Monday, September 4th, 2010, 1:14pm


The first time I took acid, I was listening to Nickelback’s song, “How You Remind Me.” It was Judy’s birthday and I decided not to go to school. Even if I had decided to go, I probably wouldn’t have made it because I didn’t sleep the whole night.
It was the afternoon; my parents weren’t home; the house was quiet and sullen. I was hanging off the side staring at the wooden floor. As I stared deep beneath the cracks, my mind drifted into the song as I began to cry. Teardrops crashed the ground as I wept until the emptiness in my chest lessened. But it didn’t work.
I sat up straight, wiped the tears rolling down my cheek and took a deep breath. I dug in my right jean pocket and took out the acid. Inside the small plastic bag were four tabs in the form of a sticker, each with a stamp of The Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. I stared at the image for a while, turning the sticker around looking at every inch of it.
After I finished analyzing it, I peeled the sticker and placed it on my tongue. My hands became sweaty; I felt my tongue tingle like the scent of pickle juice. I let it melt on my tongue like a Popsicle in the middle of July. Except, it was stale, bland, bitter… not very tasty.
I was only sixteen; the only drug I knew about was marijuana. I smoked a lot on the weekends with my friends but always kept my grades up. I had no choice but to only succeed going to an expensive private school. Smoking didn’t affect me at all, unless I smoked too much, then I’d pass out and forget to do homework. But this was a whole different ballpark.
When it finished melting on my tongue, I laid on my back and stared at the ceiling. I felt nothing except dizziness from staring at the ceiling fan spin over and over. Last year on Judy’s birthday, I smoked a whole ounce of weed in a park around my house. The whole neighborhood reeked like twenty people were smoking in a cyph. After awhile, smoking pot became tiring so I decided to try something new, a little stronger. A drug dealer that was known in the area said it was new and a lot of people were using it so I gave it a shot.
A half hour passed of me staring around the room, tossing and turning and nothing. I sucked my teeth and took the headphones out of my ear. I sat at the edge of the bed and pulled out a cigarette from my back pocket. I put it in my mouth and walked towards the windowsill. The cigarette hung from the moisture on my upper lip as I searched for my lighter or a match hanging around.
After a couple seconds of searching, things began to change shape. The cigarette fell from my mouth in shock. Judy’s wooden bed began blinking bright yellow, green and red like a broken traffic light. I stared for a few minutes before I caught myself staring too hard.
I began laughing, amused yet blown away at the change in my vision. I turned to open the window; the wind smacked my face, awakening my insides. Goosebumps rose on my skin like ladybugs, and after a few seconds, ladybugs began crawling on my skin.

I giggled like a maniac, poking at them in fascination, watching them crawl up and down the hairs on my arms. I felt them graze underneath the tiny hairs and crawl up to my neck. Some flew up to my nose and waved at me then flew away; then the others planted themselves in my skin, fluttering their tiny wings and waving their tiny antennae.

I closed the window and covered my mouth with both of my hands. Exasperated, I stared around the room, watching it transform into different shapes and sizes. I was Alice and I was falling deep, very deep, down the rabbit hole.

I walked over to the dresser where Judy’s senior picture stood in its frame. The frame resembled a pine tree with a pink 2010 on the top. She was salutatorian of her senior class and had the brightest green eyes all of Fairfield High had ever seen. I felt tears begin to boil in my eyelids looking at how happy Judy was in her picture.

After Judy passed, everything was tragic; my family tore itself apart and it was never the same. Communication lacked between my parents and I. My mom became depressed and my dad got laid off from his accounting job. My dad wanted to make Judy’s room into a little office for him to do his work but once he stepped into her room, he didn’t have the willpower to do it. So they kept her room as a shrine in memory of her, as if she was still alive; nothing touched, moved or dusted—all in the same spot since the day she left us.

The numbers on the frame were flashing bright pink and sparkles illuminated around her face. I began crying, weeping like a little baby, until I heard something.
My head began to spin, my body felt weak as I tried to walk towards the bed. The room eventually turned into an on-going kaleidoscope, whirling blue squares, yellow triangles, red circles, purple heptagons and green stars.

I covered my ears with the palms of my hands, squeezing the ear buds deeper into my eardrum until the music filled the inside of my head like a surround-sound system.

I was in a trip. Everything was abnormally exciting; a thrill I could feel vibrate on the sole of my fingertips and core of my spine. When the song ended, I sighed, feeling a weight lift from my chest, all at once, becoming a feather in the wind. I took the headphones out of my ears and threw my phone on her bed. Feeling my way around her room, almost like a blind woman, I made my way back to her dresser. I went back to her graduation picture and stared at it. I rested my chin between the palms of my hands and stared at her, slowly growing a hole in my chest again. I looked into her transparent green eyes; watching them glitter different shades of green and then suddenly, they blinked.

I fell back and caught my balance on the pole of her bed. My heart began racing and my body began trembling as the colors began shifting in the room to brighter, more intense colors. I heard a loud screeching sound echo in my brain like nails plunged into a chalkboard.

I tightened my eyes and began screaming throughout the house, trying to lessen the screeching sound irking my brain. The screws in my brain were falling out and my mind began to tear to shreds. I felt my sanity slowly vanish into thin air.

When that didn’t work, I ran out of the room in fright, scared of what was going on. Nothing looked the same; picture frames hanging on the wall by the staircase began tumbling down, furniture was floating around, the shower began to run, the toilet began flushing itself, all the room doors opened and closed the faster I ran around the house.

I ran downstairs and stopped running when I made it to the living room. I sat on the living room floor, scared and confused. I tried to compose myself and regain whatever lucidity I had left in me. I took deep breaths despite the madness surrounding me. Then everything went quiet. Tinnitus began buzzing in my ear. I regained my sanity.

“Shh..”

I opened my right eye, hearing a whisper of some sort around me. I saw nothing so I shut my eye.

“Shh..” it repeated.

I opened both of my eyes and darted them around the room searching for that sound, that soft whisper. The room was still spinning but at a slower pace. Colors still vibrant but peaceful.

I shut my eyes again.

“Calm down.”

I jumped up and my body began shaking. “Who’s there!” I said anxiously.

