Long gone

Long gone

I jiggled my key so that it would enter the stubborn, rusted lock of the front door. The dirt surrounding the lock stuck to my fingers, covering them with a brown residue, reminiscent of the one enveloping me in sorrow. I walked through the door. The house was dim, quiet. I heard my footsteps move slowly under me as they made contact with the old, creaky wooden floor. I felt a sense of hope, but a greater sense that my hope only existed to shield me from the truth.

I entered the hallway to the bedroom, and saw her room. As always, she had her Hello Kittie nametag on the door - a remnant of her childhood, of the cute little girl we all once knew and loved. The Hello Kittie sign read “Hannah” in pink bubble letters, with the expressionless face of the peculiarly popular cat leaning against the big H.

I knocked on her bedroom door. Nothing. I knocked again. My heart raced, everything inside of me willing for a response; a grunt, a whimper, something. Anything. But all I heard was the short echo of my knocks, my rapid breathing, and the silent crawl of goose bumps rising across my arms; the physicality of fear was taking over me.

I turned the knob, and there she was. Face up on the bed. Her pin straight black hair smothered across her yellow-stained pillow, her forehead covered by her black bangs, clumped together with oil and dirt. Her arms were sprawled out across her uncovered mattress. She wore a white wifebeater over her thin frame, allowing the curls of her long, thick underarm hair to jut out from her, like roots of a tree, longing to plant themselves somewhere. She wore no pants, only a small, light pink thong, with faint stains on the outside. The left side of her underwear was slightly down. Perhaps she had rolled over during the night, shifting them. Or perhaps someone had been here, had tried to take them off. Maybe they had taken them off, and couldn’t be bothered to put them back on properly.

I walked over to Hannah and shook her. I shook her again. I yelled her name. Finally, an unexpected grunt. I felt my heart rate slow down, the goosebumps settle, and found myself catching my breath. Hannah rolled over and saw my face; something like a grin spread across her dry, skin-caked lips. “Hey you” she said. I looked on the night stand, where the spoon, needle, and empty bag, sprinkled with a white powder residue, lay. I then looked back at Hannah, flooded with memories; of the girl I used to love.

I remembered my first day of third grade. I was in a new school, after my dad’s job transfer. I was so nervous, so shy, so scared to meet all of the unfamiliar kids. Hannah came up to me during art, gluestick in hand, and asked if I wanted to share her box of crayons. I looked up at her and smiled nervously, thinking of how pretty she was, how I longed to look like her, to have her confidence. I didn’t even have to respond; she sat right next to me, sensing my desire for her to be close to me.

From then on, Hannah and I were best friends. Recess, snack time, arithmetic, spelling, we did it all together. First, third grade. Then, the trials and tribulations of middle school, where we cried each other to sleep over the phone, tormented by our changing bodies and emotions. Then, high school, where we gossiped nonstop, talking of our futures, lost our virginities, and had our first beers.

Now, at twenty-three, Hannah was no longer Hannah. I could blame her ex-boyfriend Jeff, who introduced her to the stuff. I could blame our middle school, for having a shitty drug education problem. I could blame the country of Columbia, for trafficking so much blow to the US. But really, the only person to blame was sprawled out incoherently right in front of me. I hated Hannah, hated myself for being so insensitive, so odious, and all of this had led me to hate life most of all.


She was alive. At least I could sleep tonight. I looked down at my flannel Garfield pajamas. When Hannah’s mom had called me, saying she hadn’t heard from her in five days, that she wasn’t answering the phone, I ran out of my house, unaware of how ridiculous I must have looked. I now felt like a fool, running over here to THIS. I turned around, leaving Hannah vulnerable, confused, oblivious to her own filth, lying on the bed. I walked out, promising myself that this time I would truly let go.