There are seventeen missed calls on my cell phone right now, and I have to wonder, when did people start caring about me so much? Was it when they learned that my best friend offed herself? Was it because they were all surprised that it was Spence and not me? Because I'm obviously the next to go by suicide, so they might as well show me some love before I croak?
-
"Oh my God, Ashley, I've been dying to tell you this, and you're ignoring me!" Spencer was irritated. It was obvious, even to me, and I wasn't even looking at her. I was concentrating on the drawing in front of me. I was still trying to get that picture of her eyes right. She seemed to think, though, that I couldn't draw and listen to her at the same time. I was listening.
"No. I heard you," I said, still refusing to look up from my drawing.
"Then look me in the eye!"
I hesitated for a moment before glancing up and locking eyes with her for no more than a second and a half. Even if she was my best friend, she was making me nervous by staring at me. I looked back down and tried to draw again, but I stopped as her hand wrapped around my wrist. My jaw tightened as I looked up at her once more, keeping eye contact for as long as she wanted this time. She was the first one to turn away, but I could tell it wasn't because she was nervous. She was upset. Terribly, distinctly upset.
My muscles loosened and I silently apologized to her for not listening the way I should have.
"I need to tell you something," she said solemnly.
Spencer, I needed to tell you a lot of things.
-
Generally, I hated movie theatres. They were overcrowded and sticky, too dark and too loud. There is something strange about sitting in a room with a hundred or more other people that you don't know, watching a movie that you don't really like. I didn't like the fact that when everyone around me laughed, I felt obligated to laugh too. And when everyone, mostly the women, started crying, I felt coldhearted when I couldn't muster up a few tears.
I tried to explain that to Spencer, but she didn't understand. "You don't like the movie theatres because you can't cry? That's a pathetic excuse. You're coming with me to a movie this weekend."
And of course, since I was such a pushover, I went with her.
If I had anything to do with it, we would have watched a horror movie. But of course, I didn't have anything to do with the decision. That was left entirely up to Spencer, so we ended up watching a kids show. I don't even remember what it was called or what it was about. I just remember that we were the only two teenagers in the entire theatre, except for one of the workers, who was leaned up against the back wall with a broom in his hand. To make matters worse, it was the opening weekend for this film that was supposedly one of the biggest hits of the year, so we were squished like freaking sardines in a can between screaming kids and uptight mothers.
Halfway through the movie, some kid with a snotty nose dumped his popcorn in my lap. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I probably lost it and went off on the little kid, right?
Right.
I didn't even realize what I did until Spencer had finally succeeded in dragging me outside the theatre moments later. She was laughing hysterically, but I couldn't figure out what was so funny.
"I can't believe you did that!" she shrieked as she tugged me by the sleeve of my shirt into the bathroom to avoid the stares of all the employees.
"Did what?"
"The way you dumped your soda on that kid! That was the greatest thing I've ever seen in my life!" Spencer was turning red from laughing so hard, and without even knowing why, I started laughing too.
"Did I really do that? Holy cow, I really did," I said between spurts of laughter.
"Yeah, you did," she said after calming down a bit. She took my hand and led me, once more, into the lobby and out the doors of the theatre. "Let's ditch this place. And remind me to never take you to a movie theatre again."
-
"Someone told me once that you're not supposed to feed hamsters dairy products. Especially cheese," I told Spencer as she contemplated giving her hamster a nibble of cheddar cheese. I was lying, but she didn't know that, and I wasn't about to tell her. It wasn't like it would hurt anything to lie about it, and plus, it was too funny to watch her hesitation over something as meaningless as cheese. She glanced nervously back and forth between the cheese and the hamster, the hamster and the cheese, and then finally, contentedly, placed a very small square of cheese in the hamster's food dish.
"He'll be fine," she said, more for her sake than anyone else's, as she crawled into bed beside me and turned off the lamp on her bedside table. "He'll be fine."
Hours later, in the middle of my dream about my dad running for president, Spence woke me up by shaking my shoulders and rattling my insides around. If you've ever been woken up by being shaken, you know it's not a pleasant feeling. So I'm sure you can understand my frustration. But as soon as I saw the tears welling up in Spencer's eyes and the way her shoulders were curled over in distress, I forgot all of my worries and took up hers.
"What's wrong?" I asked urgently.
"It's Francesca."
Um. What? That is exactly what I thought and probably what I said, because she repeated herself. Obviously, the problem wasn't that I didn't hear her. The problem was that I had no clue who Francesca was.
"My hamster," she explained, as if I should have known exactly who she was talking about. "He's sick."
"He's sick? He? You seriously named a male hamster Francesca? What exactly was running through your mind when you named him that?"
"Ashley, please, just help me figure out what to do. He's sick, and I think it's because of the cheese I gave him. I should've listened to you, Ash. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me," Spencer pleaded, holding the rodent out to me. I don't know much about hamsters, but that thing was obviously sick. He was coughing or choking--I couldn't tell which--and he could barely open his eyes.
"Spencer, I don't know what to do about your hamster," I said. "She's sick, I know that much, but I don't know how to help her."
"Francesca is a male, Ashley."