No answer.

“Mom?” I asked.

No answer.

I began walking around the house slowly, looking for where the voice came from. I was doing exactly what not to do in scary movies. I began questioning to myself, who was there? How’d they get into my house? What did they want? Was it my mother or had I just lost my mind? The floor began to creek the softer I stepped on the floor. I began sweating again, more compulsively now, making my palms sticky and wet.

I went back upstairs and made it to Judy’s room, my safe zone. I sped into the closet and hid behind her black trench coat. As I stood behind the coat panicking, sniffing the remnants of her CoCo Chanel perfume, I kept an ear out for the person in the house. I didn’t hear anything; it was silent throughout the house. The wind blew fiercely from the window, ruffling through the burgundy curtains by the window. I could almost hear the neighbor’s microwave buzzing next door. It was quiet enough to walk out the closet, so I did, hoping that they got whatever they needed and left.

I walked out slowly, watching my feet hit the ground step by step. I realized the calmer I reacted, the smoother the effect the drugs would have on me. I tried to compose my anxiety, breathing in and out, taking baby steps towards the bed. The room was spinning less, my reflection in the mirror above her dresser was clearer and the buzzing was definitely gone.

I laid flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.

“Are you calm now? Don’t move.”

I laid frozen like a mannequin, with my arms crossed underneath my neck, legs spread flat across the bed and eyes darted at the ceiling. Although in my head I was panicking, I recognized the voice from somewhere.

“Lizzie...”

I jolted up, suddenly unfrozen from my coma. I hated my name: Elizabeth. It’s so drear and dull, but my parents and friends either called me that or Beth. Not Lizzie. Only one person has ever called me Lizzie.

I paused, “Judy? Is that you…?”

She laughed and I knew it was her instantly. No one in the whole world laughs with a little wheeze in the beginning and snorts like a pig right after. I looked around the room for her. “Judy, where are you?”

“Close your eyes. Listen to me.”

I did exactly what she said. I sat at the edge of her bed, my hands at my sides squeezing the firm sheets. I began rocking back and forth, quickly becoming anxious. “Calm down Lizzie, just listen to me.”

As the tears poured from my eyes, so did the sweat from my forehead. It dripped from my scalp, down my nose, to my mouth like a river. I tasted the saltiness on my bottom lip as I quivered, tense and agitated. “It’s hard, Judy, everything is so blurry and bright. Is it really you?”

“Please, just close your eyes. You can control it.”

I shut my eyes but continued to rock back and forth. It boggled my head but released the nerves tied up in my muscles and brain.

“That’s it.” Judy said. “Open.”

I opened my eyes and the room sparkled like gems in a treasure chest. The blues gleamed of sapphire, the reds gleamed ruby, and the greens of emerald… Sparkling gold shimmered on the bed, windows and floor like fireflies at the peak of twilight. I felt like I was walking on a luminescent yellow brick road. It was truly a majestic experience. The room was no longer spinning and the dizziness left.

“Lizzie.”

I turned around to the voice and there she was, inches away from me. Judy sat at the other side of the bed, lying on her fuzzy, pink backrest pillow. Her silky, hazelnut brown hair was parted in half, coming down her chest. Her skin was white as snow with light freckles tracing around her nose. The green in her eyes had a thin black lining around the edge that made them stand out, along with the shape of her eyes, ideal to a Siamese cat; they were almost too perfect. She had on a green shirt to match her eyes, tiny diamond studs pierced in her ears and blue jeans, ripped at the knee; the only kind of jeans she wore.

I covered my mouth in shock, “Judy… Is that really you?”

She smiled, “I don’t think there is another, haha.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. Judy got up and walked over to my side. She sat next to me and wiped the tear with her thumb. Her palm grasped my cheek like a feather; her presence was radiant, fluorescent, and heavenly.

“Don’t cry, I’m here now.”

I nodded. “So, can I ask you something?”

Judy nodded back, “Anything.”

“Well… what’s it like? You know… there?” I asked shyly.

After a few seconds of silence and hearing the air brush through the room, she placed her hand on my knee. “Warm.”

I smiled and she smiled back. “Must be beautiful,” I said.

She folded her hands, “Not just beautiful—majestic.” She sighed, “Words can’t explain; mere adjectives can’t describe the wonder it is.”

“That’s great, I guess. You know, as long as you’re in… a better place, as they say,” I said.

“I am. I finally am,” she said affirming.

Judy got up and began walking around the room. She walked to the window and looked outside. She stood there for a couple minutes just watching people cross the street and cars pause at stop signs. She put her hand on the windowsill and began touching the dried lumps in the paint and the dirt in the corners. She rubbed it between her fingers, almost fascinated by it.

Then, she took a step to the right in front of her shelf and grabbed one of her picture frames. Judy grabbed the family photo, the one we took on Easter the year before she died. She swiped her finger on the glass, making a line in the dust. She rubbed the pile of dust between her fingers.

I walked next to her and watched her be in amazement at the dust.

“You know, it’s never dirty up there…” Judy said, mushing the fabric of dust between her thumb and index finger. “I haven’t seen specks of dust since I was here.”

Watching her mesh dust between her fingers made me see how terrible the world was. The smallest aspects of life that I often foresaw came to light. This world was just a dump; a place that was a second home only made to turn to rot and corruption. My real home was heaven. I wasn’t thinking suicidal thoughts though; it was probably the drugs talking to me.

She wiped the dust on her jeans and held the picture frame in both of her hands. Judy looked deep into our faces, sitting happily on wooden stools surrounded by Easter bunnies and tie-dye eggs. I was thirteen and Judy was eighteen, with the world in the palm of her hands. She got accepted to many great colleges, Yale being one of them. A bright future was an understatement—with her grades and high IQ, she could’ve been the next president; at least everyone was convinced she could be. I wanted to grow up and be just like her. At one point, I envied her smarts. I kept getting detention in middle school while Judy kept getting honor roll. But as our bond grew, so did my love for her. I could only admire her.

Judy began laughing her weird laugh, “Dad was so chunky, his beer belly looks like it’s about to pop out of his shirt. I remember him getting so upset his button was open by his stomach in the picture; he acted like a woman who was showing cleavage.”

