Monday

Elizabeth Wilson

Elizabeth’s grave hasn’t been taken off. It’s withering away just like those around hers. I visit her every few months. I like to keep her informed of everything that’s been going on. Most of the time I talk to her like she’s there. If there is one person who knows everything about me, it’s her. She’s the only one I don’t keep secrets from.

But I’ve been talking to the wind the entire time. She was never there. She’s dead.

I’m getting nightmares of the night she died again. I keep smelling the smoke and iron. The flashes of the tree she stood in front of and her lifeless body in front of me pop in when I do. It’s becoming much more frequent.

It’s easier to handle now. I don’t wake up in cold sweats or freeze when those memories come back. It doesn’t cripple me anymore.

But her suicide still haunts me.

I always felt connected with her.

Like gravity, I’m always pulled toward her.

It’s never been stronger.

I thought it was because I could understand her. I’m walking in her shoes, after all. Now I’m questioning why I wanted to in the first place. This numbness, this static and emptiness, this is what she must have felt too.

Elizabeth was pure at one point. Unlike me, she wasn’t corrupted. She didn’t pretend that she wasn’t. But she was always being used for something. Elizabeth never considered that she was being made fun of behind her back. Her best friends betrayed her. That’s what broke her, what corrupted her. She ran around looking for anyone she could trust. Everyone was cruel to her in their own secret way.

She died alone.

That sympathy I had for her was the only thing allowing me to forgive her for killing herself in front of me.

She made me go through the most traumatic period in my life, but if I hadn’t, would I be the girl I am now? My life wasn’t any better before then in the first place.

Should I be grateful for that?

If I am, doesn’t that make me grateful that she died?

Elizabeth was a very selfish person. She was good at pretending she wasn’t. She didn’t care who she hurt to get what she wanted. Everyone remembers her as this kind soul, but she hurt a lot of people because of her selfishness. She got hurt and she wanted blood. I know what she did. She wanted revenge. We know the truth now, she committed suicide because of how the guilt of her anger. She died because she couldn't fix what she's done. She chased after a delusion that she could.

Winter.

Her death caused Emily to take pity on me then and become my first ever friend. It was that pity that pushed the domino to meet everyone I’m friends with now. I have no way of knowing what would have happened if Elizabeth never set those dominos up in the first place.

The day that Elizabeth died was the day I first learned who she was. That was also the day when this invisible rope or thread appeared. It’s been pulling me since. I’ve never allowed it to lead me where it wants me to go because there’s nothing at the end of it. Elizabeth is no longer here.

For once, I listen.

From the cemetery, I leave for Elizabeth's old home. It’s long abandoned now. Her parents moved out and it hasn’t been sold yet. I passed by this place plenty of times, but this is the first time I stopped by.

The front door is locked, unsurprisingly. The door in the backyard isn’t. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find here. The house is barren. It’s empty. It’s not a home. I spend a few minutes with my fingertips tracing along the wall. These fingers trace up the stairs where I eventually find what I can only assume was Elizabeth’s room.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Empty too.

Not even a random bobby bin in the corner is to be found. There’s only dust here. Her closet is filled with empty hangers. Her bathroom’s light no longer works. There’s nothing for me to find and yet, I feel like I’m supposed to be here.

I’m pulled here.

She messed me up more than I thought.

Alex was right. It hasn’t been Grace walking around in my body. That’s why I’ve been feeling so disconnected. I’ve only been pretending to have all my confidence just to hide from feeling that hopeless ever again.

It was never me, not the real me.

But how do I know who that is anymore?

I’ve been the center of attention for a long time now.

And it wasn’t enough.

Why?

That’s the burning question. Why? Why am I empty again when I wasn’t before? What changed?

Since my birthday, I’ve had more free time than what I could do with. I’ve stopped making plans with people when I don’t want to. I’ve stopped replying to every message I’m sent. I thought I was feeling off because I no longer had the energy to keep it up.