"Right. How could I forget? Um, why don't you just put him back in his cage and pray for him to get better?" I wasn't much of a religious person, but Spencer was, and I knew that idea seemed plausible to her. "If he's not better tomorrow morning, we'll get Kyla to drive us to the vet."
That night, she cried herself to sleep. Every twenty minutes or so, she got up to check on him. "It's my fault. All my fault," I heard her say more than once.
The next morning, we woke up and found that Francesca was a female. There were like eight or nine little rats running around in her cage, and that's why she had seemed so sick. Maybe to most people, that would be very funny. But it killed me to know that I had made Spencer think she had caused her hamster pain, because Spencer was completely distraught over the matter.
-
My parents make their own pickles. To most people, that would seem totally outdated and absurd, but Spence admired their hobby, and I loved her more for that. It isn't just pickles, either—they grow their own produce, they use an old fashioned wood-burning stove to heat the house in the winter, they cut their own firewood for said wood-burning stove, and they have a dozen or more bird feeders in our backyard. Every morning, they watch the sunrise from a swing that they have in the middle of the garden, and every evening, they watch the birds at the birdfeeders, birdbaths, and birdhouses. I love them for all of that, and so did Spencer. They might as well have been her parents too. I think that in her mind and theirs, they were.
We all went on a road trip one Saturday. It was the four of us—Mom, Dad, Spencer, and me—and we had no idea where we'd end up. Not even Dad knew, and he had always known what the plans were. That Saturday, there were no plans. We just woke up early, before sunrise, and piled into Mom's Lincoln Towncar. Spencer and I called it the boat, because it was as big as her aunt's pontoon, nearly.
Our final destination ended up being just beyond the middle of nowhere, where the only change in scenery for a forty mile radius was the switch from cotton fields to corn fields. We really just wanted to see the state, so none of us minded the lack of excitement. For hours, we rode in silence except for the instrumental music playing through the earbuds that Spencer and I were sharing. The whole ride was peaceful and comfortable, and if I could go back to a single day and put it on repeat, that day would be one of my top choices.
-
Another day I'd relive was the day that Spencer broke her arm on Aiden's trampoline, but right now is not the time to relive it.
-
During the summer days after ninth grade, we were only apart for seventeen days. That almost became eighteen days, after our bike crash. We weren't allowed to see each other for a week, our parents agreed. But four days into that week was my birthday. I was turning fifteen, and my parents didn't care that I would be spending the day without my best friend.
As soon as I found out about the No-Spencer rule, I planned on spending my birthday locked up in my bedroom, refusing cake and food. I was going to perform a peaceful protest to let my parents know exactly how devastated I was that Spencer and I were separated, but as soon as I woke up that morning, (I always woke up at eight a.m. on weekends and summer mornings) Mom burst into my room with the phone in her hand.
"It's Spencer," Mom said in an annoyed tone. "You have ten minutes, and then I expect the phone to be back on the hook."
I took the phone from my mother and braced myself for what I knew would be waiting for me on the end of the line. Spence had promised me a birthday song (she couldn't carry a tune in the oversized purse she insisted on lugging around) and we hadn't seen each other or spoken in four days (she usually started going crazy after being away from me for three hours.)
"Hey," I said as I put the phone to my ear.
"Hey," was the only reply I got. Don't get me wrong—I don't like people to make a big deal about my birthday, but Spencer had promised hardly anything less than a parade and fireworks. I wasn't disappointed; I was just confused.
"I have a plan," she said quietly. I could tell she was afraid her parents could hear her. Knowing Spencer, she didn't even ask for permission before calling me.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, but you're going to have to sneak out."
Um, remember how I told you that she started to go crazy without me around? Well, our parents had obviously kept us apart for way too long. She had seriously lost her mind if she thought I would sneak out of my parents' house.
I must not have said anything for a while, because Spencer cleared her throat, making me jump.
"What do you think?" she asked. "It's going to be late tonight, so you parents will be asleep for a while before you have to sneak out. You can even walk out the front door if you want, as long as Kyla doesn't rat you out, but I think it would be more fun if we climbed out the windows."
"My mom is a light sleeper, Spence," I said, trying not to disappoint her. "You know there's no way I can sneak out without her knowing."
"Ashley, it's your birthday. You're not going to let this day pass by without something memorable happening. As your best friend and confidante, I refuse to let you do that."
From then on, I knew Spencer was serious about it. If she refused something, she would never let up. I was just going to have to sneak out and deal with the consequences as they came my way.
-
I was just getting to the good part of that story, but my phone is ringing, and I realize now that it would probably be best to answer it to stop people from worrying about me even more.
This time it's Kyla.
"Hey, what's up?" I answer in a more pleasant tone than I've used in a long time.
"Nothing, Ash, we've just been worried about you," Kyla says, and I can tell from the fear in her voice that she means it.
"I'm fine, Ky, I swear," I tell her. "I'm just walking around town, thinking. It's a lot to take in, you know."
"Ashley, your best friend just died," she begins, and I have to bite my tongue to hold back sarcastic comments. "Don't let yourself die with her."
The phone clicks in my ear, and Kyla is gone. No goodbye, no "be home by one," or "be careful,"—she knows that I know all of that. She knows I need time.