I laughed along with her, “Yeah and after, he went on a ‘diet’ that lasted only a week.”

We both laughed together, like old times— like Saved by the Bell marathon times, like order pizza at midnight times, like ‘don’t tell mom I’m going out tonight’ times. It was the mutual laugh that sparks a kinetic magnetism between two people that true lovers or best friends experience. I wasn’t sure what felt more magical—me with Judy again or me in the presence of my guardian angel.

Judy began looking around the room; I could now keep up with her movement. Before, the room shone like when a doctors flashlight would pass by your eyes during a checkup; now, the room was vibrant and chilling.

She went into her closet and began looking through her clothes, feeling the texture of her crop tops, leather jackets, soccer jerseys, etc. Then she walked over to her dresser; her eyes scanned the picture frames, jewelry boxes, trophies and makeup she had sitting on the top but went to open the last drawer.

With slight hesitation, she pulled out the last drawer. I never knew what was in her drawers until now.

She sat on the floor and crossed her legs. Inside the drawer were a bunch of her random things like diaries, school notebooks, old birthday cards with ripped envelopes, a deflated birthday balloon, a mini book of psalms, oil pastel paintings from middle school, etc. Judy took out a round, metallic box, similar to the tin box that came with holiday cookies inside. It had the letter “J” inscribed on the top of the can. Her eyes became watery and I became worried. Her face read that something displeasing was going to be inside.

She lifted the top off the box and saw a stack of pictures tied in a rubber band, folded sheets of loose-leaf and a bunch of little trinkets. Judy began crying. I sat down and crossed my legs beside her, watching her untie the pictures. It was pictures of her and Josh Nicholson, her boyfriend at the time. She began crying but composed herself, crying in silence and keeping her head up.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and held her close as she flipped through old photos of her and Josh together. She looked at pictures of them at the beach, swinging on a swing at the park, at prom, graduation, and random candids of them laughing and holding hands. I tried to comfort her the best way I could. Her head laid on my shoulder as her muffled tears bombed the photos. I brushed her hair with my fingers to keep her calm. Being so close to Judy was amazing but seeing her in pain was truly agonizing.

She sniffled her nose, “Josh was one of the best things that ever happened to me. He treated me so well the two years we were dating.”

I nodded my head and continued to brush her hair. She continued, “I just miss him, you know?”

“Yeah I know how you feel…” I sympathized with her.

After she finished looking through the pictures, she tied them back up with the rubber band and began looking at the other things in the box. She unfolded a loose-leaf paper and read it to herself; the papers were love letters Josh wrote to her every month of their anniversary. His penmanship was neat, writing each cursive letter flawlessly. You could almost feel the love with each curve of every letter he wrote. I believed guys only wrote perfect script for girls they were in love with.

She began crying again, still subtle though, refraining from becoming a mess. Judy was strong willed and no matter the situation, she always kept control.

Abruptly, she put everything back in the drawer and got up. She reached out her hand to me and helped me up on my feet. I held her hand in mine and felt goose bumps rise on my skin. It was all like a dream, a perfect dream that felt absolutely real, except I could pinch myself and know I was awake.

She sped to the bed and laid down flat on her back, quiet, not making a sound.

I walked over to the bed and laid down next to her. We both stared at the ceiling in utter silence, becoming acquainted with the sounds of the cars driving on the street and the rhythm of the bustle of the leaves on the trees outside the window.

“I think the greatest torture one has to endure would be to live in the past or be affected by it somehow,” Judy said humbly.

I turned and looked at her. She was staring into the ceiling, lost in a daydream or memory of the past. I watched her green eyes glimmer with sadness as a tear slid down her right temple. I wiped her tear with my thumb, soft and gently. Her tears were the closest things to holy water I’ve touched in a while. Her presence was truly a blessing.

She turned to her side and our eyes were both locked now.

Judy smiled at me, her eyes chinking like the seed of a pistachio, filled with benevolence and warmth. Her smile stretched to both sides of her face, showing off her impeccable cheekbones. “You’ve grown up so much, I see a lot of myself in you. That’s why I’m smiling so hard.”

My cheeks began blushing red like a ripe tomato. “Is that a good or bad thing? I don’t want your terrible fashion sense,” I said jokingly, trying to alleviate the sadness in the room.

She laughed, her ridiculously addictive laugh— addictive because no matter what you were feeling, the moment you heard her laugh, you laughed too.

“Haha hilarious, Lizzie.”

All of a sudden, I heard keys jingle at the front door downstairs. My heart began to thump and pound on my chest. My eyes darted to Judy’s eyes— she saw the trepidation I was about to undergo. One of my parents had just gotten home.

I jumped up from the bed and began anxiously pacing around the room. Colors began to fluctuate and my mind began spinning on a demented axis again. I squeezed my head tight like an orange about to pour juice from the pit, except my mind was an empty, hollow pit with nothing but drained thoughts.

Judy gave me a stern look, “Remain calm. Otherwise, your anxiety will get the best of you.” I took her advice and sucked it up. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
I heard the door shut downstairs and the keys hit the kitchen counter.

Regaining some of my consciousness, I walked over to the door slowly but quickly. I poked my head out to see if the coast was clear and walked to my room down the hall. As I dashed to my room with ease; when I got to my room, I peeked out one more time to see if anyone was coming. Blurry vision only made me enhance my hearing; I could hear either my mom or dad turning on the television downstairs and opening a bag of buttery popcorn that smelled the hallway upstairs.

I left the door open and just hopped in my bed. The springs in the bed made a loud screeching sound that shuddered on the floor.

As I tucked myself under my sheets, I heard someone come up the stairs. I pulled the sheets above my mouth and shut my eyes with my back facing the door.

My mom came to my room. She knocked on the door once before she saw me cuddled up under my sheets.

She mumbled to herself, “It’s 3:30pm, she’s early… ah well” and shut the door and went downstairs.

After she shut the door, I covered my mouth with both of my hands, giggling to myself like a crazed hyena. My mom knew something was up because I never get home early on a school day and especially since dismissal was exactly at 3:30pm. But better early than after dinnertime, she thought.