I just wanted a little break so things would go back to normal.

I’ve been sleeping more.

But it hasn’t fixed me.

I haven’t found out what makes me empty.

The constant reminders of Elizabeth have been ruminating through my mind. They’ve been negative thought loops like an out-of-control hamster wheel. The only thing that’s ever talked about was just how much Elizabeth was going through. The pain she inflicted on others during her self-destruction is never mentioned. Nobody wants to blame her. Nobody hates her. They all forgave her. Nobody remembers how I was bullied for being the girl Elizabeth in front of. Everyone stayed away from me because they all thought I was cursed. I was the butt end of every joke. I spent a long time making sure I was so liked that everyone forgot about that.

I was desperate.

I didn’t intend to wear her crown.

It goes deeper than that.

I’m not ready to face it.

I lie dead center of the noise-canceling room on her surprisingly soft carpet. There’s nothing here, and yet there’s something. Something happened in this room. I want to call it a gut feeling, but it’s twisting my stomach. It hurts. On one of the walls, there’s a discoloration from where a poster used to be hung. This odd feeling I’ve been having is telling me that’s where I need to look at.

The ceiling is easier, I don’t have to have my head twisted. I’ll be crazy if I actually believe that this weird pull is anything more than my imagination. That’s all this way. I’ve been making it up in my head because I haven’t been able to move on from Elizabeth. I’m being pulled because she’ll forever be a part of my identity, that’s all this is. Honestly, it’s my self-made tragedy.

I made her a part of me.

She's everywhere I look and nowhere to be found, that was her greatest revenge.

Why have I always felt like I’ve been waiting for her this entire time?

Elizabeth intentionally ruined too many lives to count. She hurt a lot of people. No one was hurt more than the friend group I made after her death. Like a cruel twist of fate, they happened to be the friends she made during the last summer she was alive. Nobody puts the blame more than themselves. Her death tore those friendships apart. It only took another year for us to notice what she did. She took away the people who were kind enough to be my friend.

Now all those shadows from the past are converging to one place for the first time in three years.

It’s making me anxious thinking of the possibilities that could happen. I’m delusional in thinking we’re all going to be friends again. Cody, Sara, Andrew, Emily and even Chris. I miss them all.

My fondest memory was when we were all hanging out together at Pike's Place in Seattle. It was the first time that the emptiness I always lived with was gone. For those few hours, I have never been happier. I want us all to be together again.

But along with that amazing day, nobody noticed the chains of events that would collapse everything had been raging through the entire time.

The true extent of the consequences of Elizabeth’s suicide had barely been felt.

It’s a hard topic to discuss, but if anyone has any reason to never forgive Elizabeth for what she did to them, it’s them. Funny thing is that I know they already did, at least Sara and Cody have. It honestly works out that everyone is nearby all at the same time. It’s almost too much a coincidence.

They’ve all freed themselves from their chains.

They escaped the suicide capital of the world. Nobody hardly escapes. That’s how it is because that’s how everyone wants it to be. It’s about when you wake up in the morning and it is raining and it’s hard to see past the fog that comes down. It’s about where it’s dark from what sun hides and darker where the shadows are. It’s about jumping into the river where it flows jagged and violently and the only way out is to drown or never jump in the first place. Nothing can go back. It’s all adrift.

In her death, Elizabeth created a symbol that was immortalized. A symbol of good and kindness that exists within the violent river of suffering. It’s better to remember her for who she was than who she became. And while “Oh, poor girl,” and the “what a terrible tragedy,” was used to immortalize her, truth is, death doesn’t vindicate.

Death doesn’t vindicate.

And while it was good to lift the spirits and good for the town, it wasn’t good for Elizabeth. She still died.

Elizabeth was robbed of her future and the possibilities within it. Her life can never be replaced. I can’t replace it. I’m not her. I’m not capable of being as cruel as her. I wouldn’t be compared to her if anyone remembered that she was.