I couldn’t do this. Speak to them. Tell them my story. They wouldn’t understand. They’d never understand. “But they had spoken to you, told you their story, bared their heart,” She reasoned, she was only the distant memory and the voice inside my head now; “It’s only fair you speak to them.”


I cleared my throat. “After the accident, I didn’t care. It didn’t seem real, and I just knew I was going to see her again the next time we went to school. I couldn’t be more wrong. But that didn’t seem to clue in, not even when I went back to school. I kept thinking that she was sick, I kept telling myself, ‘she’ll be back, don’t worry.’ Weeks went by, and then months and I just kept telling myself… I wasn’t healing, I wasn’t moving on, and it was un-healthy. My mother had noticed this pattern, and she noticed how I wasn’t grieving. So one night after I came home from school, she was sitting at the kitchen table; she had a large folder in her hand. In the back of my mind I knew she wasn’t coming back, and that part felt fear. That part said, you don’t want to hear this. But of course, me being stubborn, I didn’t listen, so I sat down.


“Hey mom,” I had greeted, coldly, cautiously.


“Honey, we have to talk. We have to talk about Shayla,” my mother whispered, obviously needing to say what was on her mind.


“What about her? Mom I know you’re worried about her missing so many school days and all, but seriously she’s just sick,” I replied coolly; sure of myself.


“Honey, sit down,” my mom said with a guarded smile. What could be wrong with talking to my mom?


“Yes mom?” I queried.


“Shayla’s dead,” my mom said seriously, bluntly.

I laughed. I remember laughing, how ironic, right? “Mom don’t be silly, she’s just sick. She’ll be back in a month or two.”


My mom peeled open the orange envelope, “About five months ago you and Shayla went out to a party. Neither of you drank anything; you both went to see your friends. Half way home, a drunk driver was in your lane, you swerved to miss him; you wrapped the car around the tree. You were in an accident. Do you remember this?”


I nodded, “Yeah duh. Mom it was the night Jerry had asked me out and I turned him down. Shayla and I got in an accident, we both were sent to the hospital, and I had minor cuts and bruises, and a broken wrist. Shayla had more serious injuries, that’s why she’s sick, she’ll be at school in a month or two.”


My mother emptied the contents of the envelope onto the table, she looked like she had aged years, “Shayla suffered from a broken rib, and she fractured her spinal cord. She was DOA. Here, these are pictures of the accident; there was no way they could save her. I’m so sorry.”


“No!” I shrieked, I covered my ears with my hands, “No I don’t want to hear this! No! No! No! I can’t hear you! Shayla is fine! She’ll be back in school! No! No! No!”


“Honey this is un-healthy, Shayla is dead, the accident killed her. You need to face the consequences of her death, you need to grieve,” my mother whispered, trying to get me to understand.


“No! I spoke to Shayla last night…. She said she is fine…. She said she missed me, but I couldn’t visit, because she was very sensitive to germs right now, Shayla. Is. Fine.” I spoke, trying to convince myself more than anything.


“Honey, she’s not fine, she’s not coming back, here,” my mother said, pushing the pile of photos toward me, I couldn’t help but see the top one, I was horrified. The gruesome twisted way her…. No… there were cuts and bruises, and her rib was… wrong. I gulped. I could feel tears coming to my eyes.
“No mom, no…” I whispered hoarsely, I got up from the table and I ran out of the kitchen to my room, slamming every door behind me.


I glanced up for only a second at them, “I was in my room for weeks, and I didn’t leave, not to eat, not to anything. And days just seemed to blur together, about the second week in, after I had trashed my room pretty much. I had taken all pictures of Shayla out of there, after I had been crying nonstop, the memories were to much. By this time I knew, but I failed to let myself to believe. I didn’t want to. I heard someone at the door that day, this day affected me, changed me.”


“No Mr.Conley, she hasn’t left, she needs a physiatrist,” I heard my mother’s voice state in a matter of fact tone, I could hear concern too, but I could care less. I heard a reply as well, but it was quiet, I couldn’t make it out. I sat on my bed un-moving. Moments later I heard a soft knock on my door.

“Sweetie, it’s your mom,” She whispered, “I want you to come out now.”


