Elsa healed pretty nicely. To this day, she only has one scar, the one that her jaggedly cut bangs hide. I suppose she hates it, because it reminds her of that time.
The principal had told me, in the library that morning, that it had been a car wreck. Elsa and her parents had been speeding, and they crashed into this teenager who had ran a stop sign. The teenager had died, as well as both of Elsa's parents...leaving her as the only survivor.
The principal of the middle school must have known that Elsa and I were friends, or something, because he told me to really be there for her, in those "hard times". He said she would have all these emotions that would seem strange to me, and that she would probably lash out from time to time. He said that she'd have this thing called "survivor's guilt". He said that some of the high schoolers may be angry at her for her parents speeding, because it helped bring about an end to one of their classmate's life. He said that their anger at Elsa wouldn't be right, but to not disrespect them, because they were in the grieving process as well.
He said all those things and several more things that I just didn't get. Death wasn't something that middle schoolers "get", or...really, they're not supposed to "get" something like that.
But I nodded to everything he said, boldly looking him in the eye. For Elsa, I would do anything.
I was completely prepared for her to lash out at me and everyone else, and then suddenly burst into tears. I was prepared for her to be almost bipolar in her attitude. I was prepared for her to become listless, caring about nothing. I was even prepared for her to try and kill herself.
But I wasn't prepared for other possibilities.