“She took her own life. I’m sorry. Were you, um, close or friendly with her?” Ms. S. asks.
“No, I mean, what?” My face crinkles. “Maisey? Are you sure? She was just here the other day. Wait. But is she okay?” I stutter.
My mom’s hand clenches my knee. “No babe, she’s not okay. Ms. Selinski is asking if you knew her.”
I stare at my lap. My jeans are dark blue. They look clean. They’re one of my more expensive pairs. I don’t want them to fade so I rarely wash them. I probably haven’t washed them in three months. I bought them with my first paycheck over the summer. I wonder if I’ll work all the time now, and not just summers, now that school’s almost over.
“Bree?” Mom’s hand is patting my knee again.
I shake my head. “Friends? No, we weren’t. I’ve talked to her once or twice. Well, I guess we’re … acquaintances? Why?”
“I know this is hard, but her parents wanted me to ask. She left a few good-bye letters, one for her parents, and a couple others for her friends. One has your name on it but her parents didn’t know who you were. Did she ever say anything to you, about wanting to hurt herself?”
“About being suicidal? No.” I’m pretty sure she told me I was an asshole and called it a day. I add, “I know she didn’t have the easiest time at school, but I mean, I didn’t think it was that bad. That doesn’t sound right. I guess I mean, no. No. She never said anything like that. Do her parents think it’s because of me?”
“Oh, honey, no, not at all. They’re just trying to make sense of something that will probably never make sense.” Ms. Selinski says.
Things get blurrier. There’s a whooshing whurr in my head that sounds like the roar of the cafeteria at lunchtime. And then I’m pushed into the feeling I get when giving a presentation in front of a class. The feeling that I’m not really here.
My mom sniffs and wipes tears from her eyes. “Thank you so much for being here for Bree and letting us know. This is awful and so devastating for everyone. Her parents. No one is supposed to lose a child, especially like this.”
Like this. Thoughts pound through my head, invading like quick flashes of light. Why? Was she scared? Where were her friends? How’d she do it? Did it hurt? Did her parents find her?
Ms. Selinski looks at me, softening her eyes. “Here’s her parents’ address.” She hands Mom a yellow Post-it. “They have the letter. I’m sure it’s all really confusing. But Bree, whenever you’re ready, they’d really like you to have it. I’m really sorry. This is a big loss for all of us. Friends, acquaintances, everyone.”
Everyone? I can picture Jane up against her locker, screaming at Maisey’s back whenever she’d walk by, “Eek, you guys! I just saw a mouse. Somebody kill it!”
“We’re going to miss her.”
Even the kids that used to sing Maisey Mouse to her in the hallways? The song ribbons through my brain and I can’t stop it before it sashays around in my head. Almost taunting me. C’mon everybody, on one, two, one two three … M-A-I-S-E-Y M-O-U-S-E.
It feels like smoke billows around me, like a cloud trying to suffocate me. Ms. Selinski escorts us to the door and shakes Mom’s hand again. “If either of you need anything, please, please let me know.”
Walking through the main office, things get foggier. I feel like I’m walking through water, but I’m all the way in. Over my head. Immersed in it. Everything is hazy and sounds are faded echoes in my ears. I watch in a daze as Mom signs me out and smiles politely to the staff.
I follow her voice to her car in the parking lot but I can’t make out what she’s saying. The words are so muffled. Is she talking too fast or too slow? I try to focus, and slow down my breath. Maybe I can’t hear her because my heart’s beating so loud in my ear. It’s fast, too fast. It’s moving up in my chest. The ba-dum, ba-dum, bad-dum gets closer and closer together until it catches in my throat and I can’t breathe. Can’t. Breathe. Pushing myself against the car, I grasp the door handle. It’s not opening. I tug harder.
Slow down. Slow down. Stop freaking out. Calm down. Dad isn’t dead. I’m fine. Fine, fine, fine. Aunt Jen is still here. Mom’s okay. C’mon, relax. Count to ten. One, two, three … four … You’re not even friends with her … five … six.
My body sinks to the ground in a heap next to the car. Then Mom’s pulling me into her and cradling my head to her chest. I’m shaking, heaving, and sobbing. The tears pour out of my eyes and my heart is a fist trying to break out of my chest. I’d let it out if I could.
****