I finished giggling to myself when I noticed that Judy had been gone. My smile had erased and my high had been starting to fade. I noticed because I began to lose my dizziness and most colors remained the same and had stopped twirling in circles.

I sighed and closed my eyes, hoping to sleep away the hole about to grow in my chest again. Until I felt the stroke of four fingers through my thick ponytail.

I turned around and Judy was lying right next to me. She grinned and said, “I’m always here. Even when you don’t know it.”

Without a word, I laid my head on her arm like a pillow and wrapped it around my face. She held me close as I fell asleep to her heartbeat thump in her chest like a soft drummer. Her skin smelled of flowers and I was suddenly lost in a garden of daises.




















⎯

Friday, September 29, 2010, 2:05pm


“Have you seen Hannah? I’ve been looking for her everywhere,” I asked John, Hannah’s brother, at the lunch table.

“Nah, but she’s probably with Lisa or Tony,” John replied, munching on his cheeseburger.

If Hannah wasn’t with me, she was either with Lisa or Tony, her sister and boyfriend. Hannah and I have been best friends since we were able to walk. Our mothers grew up together, split apart for work purposes, then, next thing you know, we move into the same neighborhood and have been attached to the hip ever since.

I got up from the table and threw out my tray of nasty mashed potatoes and meat loaf. “Alright well I’m going home early, I have things to do. Tell her to call me later. See ya, John,” I said.

“Yeah, you always have things to do,” John snickered. “Later Beth.”

I left school early and went straight home, as every other Friday for the past three weeks. My mom loved it; she thought it was a sign of me doing better in school since I’m hanging out with my friends less than usual. My school was only ten minutes away, making it easy for me to get home quickly. This was a dream come true for my mom.

I made it home and went upstairs to my room. I put my jacket in the closet, threw my bag on the floor and hopped right onto my bed. I went to the corner of my bed and dug my hand under the mattress. My hand scanned the bottom of my mattress until I felt a small, plastic bag. I got a hold of it and my heart got excited. Fireworks lit when I held the bag of acid but the fire was quickly blown out when I realized there was only one left.
It was three weeks since the first time I took acid and I was taking one every Friday. I was telling my friends it’s because my mom wants me to go home and study to prep for the SAT’s. I don’t think they had noticed I was lying yet. My text messages and calls have been delayed and I’ve been sleeping a lot more. I was taking the acid on Friday’s so I can sleep throughout the weekend. One of the side effects I got was fatigue. And I’m okay with that, because I’ve been fortunate to sleep better as opposed to not sleeping at all. Now, I just sleep all the time.

I took the sticker out of the plastic bag and placed it on my tongue, saying farewell to my last tab and hello to the rabbit hole I was about to fall into.

I laid on my bed for thirty minutes and waited ‘til I began seeing changes in my surroundings. The only problem was that in order to see Judy, I had to go in her room.

So I got my iPod from my bag and tuned into my music. I laid on my bed listening to the sounds of The Fray and My Chemical Romance, waiting to feel myself float into unconsciousness and see my room slowly vanish and reappear. I was in my zone, listening to the music, feeling the weight lift off my chest. And suddenly, I was floating above my bed.

I had become so accustomed to the drug; I learned how to walk without seeing big flashes of colors and how to manage my anxiety better. At first it was difficult; I wasn’t able to handle all the flashing lights and paranoia, but Judy was guiding me all the way to the point where I just adapted, almost like a daily medication.

I ran to Judy’s room. It was only a couple hours before my parents would get home. Judy was sitting on the dresser, her legs dangling off the side, tying her hair into a fishtail braid.

I snuck up behind her, “Boo!”

I startled her, messing up her braid, “Ugh, Lizzie!” She pushed my shoulder back, “You messed my braid up, you loser,” she said jokingly.

Judy grabbed my hand and spun me around. “Here, let me do your hair.”

I stood between her legs, my back facing her. She took the barrette out my hair and put it on her wrist. She smoothed out my hair, digging her fingers through the middle, untangling all the knots. She split my hair in parts and began braiding. It was almost therapeutic to me, feeling my coarse hair getting unraveled.

“Sheesh Lizzie, when’s the last time you did your hair?” Judy asked sarcastically.

I began counting on my fingers, “Well, let’s see… mom stopped doing my hair when I was twelve, so since I was twelve years old sounds about right.”

We both began laughing at my ridiculously funny, yet true joke. Unlike most girls, I hated doing my hair. I would literally get out of bed and tie my hair in a messy bun and call it a day. I would be perfectly fine walking around in school with my hair in a lopsided bun with strands poking my eye all day in class.

“What kind of braid do you want?” Judy asked.

“French would be cool,” I replied.

She parted my hair in three pieces and began doing my French braid. She wrapped the first piece underneath the third piece and then wrapping the second around it next. It felt like a head massage; it was the most soothing experience I ever had. It also made the trip feel much more realistic.

I developed a sort of “keen sense” while in a trip. It was sort of like mind of matter— if your mind thought of it, it appeared. As she was braiding my hair, I thought of snakes wrapping each other into a bow; and seconds later, I saw two baby cobras wrapping each other around my arms. I watched their little pink tongues hiss at each other while I was amazed at their communication.

I began laughing, intrigued by the snakes; then they both jetted their eyes to me in defense. I stopped laughing, “Sorry, sorry!” They went back to hissing at each other, almost like they were arguing with each other. I was fascinated; I wanted to know what they were saying.

Judy stopped braiding my hair for a second, “Hey, what’s th—”


She looked at my arm and saw the snakes, “Lizzie!” Judy exclaimed.

I laughed, despite her mini panic attack. “Alright, sorry.” I turned to face her, “Aren’t they cool though? Touch them. They’re not going to bite you,” I said.

She hesitated, but petted the one on my right arm, slowly, feeling it’s scaly body with caution.

She stopped and snapped her fingers at me. “Okay show’s over, turn so I can finish your braid,” Judy demanded.

“Alright, alright,” I said.

After a few minutes, she finished doing my French braid. “Alright, you’re all set,” Judy said.

