It was raining when I was 13, much like it is today. It was the kind of rain where yeah, it messed up our hair and made walking to the bus station dismal but we were so glad it wasn't snow we didn't care. The first thing that would ring odd with me (later though; always later) was that the vice-principal came to our usual lunch table and asked us all our names. He told us it was for a survey.
After lunch they took our grade down to the library. We thought ti was to kick off our month-long research project on Australia. A filmstrip or something like that. The principal was there and I remember he was either crying or trying not to cry. He told us after a few minutes what had happened; that my best friend and our classmate was gone. I don't remember what else he said because I don't think I heard it. I don't remember a lot of the rest of the day, except calling my mom at work and almost not being able to tell her, getting a ride home, and trying to distract myself by looking over the program from the play I'd gone with my mom to see the night before. I wanted to watch the news but my dad turned it off and said he didn't think I'd really want to see what they were showing. He was probably right. I tried to eat dinner, just rice, but couldn't get past the first bite. To this day I can't put into words what was in my head that day, or for many days after except the fact that I wanted to call her and tell her everything that'd happened. I remembered her phone number all the way through high school. I remember the sound of her voice. I just wish I could remember the last thing she said to me.
A few weeks back my dad and I were discussing the possibility of needing a funeral home for a family member. It was premature, as it turns out, but he said thinking about it was bringing back what happened to her very clearly. I wanted to tell him it never went away.
