It was April the tenth.
I can’t believe it really happened. She was so sweet, so vibrant, and so full of passion for life. She was beautiful. People always said so. She seemed always to be in just the right light, always looking as if she had been posed there by a professional photographer. She hadn’t been, of course. She was just naturally that way — effortlessly pretty. Even in that final pose, even in the harsh fluorescent light, even laid so awkwardly across the floor — even still, she was pretty. Even her blood, in dark red pools creeping across the contours of the white tile floor…even that was almost pretty.
Others have undoubtedly said that they should have seen it coming, that the signs were there to be read. It isn’t true, and they know it. She was never anything to them but a pleasant, well-adjusted young woman. She had most things in life that she wanted, as well as a bright future. She was the kind of girl that most girls (including me) wanted to be. How could they have known that someone would want to hurt her? I, on the other hand, should have seen it coming.
We were very close, she and I. Even still, I rarely saw anything different from what anyone else saw in her. She was lovely in everyone’s eyes, including my own. However, every once in a while, I spotted….something. It wasn’t something I could put my finger on. She seemed to become a different person for just a moment, breaking away from that person that I knew so well. I found it very difficult to be around her when she was like that. It wasn’t that she was so horrible — in fact, she didn’t seem much different. There was just something…not quite right, and I felt compelled to leave her be.
One summer day, as she and I were getting ready to go out for the evening, she came up to the mirror wearing a simple sun dress. There was nothing wrong with the dress. In fact, it looked fantastic on her. Her body was the kind you see in movies. Her shape was perfectly painted over by that simple dress. It wasn’t tight or too revealing, it was just a good fit. So why did I find myself hating that dress? It made no sense. There was something…not quite right about her at that moment. I looked at her in the mirror and told her that the dress looked beautiful on her. I wasn’t lying, but I didn’t feel very honest, either.
Some nine or ten months went by, and I had all but forgotten about that strange summer day. Now, it was snowing outside. A cruel trick for the month of April, but I had been having a great day. She had been with me all day (which was not unusual, those days), and we just stayed in watching old movies. Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, Lana Turner. We had shared a bag of popcorn and a sleeve of chocolate chip cookies, and now we were working our way through a bottle of our favorite smoky merlot. After the second Cary Grant movie of the day, she looked down into her half-full glass of wine, and said that she needed to take a break. There was that look again. I had almost forgotten what it looked like. Why today? Today was such a good day. I know for a fact that she was having as much fun as I was.
She got up and headed for the bathroom. As she slipped off her pajamas, I couldn’t help but notice her. She really was beautiful. Strangely though, when she stood up, I caught her reflection in the mirror at the same time that she did, and she looked as if she thoroughly disapproved of her own reflection. Of course, if I had known, I would have done something. I’m sure that I would have done something…if I had only known.
Looking down at her, laying there half in and half out of the shower, I was stunned. I couldn’t feel my legs. There she was, the most important person in my life, in a pool of her own blood. I wasn’t even sure that she was dead, really. But I did know. I knew that she was gone. It was too much. I had to leave.
It was April the tenth.
Now, one year later, I look down at the block of stone that marks where she was buried. It seems totally pointless. What does this carved piece of rock have to do with the person that she was? What am I even doing here? It seems like only yesterday that she died. Had a year really gone by? Had I done anything since then? Had I even been alive since then? It was getting to be too much for me. My mind was racing. I couldn’t help but picture her there on the floor.
Suddenly, it all came flooding back. I saw her reflection in the mirror. I could feel the cold tile. I saw the kitchen knife go into her beautiful skin. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. I was filled with fear and excitement and a kind of perversely succulent depression all at once. I only regretted it for a moment, when I thought about my family. They would never understand. There was just no way that I could have lived up to her standards. She was so wonderful and so beautiful. I was the only one who could see the other side of her. I was the only one who could see…me. The only thing I didn’t understand was: Did she kill herself to relieve my burden, or did I kill her to save her the embarrassment? I guess I’ll never know. It’s too bad. I would’ve loved to wear that sun dress again. I would have loved to spend another day just like that one, watching old movies alone.
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