In my dream, I am walking down a long, brightly lit hallway. On either side of me are doors, all closed. I pass one, two, three doors. I know this hallway, this house. I have spent so much time in this house, I practically live here. This is my best friend's house.

I turn the corner and enter another hallway. This one is shorter, and not as light. At the end of the hall is my one sanctuary, the one place I can be myself. And inside, waiting for me, is my best friend, and for some reason, she needs me. I begin to sprint, toes digging into lush carpet, heart racing. The lights are now harsh, the walls menacing. I am running so fast, I don't notice I am approaching the door until I slam right into it, the hinges snapping, wood splintering. Then I see her.

"Abigail!" I scream. Lying on the spotless carpet of her bedroom floor, blonde hair spilling over tan shoulders, purple glitter nail polish. She lies motionless, unmoving. My heart breaks and I scream, scream until the world goes black and I crumple to the floor beside her, not wanting to move, not wanting to live, not wanting anymore.

I scream myself awake, heart pounding, hands shaking. My mouth tastes like cotton balls and my tongue feels sluggish and numb. I roll my aching head and glance at the glowing red numbers of my alarm clock, 2:13 AM. The morning of December thirtieth. Two years since then. Two long years since my life changed forever. Two years since I lost the best friend I ever had. I close my eyes and sigh, let the horrible memories wash over me, knowing there is no way to stop them.

I wake up when I feel a cool cloth pressed against my cheek. My eyes flutter open and my mind enters back to reality. My head is aching with a throbbing pain and the lights are too bright. I close my eyes again, only to open them when I hear my mom's voice.

"Jessa! You're awake! How are you feeling?"Her voice sounds strange and thick, almost like her throat is being held closed. Her cheeks have thin trails running down them, stained in mascara. Blonde hair messily piled onto her head, clothes quickly thrown on. This is not the mom I know. She appears distressed and anxious, tired and lonely.

Another face appears in my field of view, Mrs. Smith, Abigail's mom. When I see her kind face, it suddenly all comes rushing back. Racing down the hall, pushing open the door, and seeing her lying there. I sit straight up, feeling my stomach roll as I do so.

"Abigail!" I yell."Mom, where is she? Is she okay? Did you save her?"My voice is panicked and I am breathing like a long distance runner nearing the finish line. Deep down inside my heart, I know. I know that Abigail is gone, she is not coming back. I am alone in this world without my best friend. The world is spinning in slow, loopy circles. Around and around. I struggle to stay upright as Mrs. Smith's breath catches in her throat. She looks at mom, mom looks at her. They are having a silent conversation with their eyes. Mom takes a deep breath.

"Jessa, Abigail committed suicide. She took an entire bottle of pills, we couldn't save her. She is dead. I'm sorry."

The world dips and swirls, loops and glides. I slump backward onto the floor and mercifully drop into the blackness.

I squeeze my eyes tightly closed but the tears leak out anyway. I can still hear my mother's voice as she tells me Abigail is dead. I still see her face, pale and horrified, tense with worry for her daughter. When I heard those words, the world collapsed around me. The only friend I had ever had was gone. Was I not a good friend? Did I not pay her enough attention? Did I just never notice that she needed help? Was it my fault?

I bury my face into the pillow and scream. My much needed tears soak the down pillow completely through. Soft silky hair covers my face, spread in a smooth curtain around my head, so much like hers. Pulling the tresses from my eyes, I sit up in bed and glance toward the clock once more, 5:17 AM. Still December thirtieth. Still two years since then. She is still gone. And the pain is still there.



Today is my high school graduation. I wake up to a warm May day, sun streaming through my window, flowers uncurling in the newly-green grass. But the day is shadowed for me, because Abigail won't be there. She won't be there to cheer as we toss our caps in the air, won't be there to drive to the beach and dance the night away. She just won't, and she never will be.

A beam of sunlight falls into the room, first lighting up my face then moving to the darkest corner of the room, highlighting a picture in a silver frame. It's the one of Abigail, taken on the beach the summer before our sophomore year, the summer before she decided life wasn't for her. I see her cheeky smile, the smattering of freckles across her nose shining like stars, her blonde hair blowing in the sea breeze, and her sky blue eyes. She is frozen in time. She was always so happy, so full of life, so vibrant. On the rainiest day she could make me smile. But yet, she wasn't perfect. The way she would always stick out her tongue when I was angry with her, how she would play mean tricks on her older brothers, how she would yell at her mom until she cried. She was only human.


As I stare at the picture in front of me, illuminated in a thread of sunshine, a strange feeling comes over me. We are put on this earth for a reason. Maybe it's not to change the world or become a leader. But, maybe it's just to change the small things and make a difference in someone's life. Maybe she died for a reason. Maybe she was sent here to make a difference in my life. I will probably never grow up to be a big shot humanitarian or anything, but I will live, because Abigail has taught me this: make a difference, no matter how big or small, it matters to someone. Live the life you were meant to live, don't blow it off, because that is the biggest mistake you can make.