I shut my eyes for a few seconds and shook my hands. When I opened them, the snakes were gone. It was a technique I learned the past couple weeks when I didn’t want to be in a certain environment I was feeling in a trip. I was able to control whether I was going to have a good or bad trip based on my emotions. After I controlled that, I was able to fall down the rabbit hole nice and smoothly.

I opened my eyes and the snakes were gone. I felt the twists in my braid coming down my back. It was tight and coarse but well done, much neater than my other hairstyles. “Thanks, sis.”

Judy smiled and gave me a hug. I wrapped my arms around her, my face pressing against her neck, smelling her fruity, pomegranate hair. Her hair was so fascinating; everything about her was fascinating and elegant. She had a certain purity about her that made her aura glow, like the way her hair was perfectly straight as if she had just left the salon, was flawless.

I began playing with her hair, as I always did, and began tickling her. She laughed her obnoxious laugh and so I began laughing, both of us laughing like psychotic chimpanzees. I tickled under her armpit, just like we did when we were five. Flashes of memories clicked into my head like a slideshow. When we shared a room together, we had a bunk bed. I would always sneak down from the top bunk and watch movies with her at the bottom bunk. At the most random times, we would get into a tickle fight and completely forget about the movie. My favorite memory is when she was tickling me and I hit my head on the wall behind me and right afterwards, she hit her head on the wall from laughing at me too hard.

She began tickling me on my stomach, pinching me around my belly button then tickling the sides of my neck. “Ahaha, Judy stop!” I pleaded.

Out of nowhere, I banged the side of my head on the pole of her bed. We both stopped ticking each other and paused, both recollecting on the same memory I first thought of ticking her. We laughed even harder like it was déjà vu, like it was meant to be. Judy and I laughed so hard, we felt tear bubbles rise in our eyes.

Then unexpectedly, my mom came in the room.

I didn’t hear her even come in the house. I just heard her at the door say, “Elizabeth?” her face lost and perplexed at the sight of me standing in Judy’s room.

I swiftly turned around and said, “Mom!” I gulped, “What are you doing here?”

She took a step closer to me with her arms crossed, “I decided to come home a little early today since dad is coming late tonight.” She eyed me rigorously; looking at me from head to toe then went up to my face.

“Elizabeth, why are your eyes red?” my mom asked with worry in her voice.

I ignored what she said and replied, “But mom—”

She grabbed my chin with her hand and dragged my face closer to hers, “Are you high, Elizabeth!” my mom roared.

I tried not to laugh but the room was spinning fast because my blood began to boil. My arms and legs became numb. My anxiety went from 1 to 100 in seconds. My mom’s voice was no longer hoarse and deep; her voice became high pitched, like she finished sucking helium from a balloon. Her beige blouse turned different shades of purple and steam began to slowly mist out of her ears. The trip was taking a huge toll on my body and mind.

“Elizabeth Ann Gilbert, I am not laughing with you and you better answer my question!” my mom exclaimed.

I smacked her hand away from my face, “Judy is here!” I shrieked.

She took a step back from me, like a caged lion set free and stared at me for a long time, or at least that’s what it felt like. Her eyes punctured my face as she tried to find an answer to my madness. She began looking around the room, tears bubbling in her eyes. That was the first time she had stepped into Judy’s room since her death.

“Look!” I turned around and pointed at Judy sitting on the dresser. “She’s right there mom, go say hi. Don’t be scared… I was too.”

Her eyes widened, suddenly becoming scared of me. Trying to make her believe me, I grabbed her hand and dragged my mom to the dresser, “Come say hi.” She slapped my hand and took a few steps away from me.

“I don’t know what drug you’re on and I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but Judy is dead, Elizabeth. She has been dead for two years and I know it hurts you,” my mom said sniffling, “but we must move on.”

I turned to look at Judy. She was sitting on the dresser with tears falling from her eyes like Niagara Falls. I turned back to look at my mom; they had the exact same face crying the exact same, painful tears. Seeing them cry made tears fall from my face. She couldn’t see her own daughter right before her eyes.

I walked up to my mom and held her hands, “I know it’s hard to believe, but she is here, mom. Please just lis—”

“NO I WILL NOT LISTEN TO YOU BAFFLE ON! SHE IS GONE ELIZABETH. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH,” my mom screamed, echoing throughout the house.

She grabbed my right arm and tugged me to her, “Let’s go right now.”

I tried to rip her arm off of me, “Let go of me! I’M NOT LEAVING JUDY HERE!”

She dragged me towards the door but I kept fighting back as Judy stood on the dresser watching me go. She shook her head and reached out her arm to me, “Don’t leave, Lizzie.”

I began to cry even more as the room began shifting different sizes. Loud screeching sounds pierced my ears and I became weak in my knees. The wooden floor started to crack in half and I began to fall under like quicksand. The exotic trip I was on suddenly became a nightmare.

I fell halfway inside the crack on the floor, “Mom, help me!” I screamed.

She tugged on my arm, “Get up Elizabeth!” She pulled me out the hole I fell in and dragged me to the door. I bit her hand in anger and tried to run back in the room to save Judy. The dresser began to fall in the crack and Judy couldn’t get up.

“Judy! I’m coming!” I yelped.

My mom grabbed my shirt and began pulling me. I latched onto the side of the wall with both of my hands. “Let. Me. Go!” I screamed in rebellion. She continued to tug on my shirt while I tried to run into the room and save Judy.

Judy waved goodbye as she slid into the crack in the ground.

“NO! Judy!” I cried.

I fell to the floor and began sobbing. I covered my eyes and cried puddles of tears into my hands. My mom took a step back from me; I felt her near, she was standing beside me. My mom didn’t say a word to me. She watched me cry out all the emotions running wild in me.

It was like Judy’s death all over again. Exactly like the moment the police called my house phone and asked to speak to my mom. My mom trembled, almost catching a heart attack, when she was told something might have happened to Judy. When he arrived at our door and told us the bad news, our world fell apart.

“Hello, are you Mrs. Gilbert?” the officer said.

“Yes. Is this about Judy? Is she okay?” my mom responded.

“Ma’am, I’m going to show you a photo. They might be rather revealing, but we need you to identify if this is your daughter,” the officer replied.

My mom nodded.

