Dry Heat
Drink our words ...
The Online Literary Magazine of Paradise Valley Community College
Thirteen
a short story
by Bria Thompson
I watch as Lynn slowly makes her way to the grave. On this gloomy day, March 13, she turns 13 and it was everything she never wanted it to be. Head tilted down, sunflowers in hand, she collapses to her knees with a sob.
“Why aren’t you here?”
I’m sorry.
I could have been there. I could have been waiting excitedly at the kitchen table for her to open her gift from me on her 13th birthday. I had her gift wrapped and ready to go, sitting on the top shelf in my closet right next to the karaoke machine we never used. I wonder if they found it, she’s always talked about being a Gamer, I figured a new headset would be useful.
“You were always there, you always had my back.”
I’ll always look after you, no one will ever do as good as a job as I do. Dead or Alive. I have your back.
I remember the day she came home freaked out and crying because some crazed bitch threatened to beat her up. One of Lynn’s “friends” asked this 17 year old to harm her because of rumors that never passed Lynn’s lips. Of course, I wasn’t going to let some skinny, stringy haired, weirdo beat up on her. So, as any good sister would do, I sent a few threats of my own.
“I miss you, Mom and Dad can’t go in your room. Scott doesn’t speak about you much,”
I frown as I look at her again. We spent hours at the mall three weeks before her birthday trying to find the perfect outfit to celebrate in. It ended as it usually does, back in my closet piecing together articles of clothing that is Lynn approved and appropriate for her age. But instead of the royal blue sweater we agreed on, she’s wearing my batman jacket, the one that I bought one rainy morning before school. It’s odd to think that that jacket is the one thing she’d keep out of everything. It meant so little to me but by the way she wraps herself in it, clutching the sleeves, you’d think that it was my favorite piece to wear.
She sits in silence and even though I’m dead, even though I’m the older sister, I know I am about to get my ass chewed out.
“You were supposed to be here!” Her eyes light with that familiar fire and I know that I really fucked up.
“But no!” She throws the sunflowers to the dirt, “You chose her, you chose the drugs, you chose wrong. Ace, was always so much more important than me.”
No, no, that’s not true.
“You know you promised me the day you died, that you’d come home and hang out with me. You promised me and instead came home, out of your damn mind, and passed out on my bed,”
For a moment I think she’s going to kick over my gravestone she looks so angry.
“I ignored it, I planned to give you shit for it later but there wasn’t a chance. You died, I woke up and you were dead in my bed.” Her face contorted with pain, “You know Ace didn’t even show up for the funeral? You’re supposed best friend, couldn’t even take a few hours out of her day to show up to the funeral of the girl whose life she screwed up.”
On a deeper level I always knew that Ace was a shit friend. I always knew that when things got rough she’d only look out for herself. The night that I overdosed, I begged Ace to take me to the hospital, I begged her to call my parents, and I begged her to help me. She did none of that. She hushed me and continued to waste gas driving on the 101. Her own selfish need of not getting caught overrode my safety. It was only her that mattered in our friendship
“And because you chose her, the drugs, and whatever the hell you were chasing, you lost your life. I lost you, Mom, Dad, Scott, we all lost you.”
You’re right, it is no longer Lynn and Beth, there is no longer midnight drives talking about nothing and everything, there is no longer sneaking in each other’s rooms when we’re scared, and there is no longer fussing over the silliest of things and then immediately returning to being best friends.
She inhales deeply, picking up the sunflowers placing it just under the grave stone.
“Love you, Beth,”
I’m sorry, I love you too.