I remember the first change. The first time I noticed her do something that changed her in my head completely. She had hair down to her lower back. Long, beautiful, dark brown hair. The next day it barely brushed her shoulders. We were in middle school, maybe. It was when I started watching her from afar.
She smiled more. It wasn't unlike her to smile, but this was excessive. There were times I would watch her in whatever class we had together. She would look so distant and depressed at one point, like she would be staring right through her desk and into the next realm, but suddenly she would blink and shake her head. It was barely noticeable unless you watched her hair sweep across her high cheekbones. Then, she was all smiles, occasionally switching back and forth.
Once we got into high school, she took on a darker look. She wore an army green every day. Something was always that army green on her. Everything else, however, was not. It was black, or grey. She had a connection with army green. It was the only thing I could figure since she wore it every day. Perhaps it was just her favorite color. She also dyed her hair black, for whatever reason, and became reclusive of other people.
Our sophomore year, she missed three weeks in a row. I remember I went to her mother's job and asked about her and her mother told me she would be back in a few days. Her mother was the most recognized, and the only, veterinarian in our piss-poor excuse for a town. Everyone knew her, and she knew everyone who had a pet. A few days later, she was back, she didn't seem happier at all. In fact she seemed miserable, almost like inside she was slowly fading away. I noticed she wore a bright blue diamond shaped pendant. It was obviously handmade, but it went well with the army green she always wore.
Junior year there was a note in my locker. Seemingly simple, without much meaning. I rarely used my locker, unless we were doing projects, and that was one of those weeks. It had a phone number scribbled on it in a bright blue marker. I didn't question it and put it in my pocket. I told myself that I would text or call the number later. I remember when I was watching her, she looked over at me and smiled. It was the first time in a couple years I had seen her smile.
I texted the number later that night. And I got a reply almost instantly. Simply: ":33 good I didn't know if you would get my note or not" and that's when I knew, she had given me her number. I can almost recall how much my stomach twisted. I was so nervous after that; I don't think I ever initiated any conversations with her.
Our senior year of high school, we had grown to be good friends. We talked every day and it was rare there was a weekend that went by that we didn't spend at least one day together. Sometimes, I could tell something was wrong, but she always insisted she was okay. I would press her and ask if she was upset about something and she would grab that handmade pendant and say: "no, everything is as it should be". I wanted her to open up to me about everything before our senior year, but she wouldn't. She would tell me it was in the past and what happened wasn't affecting her now.
Our first day of spring break I went to her house, the door was unlocked, it normally was when I was coming over but it felt off somehow. I was drawn to go to her basement. I didn't know why because she was never in her basement, but there was a strong sense of urgency that drew me to the door of the basement. I opened the door and walked down the stairs, rounding the corner I could hear the television was on. I didn't even know they had a tv in their basement. I walked towards the couch, when my body went cold. I froze and all I could hear was a ringing in my ears that wouldn't stop. I jumped over the black leather loveseat in the middle of the room and knelt over her body. I rolled her to her side and noticed a little orange bottle in her hand. I pulled out my phone and called for an ambulance. The man on the other side of the phone tried to calm me down, but to no avail. I rode to the hospital with her, her mother came in crying and yelling. They had to put her in a room by herself because she was unable to be calmed down. I sat outside the emergency room she was in. I could hear the machine they used to pump her stomach. It made me sick and I vomited on the floor. I cleaned it up for the nurses and continued sitting outside the door listening to the heart monitor. It kept me happy to know her heart was still beating. When a nurse walked in and back out of the room to tell me she was awake, I let out a sigh of relief. I stood and walked into her room.
She smiled at me. I knew she didn't want to talk about it. But I needed to know what was going on. I sat in the chair next to her and asked her why she tried to overdose. She told me she wasn't trying to. I argued with her for the first time since we started talking. I yelled at her. She yelled back. I left. And that brings us to the present.