“NO!” I screeched, “I’m not leaving, not until Shayla comes to get me.”


“You know she can’t,” my mother whispered miserably.


“I know. And I don’t care!” I shrieked; my face red.


The door opened and my mom stepped in. “Honey, you’re having issues, you need to see somebody, a professional, this is really unhealthy.”


“NO! You can’t make me leave this room, you can’t. And you can’t make me let anyone in,” I screeched.


“Your right. I can’t, but you’re hurting yourself, and I really want you to see someone. I’m your mother and that should count for something…” she quietly to state sympathetically.


I grinned malevolently, “Yeah your right you are my mom…. But you’re a bad one. Your useless and can’t do anything… nothing, daddy was right to leave you. I wish I had that option.” I could see the hurt flash across my mother’s face, if I were myself, I would have felt sorry that I had said it then, but I wasn’t myself I didn’t care. I sniggered, “You’re pathetic. You’re stupid. And you don’t know anything about me. You’re controlling. Ha you’re in the way and a waste of space. Dad was right, you were a waste of his time, and now you’re a waste of mine.” I snorted callously. Each word I said was a blow to her, hurt filled her face, and her muscles went slack. “Look at you just standing there, while your daughters in here, you’re doing nothing. Why? Because that’s all you can do, nothing,” I threw my head back with laughter, and I mocked her tone, “I’m your mother, that should count for something. Ha, Pathetic, you might as well get on your knees and beg. Your nothing but a waste of space,” I smirked at her wounded expression.


“Honey…” she whispered hoarsely
.

“Honey….,” I mocked, “What mom? I’m not myself? I don’t mean it? I do. Now take the hint and leave,” I picked up my pillow and hurled it at her. It missed her by inches, but not long after that she left, she left hurt and in tears.


I remember crying afterwards, not because of what I had said, but because I missed her. My mom didn’t come back up, not for days. And in those days my life seemed worthless without her. How could I ever smile without her? How could I ever be happy? I was nothing without her. I wanted to end it. I wanted it to stop. The pain was too much.


How could’ve you been so stupid?


It’s your fault.


Things didn’t get better. But I couldn’t stand it up here, and in those days I realized, Yes, I needed help, desperately. Yes, I wasn’t healthy. Yes, she was dead. I needed to admit it, I needed to heal. I came from my room. Mom was in the living room. She looked haggard, and haunted, older.


I cleared my throat, “Mommy… I’m so…” I started to choke on my tears, “I didn’t mean any of it.”


“I know Hon I know,” a small smile lifted her face, “you came down from up there, I was so sure that… you’d never…”


“Mommy? I need help. I’m… not healthy, I’m not…. Myself.”


I saw her face light up for a brief second. She nodded.


“Mommy? She’s dead… Shayla’s dead…. I killed her...”


“No baby, you didn’t, it’s not your fault,”


“But it…”


“Shhhh..” she opened her arms around me giving me a hug.”


I looked up at the small group of troubled teens. Their faces immersed in my story, I also knew I was crying freely, and so were most of them. I swallowed “I know my life will never be the same without her. I know I’ll never forget her. But I don’t know if I’ll ever smile, laugh, be happy again, I hope I will, but I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll amount to anything with her, my best friend, around. All she is to me anymore is a memory, one that feels like yesterday. I’ve been in this program for four years, and I’ve never told my story, never. It’s been four years since Shayla died, and I’ve never told my story to any group, ever. Here’s my advice. Don’t do what I did. Don’t blame yourself, and keep it all bottled up. Let yourself cry. Let yourself hurt. But don’t numb down, and don’t pretend it never happened. Because it did, you can’t change that, you can only grow, and learn. And you can only fight, and don’t ever give up, even if it’s unreasonable. Don’t. Give. Up. Don’t let anyone else but you win. And don’t put on a fake face, people can see right through it, and when they do, they assume the worst.”

“A whisper, a broken dream.
A horror that never was.
A Nightmare, to fill my sleep.
And run me dead,
Mocking Laughter
Sneering Grins
Why are they laughing?
Why are they grinning?
Their out to get me.
Their in the shadows.
Their in the dark.
The Nightmares;
They laugh malevolently;
They Sneer snidely;
Why?”