The cop beside him handed her a yellow manila envelope. My mom undid the strings, her hands shaking in angst. She took out the photo and held it in her hands. The photo showed a white 2006 Toyota Camry sliced in half with the passenger and driver’s seat on fire. In the driver’s seat was a woman with long brown hair, half of her face melted while the other was in tact. It was Judy.

My mom ripped the photo in half and said, “No, no, no, no” and fell to the officer’s knees. She was distraught; her eldest daughter dead at twenty-one.

I came running down the stairs to ask my dad something. “Hey dad, did you see the—” I paused when I saw the officers at my door and my mom sobbing on the floor, praying that it was a nightmare that she could wake up from.

I didn’t even have to walk over to know what it was about. I ran straight upstairs to my room. I grabbed my phone and began calling Judy. Her phone went straight to voicemail. For weeks I was leaving her voicemails, asking when was she coming home and to cut the joke out, in denial about her death… just like I was now sobbing on the floor outside her room.

My crying lessened as my high began to fade. I got up from the ground, unable to keep my balance. I tripped over my shoelace and almost fell.

“We’re going to talk later. Right now, go to your room,” my mom said. I saw a blazing fire in her eyes that almost burned me. I didn’t want to add fuel to the flames, so I went to my room, staring at the ground in silence.

I stood in my room all day until night, skipping dinner and avoiding everyone. I turned off my phone and laid on my bed. I would’ve locked my door but my mom told me not to, afraid I was going to take more drugs or kill myself.

That night was rough. She told my dad once he got home and he completely flipped. I’ve never seen him so angry. He came into my room a few times asking who influenced me to start taking drugs and what did I take. I played the silent card all night, not wanting to speak anyone. But that only made them more upset. I heard my dad walk into Judy’s room a couple times; they were mourning really badly. I heard quiet sobs throughout the night. I kept turning the jack-in-the-box without notice and now, it popped up and surprised me out of nowhere.

⎯


I woke up the next afternoon and went to the kitchen to make lunch. My parents were sitting at the table eating tuna fish and sipping on orange juice. They were sitting next to each other, staring at me while I walked back and forth from the refrigerator to the table, making a ham and cheese sandwich. They kept their lips on their glasses and eyeballs moving, not saying a word. The awkwardness began to rise and my anxiety became intense. I felt my nerves entwine inside me as I walked to my room.

A few minutes later, my mom came in my room holding a pamphlet in her hand. As I sat on the bed eating my sandwich, I watched her sit on the bed with her head down. I put the plate on my lap and wiped the crumbs off my mouth.

“Here,” my mom said, handing me the pamphlet.

I tightened my eyebrows, “What’s this?” I asked her. She didn’t answer.

I looked at the pamphlet. It was sky blue with two clouds on the top and a rainbow in the middle. Underneath it said:

“Is your child at risk of falling through the cracks?”, “Do you think your child may be coming in contact with illegal drugs or behavior?”, “Please contact Dr. Boyd now and schedule and appointment. Call us toll free at 1-800-455-7878.”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I opened the pamphlet to try and better understand why she gave it to me. On the left side was a picture of a group of teenage girls, sloppy and grotty. They were smiling too hard, almost forced, showing off their yellow and dentured teeth. Below the picture was a cheesy quote on life and underneath that, it said:

“At ‘The Ladies of Saint Agnes Angels Rehabilitation Center’, our main goal is to achieve complete success in saving the lives of young women who have fallen through the cracks and have become victim to drugs/alcohol. Unlike most rehabilitation centers, we provide educational services that will prepare your child for the real world with a sense of pride and dignity. We are also the top rehabilitation center to have the best quality dormitories in the country. You will find that your child will feel like home from the first day until their graduation here at Saint Agnes.”

I covered my mouth and began to cry, not believing what my mom was trying to do to me. She was trying to send me to the looney bin with crack whores and drug addicts.

“I called Hannah and your school this morning,” my mom said, tapping her foot on the ground. I already knew something bad was coming up.

I still didn’t say a word.

“You haven’t spoken to Hannah almost all month. She calls and texts but you don’t reply. She barely sees you in school because you leave right after lunch.” She sighed, “Your teachers also told me you’ve been slacking, participating less, getting lower test grades.”

I still didn’t say a word.

She turned to face me. “Hannah also has told me you’ve been smoking marijuana. For quite some time now.”

My heart stopped beating for a second, I thought I was going into cardiac arrest. Hannah, my own best friend, completely turned against me. I tried to compose myself from lashing out with all the thoughts going through my mind.

“Look at me,” my mom said.

I stared at my plate; unable to speak from shock I was under.

She raised her voice, “Look at me now.”

I slowly turned my head to look at her, my eyes puffy red. Everyone had betrayed me—my family, friends and even Judy.

“I made all the phone calls and you’re going to transfer there, whether you like it or not. I’m paying a lot of money and you will get the best of it,” my mom demanded. I no longer held back the tears. My dad came to the room, hearing my mom from downstairs and stood at the door, watching me cry.

My mom got up and walked to the door, “Whenever you feel like talking, let me know.”

As soon as she was about to leave, I flung my glass plate across the room, smashing it into pieces. My parents jumped as they were startled by the smash. My sandwich stood lying on the floor, a piece of bitten cheese by the dresser, a piece of bitten ham on my sneakers and the slices of bread lying flat underneath my bed. The shards of the flowery glass plate were scattered across the room. I began huffing and puffing, releasing built up rage from the night before.

My mom almost didn’t say anything for a second. “On Monday, you are going to get checked out by Dr. Boyd. Afterwards, we’re going home so you can pack. You cannot stay in this house, you hear me?” my mom said.

I ignored her.

“DO YOU HEAR ME?” my mom yelled.

“Yes.” I answered.

She shut the door after I answered. “And clean up your mess!”

My world had ended completely. Being back on earth was like being in hell. At least when I was on acid, I felt alive and had Judy to keep me company. Hannah betrayed our friendship and my parents had practically abandoned their only child. I began crying again, shaking my whole body, sweating from head to toe, about to have a panic attack.

