Post by Rachael on Jun 20, 2010 21:32:26 GMT -5
This is not my best piece of writing - I know that very well. However, I felt as though I had to write it yesterday. Comment all you want, but please, no criticism.
---
Three years.
Time goes by impossibly fast. At the beginning of a year, it seems impossibly long, but what could only feel like a few short weeks later, it is at its close. How time passes is a mystery - one that mankind will never truly understand.
No matter how much life sucks, time passes. Some days may seem to take a lifetime, though others will be over in the blink of an eye. Somehow, no matter how much is going on, no matter how much pain you’re in, no matter how happy you are, time flies.
Three whole years.
Three years ago today, I was a fifteen year-old girl. I was a fifteen-year-old girl that was completely in love with her life. I was a naive, careless, vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl. And most importantly, I was a fifteen-year-old girl with a best friend.
Sam met me earlier on that year, and we had instantly clicked. We were like peanut butter and chocolate - a match made in heaven. We stuck together like glue, and he was the best friend that I could have asked for. I was his own personal cheerleader at football games even though I couldn’t go out for the team because of my knee, and he wouldn’t let anyone else wear his number. He was the boy that sang Rent and whatever other musical I pleased with me. He was the boy that learned my favorite songs and sang them to me, and sang Green Day to me on the phone when I couldn’t sleep. He was the boy that made me quit smoking because, while he was a chimney himself, he was worried my asthma was getting too bad. He was the boy that punched out his best friend since pre-school for getting me drunk at parties.
He was my everything.
We had a special kind of friendship that seemed almost surreal - like the kind that would be found in a movie. It was too sweet, too amazing to be real. I loved him, and I am almost certain he felt the same about me, though before those feelings could be even thought of, everything came to a halt.
Three years ago today, my life changed forever.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl thrust into the most awful situation in the world. I was a fifteen-year-old girl celebrating her last day of freshman year. That was when I heard the screaming.
There are train tracks by my neighborhood - ones that are always used as a shortcut to get to either the mall, the library, and various other locations. One could always hear and feel when a train was coming, and then you would get off the tracks, hold on to the fence, and wait. It was that simple, and not a big deal. It was something that we all did, and something we hardly thought about.
These tracks were where the screaming was coming from.
Suddenly, a girl I barely knew came running over as I approached the tracks (of course, I was curious) and latched onto my arm. She was hysterical, and I could hardly understand her. The only thing I could understand was ‘Ashlyn’ and ‘hit,’ and I felt my heart catch in my throat.
I did not want to hear the word ‘hit’ anywhere near my best friend’s baby sister’s name, especially when it was said around train tracks.
Sure enough, I was pulled onto the platform, and the sight was enough to make me, the viewer of all gross and gorey movies, nearly lose everything I’d ever eaten. I saw my best friend’s baby sister torn in half on the tracks, her blood splattered everywhere and anywhere within reach, and I wanted nothing more than to be dreaming.
I wasn’t.
They were crossing the tracks when they heard a train. Ashlyn’s pants had gotten caught, and the train had come roaring by before she could get them off. A twelve-year-old girl stood no chance against the giant metal monster, especially when there had been no warning bell. While her friends were screaming and crying and calling 911, proclaiming they had to get the girl help, I knew that there was no help that could do anything. Ashlyn was broken, and there was no doubt in my mind that she was dead.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl that had to tell her best friend that his baby sister had been hit by a train.
I was there when he returned from the coroner’s, clutching a plastic bag filled with her blood-stained belongings that had been salvaged. I was the one to unclasp the ‘Samuel’ name plate to replace it with the one that read ‘Ashlyn,’ gold with a diamond ‘A’. I was at that train station with him everyday for nearly two weeks after the accident, holding his hand and holding him while he, this broken mess of a boy that I still cared for more than anything, cried until he fell asleep. I spoke to countless press people on his behalf and felt as though I were living the worst nightmare I could ever imagine. I pinched myself until I bled, but there was no relief.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl making a memorial for a twelve-year-old angel. I was there and cried everytime a train went by for nearly two weeks, and to this day I still get chills. I was there at the wake, where countless numbers of people in black cried and cried with no way to relieve their pain. I saw a beautiful white coffin that should never have been made that small.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl that heard her best friend bargain with God, saying that it should have been him instead.
