closer to the fire.
     Everyone was either laughing or crying. It was a celebration and a memorial. They drank in her memory, to her life, and they kept their parties going as if she’d never left, just the way she would have if anyone else had died.
     “Did you ever drink before? I’m pretty sure Amber said you haven’t but everyone up here drinks so that seems kind of weird to me.”
     I shook my head. Everyone back home drank too except for a few other people. I didn’t even have a clue as to how alcohol tasted. I was going to try, to give them all the benefit of the doubt and, after the way I treated them, it was the least I could do.
     “It’s great. It takes a little getting use to, but after a few drinks it’s amazing. It’s like medicine. It makes all the pain go away. I can’t even tell you how you’ve made it this far without it.”
     He opened a beer bottle and handed it to me. We all stood in a circle. They chatted casually, anxiously waiting for me to take my first sip. I leaned back against the fence. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. At this point numbness sounded great. Hell, I was halfway there. I’d just driven an hour to be there and I’d told my parents I was staying at a friend’s house. There was no going home without giving a lengthy explanation as to why I smelled of liquor and fire.
     I didn’t want to. There was no medicine for loss. Numbness sounded great, but what would happen when it went away? Amber would still be dead. I would still feel regret and guilt. Would I have to spend the rest of my life drinking just so I would never have to feel the pain?
     Was I going to run away like that? I already had. Instead of standing my ground and telling Amber how I really felt, I’d let my cowardice get the best of me and I told her that what she did didn’t matter to me. I took the easy way out to avoid fighting with her and this is how it ended.
     Prior to the viewing, one of my friends told me it was my fault. “You were the only one left. You were the only one she still talked to. You were the only one she actually listened to. You could have kept her from this, but you didn’t love her enough to tell her the truth. This is your fault.” To some extent she was right.
     I didn’t want the numbness. I wanted to feel. I wanted to cry; I wanted to scream; I wanted to be honest. I could drink, but in the morning Amber would still be dead. What was it worth, those hours of numbness? Alcohol was the reason I was there in the first place.
     I swung the bottle into the fence post. The glass shattered and droplets of beer rained to the ground. I was left with the neck of the bottle, jagged edges as sharp as a knife, perhaps sharper.
     I was mildly aware that everyone was watching me. I brought the edges of the bottle across my left shoulder with a scream. Geoff grabbed my wrist to prevent me from harming myself further, but I struggled. My arm jerked towards my face, slicing my cheek, just missing my eye. The bottle fell to the ground with the blood from my arm and face.
     Geoff released me and I turned to leave. I could hear the other guys holding him back and telling him to let me go. I knew he didn’t mean any harm, it just wasn’t for me. I had cut myself deep enough to leave a lifetime mark, stained my clothing with blood diluted only with tears, all a reminder of what alcohol had done.
     I turned back and waved goodbye. Everyone was still staring at me. I got into my car and drove off. I didn’t need to prove myself to anyone. I only needed what I believed in. They understood, they would forgive me, but I would never forgive myself and I would never forgive alcohol.