I got up from my bed and went to get my iPod in my bag to try and soothe my nerves. I blasted music into my ears while I cried so it could hush the roaring voices screaming in my head for a while. I put the iPod in my pocket and began walking around the room. I saw a piece of glass on the floor and stood staring at it while my tears slid down my cheeks. On it, was a piece of a yellow chrysanthemum. Continuously crying with no relief, I needed a release to stop the pain.

I stepped on the piece of glass, pinching the fragile skin underneath my bare foot. My blood stained the chrysanthemum, turning the bright yellow flower into a grim, dark orange. I kept walking on glass pieces, singing along to My Chemical Romance’s song, “Helena.” The fragments of the glass reminded me of myself, broken and separated from the other parts of me. I wasn’t whole without Judy; she was all I had left.

The blood continued to leak from my feet, eventually becoming numb. I fell to my knees and began praying, trying to connect with Judy. I knelt on the glass, ripping the skin off my knees.

“Judy, if you’re somewhere up there, please come back. I need to see you again. Everything has completely fallen apart; I don’t want to be here anymore. Please help me, I can’t live like this. My brain has become an unbalanced asylum that I can’t escape, barred from seeing the light. And if I can’t escape this prison, I will die in this prison.”

I felt a breeze blow over my feet as I was praying. The door opened; my dad was standing at the door, holding a chocolate cupcake, trembling.

He began breathing rapidly; his eyes darted around the room, scanning the bloody footprints on the floor and the cuts underneath my feet. The wind burned my feet as it blew across my cuts. He put the cupcake on my dresser and ran to me. He kicked aside the pieces of glass and knelt down with me, squeezing me with his big, brawny arms. Cigar smoke and beer trickled in his breath, but he wasn’t drunk. His hand held the top of my head as I laid on his chest.

My tears splattered his gray polo shirt and my nose began to run. “I’m sorry dad.”

He held me tighter and began crying. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto my face as he rubbed my back, calming me down. “There is so much blood, Elizabeth. Why would you do this, honey?” he said heartbroken.

I sighed and said, “If Judy can’t come to me, then I have to go to her.”

My dad continued to cry and hold me close. I stared at the ground, looking at the puddles of blood. I never thought you could bleed so much just from your feet. If my dad hadn’t walked in, I would’ve begun using the glass on my wrists.

After a few minutes, he let go of me and stood up. “This is not good Elizabeth. I’ve never seen you like this and you have to understand why your mother and I are taking you to Saint Agnes. It will help—”

“Nothing will help me!” I screamed. “The only person I need right now is Judy and you don’t understand that.”

He helped me up and sat me on the bed. “We all need Judy. But she is not coming back Elizabeth.” He shook his head, “I thought you stopped being in denial a long time ago, what happened?” he asked.

“I saw her. That’s what happened,” I said.

My dad stood quiet, not saying anything. He took a deep breath and sighed. He was about to leave the room until he realized I could’ve tried to kill myself again. So he opened the door and called my mom upstairs. When she got to my room, she began frightened and depressed all in one emotion. Seeing the room and all the bloody spots reminded her of a crime scene. She couldn’t walk in, she was too alarmed.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” she repeated to herself, turning around in circles. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and called the rehab center. “Pack your things.”









































⎯

Tuesday, September 4, 2011, 5:30pm


I was saving up for this ticket since I stepped foot into this hellhole. Saint Agnes has been holding me back from mail for months now and my phone calls have been cut short. They say it’s because of faulty wires but I know they cut the cords certain times; the only times they don’t are when there are visitors. My mom has been giving me only ten bucks every month

The bell rang. It was dinnertime.

“Monique, wake up,” I said, tapping my roommate. “It’s dinner time let’s go. You don’t want them to come in here and wake you up, do you?”

She began groaning, wiping drool from the side of her mouth. “Okay, okay, I’m awake, Macbeth.” She fell off the bed and hit her head on the wooden floor. “Oh s***.”

I started laughing, “Good for you. Get up.”

“What time is it?” she said yawning.

“Around 5:30, dinner time. Don’t tell me you forgot when’s dinner?” I said.

“It’s the meds, you know they got me on some new s*** every week,” she snickered.

I reached out my hand and pulled her up. She unraveled her blanket off her legs and stretched. Her shirt rose, showing off her hernia and dragon tattoo. The infamous dragon tattoo. I suddenly got a strong sense of dejavu and remembered the day we first met.

We both came in the same day; I came in the afternoon, the same afternoon I tried to commit suicide, and she came in around midnight. I was asleep in my bed, shivering underneath my thin sheet and brick pillow. A security guard threw her in the room. She hit the floor, shaking my bed. I woke up startled; her shirt was drenched in water and her jeans had dirt on them (which I later found out was from her being dragged on her lawn). The security guard threw a nightgown on her face and said, “Put this on now, crack whore.” She bit her bottom lip and stuck her middle finger at him as he shut the door. I stood staring at her, quietly observing her every move. She got undressed in front of me with no hesitation; that’s when I noticed her tattoo.

Trying to make conversation, I said, “Nice tattoo…” It was a red and green dragon wrapping around her belly button going up her rib cage.

She replied, “Thanks. It’s covering a scar.”

I sat at the edge of my bed. She pulled a cigarette out of her underwear, just like what I used to do in my back pocket. “How’d you get that in here? They took all of my belongings,” I asked.

She laughed, “Yeah, but they can’t take what you’re born with.”

I laughed, “Got another one by any chance?”

She squinted her eyes and crossed her arms, “What are you? Like twelve?”

“Sixteen. I guess that’s close enough though,” I replied jokingly.

She laughed, took another one out and handed it to me. I hesitated, seeing where it came from. But I needed a quick smoke before bed. She opened the window above us and took a set of matches out of her socks. She lit a match for both of us.

She reached out her hand, “Monique. You can call me, Momo.”

I shook her hand and smiled, “Elizabeth. You can call me Beth.”

She took another drag and blew the smoke out the window. “How about Macbeth?”

“Sounds cool,” I replied. And that’s how our friendship began.


⎯


“Hey, isn’t today the day?” Monique asked.

“Yup,” I answered, chewing on a celery stick.