I was there when my Sammy got a tattoo to commemorate her, and pretended not to notice when he started crying. I was there day after fucking day, doing everything I could to try to make him smile again. But there was nothing.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl when my best friend got so into drugs that he couldn’t resurface. I tried to bring him back, but he wouldn’t listen, no matter how many times I told him that Ash wouldn’t have wanted this. No matter, I stuck to his side and defended him to everyone that dared talk about her. He was still my Sammy, and I still loved him.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl that suddenly didn’t feel fifteen anymore.
I didn’t know that life could change so quickly. I was so used to my careless, easy style of life that when this happened, I didn’t know what to do. I was so young, so stupid, and didn’t know how something so awful could happen, why God could let it happen, or why it had to happen to Sam and his family. These questions are obviously still unanswered, though I know now that they don’t need an answer.
I was a sixteen-year-old girl the last time I saw my Sammy.
He transferred schools at the end of our sophomore year - he said that he would not be able to see his little sister’s friends in the school without her there. I cried for days after he moved to live with his mother, though I took comfort in the fact that he was only a few towns away. However, I should have known that when he moved, he kept no contacts with people here.
I can’t say that I blame him - our little shithole town isn’t much to miss, anyway, and it holds far too many memories for him that bring back far too much pain for a now eighteen-year-old boy to handle. He needed to move on with his life, and to do so, he literally had to move away from here. He couldn’t remain, as he would be permanently stuck in the rut he was in.
I miss him - I’m not sure words can even express how much I do. I can’t lie and say that I don’t feel sad whenever I walk by his old house, and I can’t say that I don’t avoid the tracks at all costs. Sometimes I stare at his number in my phone and wish I had the will to just hit ‘send’ and reconcile our relationship, but I won’t. I (still) love that boy far too much to drag him back down this road. I hear about him from time to time, and saw him at a few football games when our schools played each other. It was enough because it had to be, and that was that.
No matter how much space is between him and I, he will always be a part of me. He was the reason why I grew up, the reason why I’m still not that stupid fifteen-year-old girl. He’ll always have a place in my heart, no matter where I go or what I do with my life.
I have him (and Ashlyn) to thank for my growth and for almost everything that I am today. And I will never, ever forget that.
---
Three years.
Time goes by impossibly fast. At the beginning of a year, it seems impossibly long, but what could only feel like a few short weeks later, it is at its close. How time passes is a mystery - one that mankind will never truly understand.
No matter how much life sucks, time passes. Some days may seem to take a lifetime, though others will be over in the blink of an eye. Somehow, no matter how much is going on, no matter how much pain you’re in, no matter how happy you are, time flies.
Three whole years.
Three years ago today, I was a fifteen year-old girl. I was a fifteen-year-old girl that was completely in love with her life. I was a naive, careless, vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl. And most importantly, I was a fifteen-year-old girl with a best friend.
Sam met me earlier on that year, and we had instantly clicked. We were like peanut butter and chocolate - a match made in heaven. We stuck together like glue, and he was the best friend that I could have asked for. I was his own personal cheerleader at football games even though I couldn’t go out for the team because of my knee, and he wouldn’t let anyone else wear his number. He was the boy that sang Rent and whatever other musical I pleased with me. He was the boy that learned my favorite songs and sang them to me, and sang Green Day to me on the phone when I couldn’t sleep. He was the boy that made me quit smoking because, while he was a chimney himself, he was worried my asthma was getting too bad. He was the boy that punched out his best friend since pre-school for getting me drunk at parties.
He was my everything.
We had a special kind of friendship that seemed almost surreal - like the kind that would be found in a movie. It was too sweet, too amazing to be real. I loved him, and I am almost certain he felt the same about me, though before those feelings could be even thought of, everything came to a halt.
Three years ago today, my life changed forever.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl thrust into the most awful situation in the world. I was a fifteen-year-old girl celebrating her last day of freshman year. That was when I heard the screaming.
There are train tracks by my neighborhood - ones that are always used as a shortcut to get to either the mall, the library, and various other locations. One could always hear and feel when a train was coming, and then you would get off the tracks, hold on to the fence, and wait. It was that simple, and not a big deal. It was something that we all did, and something we hardly thought about.
These tracks were where the screaming was coming from.
