I Really Do Care

Josy Hicks Jablons, 14
California

I can imagine good reasons to sulk over.
To cry over.
To even breakdown over.
But to kill yourself over? I don’t know…

Mary had always been my close friend. She was part of our inseparable clique of four. At the beginning of middle school, there was nothing that could touch us four. We were incredibly tight. Then, as the year went on, Mary got a boyfriend. She started to spend more and more time with him and less time with us. Soon, she was acting different too, being mean and dramatic. She would wave us off and walk away if we approached her and, well, she was just saying and doing things that weren’t…Mary. We were still always there for her, but she was never there for us. After a while, our friendship started to drift away. After only a couple months, we were total enemies. Always glaring at each other, never talking anymore. We were over, and I knew there would never be another moment where I felt compassion or sympathy for her. Never, I told myself. Then came that Friday in May when I proved myself wrong.

It was a very foggy Friday, near the end of sixth grade. Tarra sat next to me in art class and we were talking as usual and then she told me.

“I feel sorry for Mary,” she said in a half whisper.

“Why,” I asked in a tone that meant ‘why would you feel sorry for her? That’s just what she wants. She’s a dramatic fake who needs all the attention she can get.’

Tarra’s eyes filled with worry as she answered my question, “Because she tried to kill herself last night,” she whimpered. I probably looked as if I had just been zapped by lightening. I stood frozen, my face full of shock, trying to speak, but I couldn’t. It was like a horrible nightmare where you know you need to run but you can’t feel your legs. Flashbacks of all the good times I had had with Mary rushed through my mind as I tried to breathe without hyperventilating.

“W-w-what?” I managed to stutter, still trying to stay quiet because Mary was near by.

“I know,” Tarra sighed disapprovingly, shaking her head.

I finally sat down, slowly. I put the paper I had been folding back down on the table. Then I stopped myself: Wait, why do I care? We’re not even friends anymore. But I pushed that thought aside, because I knew that this was bigger than friends. This was someone’s life and I wasn’t about to let some small arguments get in between. I squeezed all the details out of Tarra. It was horrible and I almost wished I hadn’t ever asked. She said Mary had cut herself all over. Her wrists were all scarred up and she had a long cut down her left cheek. I had noticed the cut on her cheek that morning, but I figured it was a scratch from her brother or something. Apparently, she had used a kitchen knife.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I glanced over at Mary. Gorgeous blue eyes, stunning long blonde hair, yet she wore a huge gray sweatshirt and sat slumped over the table, sketching with a black pencil and never looking up. What I was hearing wasn’t the usual news I heard about Mary. News like she refused to dance with her boyfriend or she got in a fight with her mom is typical “Mary news.” But no, this was NEWS. I never thought I would have to hear this, or at least not in middle school. And then it hit me, hard. I felt for her. I felt compassion and love for her though I never thought I would. But mostly, I felt sad and helpless. Was her life really so bad that it had resulted in this?

The biggest question that was flashing through my head was why? She has looks to die for, great grades, tons of friends, and a loving boyfriend. So why would she try and…kill herself?

Well, I wasn’t the only one to hear about this and I wasn’t the only one wondering why either. There were some rumors about guns and harassment and I didn’t know what to believe. Everyone I heard things from whispered to me, “Don’t tell anyone,” or “You can’t tell a soul.” But I had to. When you know that your friend just tried to kill herself (even if she is your ex-friend), you can’t just keep it to yourself. It bubbles up inside of you until you have to scream. All the secrets and lies crush you under their weight until it smashes you to the ground, slowly hypnotizing you into believing that not telling anyone is really the best thing to do.

But I wouldn’t let it happen, I couldn’t. So I told “the group,” who’s now just a clique of three. Even after I told them, my mind wouldn’t lay at ease. I wasn’t a follower, I was a leader, and I had to do something to fix, or at least help, the problem. You might say that this whole thing is none of my business but really, it is. If your friend (or even enemy) left school on Friday and when you came back on Monday, instead of finding her back in her seat, all you find is the news that she had tried again and…succeeded? Then, you would have to live your whole life knowing that you could have saved this girl. You could have saved a life, but no. You were too afraid of what your friends would think of you for telling. I shuddered at the thought, and I told my mom.

Mary has been getting help ever since the incident. Rumors were cleared up and things started to settle down. I’ve thought about it, and I still don’t see the exact reason why she tried to kill herself. But maybe you don’t need one exact little issue to push you that far, maybe it’s just life in general. I thought I knew Mary, but maybe I only knew who she pretended to be. I only knew the way she acted and the way she looked. But I never really had looked deep enough into her to reveal who she really is. I do not live her life, and so I have no idea. We continue to make small talk on the way to classes but I don’t think our friendship will ever be the same. Still, we are building it back together, block by block.

It is the last day of school and we are signing yearbooks. I come to Mary’s yearbook and I pause. This is what I wrote:

Mary,
I miss having you as a friend and I want you to know that I am still always here for you and I REALLY DO CARE.
Love,
Jen