I grabbed my coin purse that I found in the kitchen garbage the first month I got here. It was a knock off Prada coin purse with yellow stitching. I wrote a five-page letter since I got here and kept every coin I found in the bathroom toilets, sinks and showers for a whole year. Now it was time to go to use.

I stuffed the purse in my back pocket and put my sweater on. “You ready?”

Monique nodded, “Always been.” The plan was in motion.

Monique and I walked to the dining area and sat at a table in the back. We waited to hear the dinner bell to go on line and get food. We sat quietly, observing all the girls talk to each other and the security guards stand by the doors. We casually glanced at each other, following the moves we’ve been practicing for months. Then, the bell rung.

As the dining hall became crowded like a stampede with girls running to get food, I ran to the front of the line while Monique waited to get to the back of the line. After I finished getting my food, I passed Monique and winked at her, giving her the signal.

She got off the line, walking towards the bathroom, and bumped a security guard with her shoulder. “Don’t touch me! You think you’re big and bad, huh? I don’t care who you are.” As Monique continued to distract the security guard with her argument, I ran past when he wasn’t looking. She was always a good actress.

I stopped for a second, not believing what I was doing. I began to get second thoughts. The penalties for running away or doing anything illegal were serious. I heard that the year before a girl tried to run away and when they caught her, she was beat with a sharp belt for a week straight. The penalties for assaulting a security guard were big already; Monique was probably going to miss dinner for a week, but that’s what friends do and she was a great friend. She took a quick glance my way and I waved goodbye, a tear sliding down my cheek.

I threw my tray in the garbage and ran out the dining hall, making my way to the back exit. I looked around making sure the coast was clear and pushed the door open. I stepped outside and was in awe. I was wonderstruck by the air, the breeze, and the nature of being outside. I never cherished it as much until that moment. The sun was hitting my face, I felt warm inside and out. Children were playing games on the street, mothers were walking their babies in strollers, people were laughing together, and it was wonderful. The last time I was outside was exactly a year ago, when I was dragged into St. Agnes.

I looked down at my slippers, feeling the wind brush in between my toes. I began walking like a baby taking steps for the first time. I stepped on leaves, hearing them crunch underneath my feet. I opened my arms like a plane and ran across the street, embracing the wind whisk underneath my shirt and through my hair.

I almost forgot about the plan for a second. I ran to the bus stop down the block, trying to run faster but my slippers delayed my speed. I was about to pass a woman then stopped, “Hey, what time is it?” I asked her, hyperventilating.

She looked at her watch, “Um, about to be 6pm.”

“Damn!” I began to run even faster. The buses ran every hour and I wasn’t waiting for the next bus, not with hospital slippers and a sweater. I ran as fast as I could, holding onto my slippers with my toes. The bus began approaching and I haven’t bought my ticket yet. I ran faster and lost my slippers running but I didn’t care.

I made it to the bus stop and ran to the booth. “Hurry, give me a ticket for the bus. HURRY!” The ticket vendor looked at me bizarre, weirded out. She took a quick glance at my feet and became even more suspicious. She handed me the ticket as I threw the money at her. “Thank you!”

I ran on the bus and sat in the first seat, catching my breath. The old woman next to me stared at me, probably thinking I was homeless, barefoot and in hospital clothes. I caught my breath and slouched in my seat. I took out the coin purse and opened my letter, making sure everything was written perfectly. After reading it, I folded it back in and tucked it away to take a nap. St. Agnes was a long way from where I was headed.

After two hours, I woke up when the bus hit a pothole in the road. I rubbed my eyes and looked out the window. It was already dark outside with the light poles on. I was the last one on the bus.

“Last stop. Brookstone Cemetery,” the driver announced.

I zipped up my sweater and looked out the window, turning the corner into the cemetery. The driver opened up the door and said, “Have a good night.”

“You too,” I replied, and then he drove off.

I stood standing outside the cemetery, reading the sign of the times on the gate. My heart suddenly broke when I read that they closed hours ago. I couldn’t believe I went through all that trouble for this. Negative thoughts began running through my mind. I took out the letter and held it in my hands. I kissed it and held it on my heart, feeling safe in my time of doubt.

I looked around and saw nobody outside. The lights of everyone’s houses were off but the moonlight guided me. I bent down and crouched by the gate. The bars were big enough to slide through. I put my arm in, then my left leg. Halfway in, I struggled to pull the rest of my body through. I stuffed the rest of my body in, scraping my stomach and arm on the way in.

Once I made it inside, I began walking around. The grass began scuffing my feet the more I kept walking. It was hard to see where I was going with only one light in the cemetery. I began to get scared, thinking of all the zombies movies I’ve watched in the past. But I kept it together.

I searched and searched until finally, I made it.

I covered my mouth with my hands, finding the missing part of me. I crossed my legs and sat on the grass. I took a moment of silence, thinking to myself. I felt the letters on the tombstone. “Judy Gilbert. Loving Daughter, Sister, Friend.”

“I promised I wouldn’t cry. But I guess I was wrong,” I said shedding a fountain of tears. I held the letter out in my hands tight from it being blown away by the wind. “I wrote you something.”

I looked at her tombstone, staring at her picture on it. It was her graduation picture, the same one on her dresser back at home. Memories came back to me as I continued to cry. There were fresh and dead flowers by her tombstone, resembling a garden filled with roses and tulips for every holiday and birthday she missed.

“Ready?” I said. I unfolded the letter and began to read. As I was reading, the wind became colder as dusk was approaching. Crickets began chirping in the grass, leaves fell from the trees and dogs began barking nearby. I heard families chattering inside their homes and thought of when Judy, my parents and I would have family night when we were younger. We played monopoly for hours until my dad won, because he always won. I kept reminiscing throughout the night. I found solace in the company of Judy.

After I read the letter, I folded it and put it away for a second. I got closer to her tombstone and began digging a tiny hole. I dug for a few minutes; getting dirt stuck underneath my fingernails while bugs crawled out of the ground. I grabbed the letter and tucked it inside the hole. When it was placed firmly inside, I patched the hole up with the dirt, patting it gently back in place. I rubbed the dirt over the letter, saying my last goodbye.

I put my hoodie over my head and crawled into a ball next to her tombstone, slowly shutting my eyes.

“Happy birthday, Judy.”