Suddenly, a girl I barely knew came running over as I approached the tracks (of course, I was curious) and latched onto my arm. She was hysterical, and I could hardly understand her. The only thing I could understand was ‘Ashlyn’ and ‘hit,’ and I felt my heart catch in my throat.
I did not want to hear the word ‘hit’ anywhere near my best friend’s baby sister’s name, especially when it was said around train tracks.
Sure enough, I was pulled onto the platform, and the sight was enough to make me, the viewer of all gross and gorey movies, nearly lose everything I’d ever eaten. I saw my best friend’s baby sister torn in half on the tracks, her blood splattered everywhere and anywhere within reach, and I wanted nothing more than to be dreaming.
I wasn’t.
They were crossing the tracks when they heard a train. Ashlyn’s pants had gotten caught, and the train had come roaring by before she could get them off. A twelve-year-old girl stood no chance against the giant metal monster, especially when there had been no warning bell. While her friends were screaming and crying and calling 911, proclaiming they had to get the girl help, I knew that there was no help that could do anything. Ashlyn was broken, and there was no doubt in my mind that she was dead.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl that had to tell her best friend that his baby sister had been hit by a train.
I was there when he returned from the coroner’s, clutching a plastic bag filled with her blood-stained belongings that had been salvaged. I was the one to unclasp the ‘Samuel’ name plate to replace it with the one that read ‘Ashlyn,’ gold with a diamond ‘A’. I was at that train station with him everyday for nearly two weeks after the accident, holding his hand and holding him while he, this broken mess of a boy that I still cared for more than anything, cried until he fell asleep. I spoke to countless press people on his behalf and felt as though I were living the worst nightmare I could ever imagine. I pinched myself until I bled, but there was no relief.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl making a memorial for a twelve-year-old angel. I was there and cried everytime a train went by for nearly two weeks, and to this day I still get chills. I was there at the wake, where countless numbers of people in black cried and cried with no way to relieve their pain. I saw a beautiful white coffin that should never have been made that small.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl that heard her best friend bargain with God, saying that it should have been him instead.
I was there when my Sammy got a tattoo to commemorate her, and pretended not to notice when he started crying. I was there day after fucking day, doing everything I could to try to make him smile again. But there was nothing.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl when my best friend got so into drugs that he couldn’t resurface. I tried to bring him back, but he wouldn’t listen, no matter how many times I told him that Ash wouldn’t have wanted this. No matter, I stuck to his side and defended him to everyone that dared talk about her. He was still my Sammy, and I still loved him.
I was a fifteen-year-old girl that suddenly didn’t feel fifteen anymore.
I didn’t know that life could change so quickly. I was so used to my careless, easy style of life that when this happened, I didn’t know what to do. I was so young, so stupid, and didn’t know how something so awful could happen, why God could let it happen, or why it had to happen to Sam and his family. These questions are obviously still unanswered, though I know now that they don’t need an answer.
I was a sixteen-year-old girl the last time I saw my Sammy.
He transferred schools at the end of our sophomore year - he said that he would not be able to see his little sister’s friends in the school without her there. I cried for days after he moved to live with his mother, though I took comfort in the fact that he was only a few towns away. However, I should have known that when he moved, he kept no contacts with people here.
I can’t say that I blame him - our little shithole town isn’t much to miss, anyway, and it holds far too many memories for him that bring back far too much pain for a now eighteen-year-old boy to handle. He needed to move on with his life, and to do so, he literally had to move away from here. He couldn’t remain, as he would be permanently stuck in the rut he was in.
I miss him - I’m not sure words can even express how much I do. I can’t lie and say that I don’t feel sad whenever I walk by his old house, and I can’t say that I don’t avoid the tracks at all costs. Sometimes I stare at his number in my phone and wish I had the will to just hit ‘send’ and reconcile our relationship, but I won’t. I (still) love that boy far too much to drag him back down this road. I hear about him from time to time, and saw him at a few football games when our schools played each other. It was enough because it had to be, and that was that.
No matter how much space is between him and I, he will always be a part of me. He was the reason why I grew up, the reason why I’m still not that stupid fifteen-year-old girl. He’ll always have a place in my heart, no matter where I go or what I do with my life.
I have him (and Ashlyn) to thank for my growth and for almost everything that I am today. And I will never, ever forget that.
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