I raced around the house on this particular Tuesday morning feeling empty. Almost like I had lost someone. Knowing I hadn't, I continued my routine. It’s 7:15am and still no ‘good morning’ text from Lyn. I brushed it off thinking maybe she's busy. I get into the cafeteria, she isn't there. I sat at our table quietly, trying to figure out what was making Lyn so late. I had texted her several times with no luck; she still had yet to reply. Odd, but maybe she's just late. I was about to walk into band and still no Lyn.
But then my phone lit up with Lyn’s mom’s number, I answered it.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Her voice was hard and cold, but she sounded stuffed up like she’d been crying. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Huh,” I was so confused. I heard Mrs. Mae huff in frustration.
“My daughter committed suicide. Did you know she had planned this?”
“N-n-no ma’am,” I stuttered. I couldn’t believe my ears. It didn’t make sense to me, Lyn seemed so happy last night.
“Whatever you liar.” She hung up. I pulled the phone from my ear and ogled at it in disbelief, this couldn’t be happening. Lyn would never -. No. She couldn’t have. She may’ve tried to commit suicide in the past, but she was better... A whirlwind of images of her arms yesterday passed through my mind.
I then realized that Lyn Saille Reybourn had committed suicide. I never thought that Lyn would actually ever commit suicide. She had so much to live for, and I know how cliche that sounds. She had a great group of friends who supported her. She had the entire band. She had found an instrument that helped her cope with the tough times (guitar). She had lost Nathaniel and Ray (who was just a friend, but he still cared deeply about her). She had 4 little sisters. She always said that they were the reason she hadn’t committed suicide in the past. This made me wonder what had happened to her for her to commit suicide.
Granted, I know how terrible things were for her at home and I know how unsettled she was with herself. She hated her scars and wanted so badly to cover them up as best she could. When Lyn wanted to wear a short-sleeved shirt she would put makeup on her wrists to make the scars of her cuts less visible. She always tried her best to make sure all of her friends were never upset. When in reality she couldn’t even help herself out of her own depression. She tried to be nice to everyone. Then those people that she was just being nice to would turn around and bully her or talk crap about her behind her back. She had told me of this one person that was constantly bullying her. This person would text her saying things. Terrible things like, “We’d all be better off if you just went ahead and killed yourself. We’ve all seen the cuts on your wrists why don’t you do us all a favor and finish the job?” and “How about you go cut yourself some more. Remember, side to side for attention, up and down for results.” She refused to tell me who it was, all she’d tell me was that they did stuff like this on a regular basis. She kept telling me that she had everything under control and that the things they said never actually bothered her. I hadn’t heard anything about this “mystery bully” in weeks. So I assumed that it had resolved itself and stopped. Sometimes she’d call in the middle of the night, in tears, because of everything that came to mind when she laid her head down. She hadn’t been able to sleep lately either, she was up constantly. I would catch her up late in the night whenever I couldn’t sleep. I’d text her hoping she wasn’t still awake. She’d almost always reply. Sometimes she’d completely shut down at school. She’d sit in her seat, quietly staring into space her eyes filling with dread and horror. When she’d fall asleep in class due to not sleeping at night, she’d scream and wake up. The counselor had tried talking to her. She wouldn’t allow anyone to take on the things she thought she could take of herself. Now that I thought about it, maybe she wasn’t as happy as I had thought she was.
I sat back in my chair in the band hall. I was then faced with the crushing reality that I had lost my best friend and my mentor (at times). The band had lost their first chair French Horn. My eyes starting leaking tears the more I realized all of this was actually true. This was actually happening to me. Mr. Kinsley stepped up on the podium and counted all the band kids. Mr. Kinsley was a plump and wrinkled ole' fellow. At the corners of his eyes wrinkled creased his jolly cheeks. His forehead was lined with indentions. He had laugh-lines that led everyone to believe he constantly laughed in his earlier years.
“Has anyone seen Lyn,” Mr. Kinsley quizzed. I couldn’t hold back the lump that had manifested in my throat. I burst into a flurry of tears as everyone turned their heads to question me with their eyes. The embarrassment of crying in front of 56 of my peers only made it worse. “Roselyn, come to my office,” Mr. Kinsley said. I walked into his office trying to get my crap together.
I sat there in tears, unable to speak between convulsive sobs. I tried to pull myself together, but in that moment none of the parts would fit. I sat there encapsulated by the fact that my best friend was gone and there was no way I could ever get her back. She was gone, forever. After a minute or so of unrelenting tears, I pulled myself together enough to talk Kinsley about what had happened.
“What seems to be the matter, Roselyn?” Mr. Kinsley took a sip out of his metal vacuum-insulated cup.
“A lot is the matter right now,” I stalled, trying to avoid the actual answer.
“Well, I must ask why did you start crying upon mention of Mrs. Reybourn’s absence?” He stared at me wanting the actual answer. My face grew hot with anxiety as I decided it was best to tell him about Lyn’s suicide.
“Okay,” I breathed, not wanting to have to explain it, but knowing I needed to. “Cheryl went into Lyn’s room this morning to wake her up. She had figured that Lyn had just slept through her alarm clock - which she never does. Well.. when Cheryl opened the door to Lyn’s room and walked in, Lyn was dead. She had killed herself,” I recounted dryly. I paused to look up at Mr. Kinsley before explaining only to look into the eyes of a broken man. One who had no idea why one of his students had committed suicide. The thin lids of his eyes were lined with tears that wanted desperately to roll sporadically down his cheeks. “I realize that you don’t understand why she would do this, but she had so much going on at home. I don’t understand it myself.”
We both sat in silence as I let the tears that had been burning my eyes roll freely down my cheeks. Mr. Kinsley handed me a box of Kleenex as he took a tissue out and dried his tears and blew his nose. I took one and blew my dried my eyes. He took a deep breath and sighed, “Well, we need to get back to class.”
We walked into the storm of voices exuding from the band hall’s atrium. Upon sight of Mr. Kinsley’s distressed face the storm died. Eyes filled quickly with worry and curiosity across the room like a wave. As Mr. Kinsley climbed up on his podium and grabbed a chair to sit in, everyone watched him with extreme caution. Everyone wanted to find out why their band director’s face was streaked with the stains of tears. Shensley sat in his chair, removed his glasses and wiped his face. “Okay, guys I know that this probably wasn’t what you wanted to hear on a beautiful Tuesday morning, but Lyn Reybourn will no longer be in our band. Lyn was found this morning by her sister Cheryl and.. And she had committed suicide. I’m so sorry,” he explained with a gasp. There was a room-wide breath that was taken in as the news broken. The conversation that was once buzzing around the room found no reason to start again. A few kids found each other’s eyes and they then would fill with tears. Others simply just stared at the tile floor in disbelief. Some kids were unblinking and lost. While other students couldn’t contain themselves as they took in the unbelievable reality. Lyn was gone, no one ever even had a chance to say goodbye.
During the 3rd period announcements it was announced that Lyn had committed suicide. The hallway fell silent as we all took in the reality of the situation. All of a sudden, the entire building broke into chaotic chatter. All Hell broke loose. Others were yelling in disbelief insisting that this was some “sick joke.” Through the hallway wails of kids were heard. As well as the voices of teachers trying to calm students who had seemingly lost their minds.
As the day dragged to lunch I found myself unable to eat. (Anyone who knows me knows I generally don’t pass up food.) Not many people could find the strength to eat. Soon the whole school was full of gloom. Everyone dragged the burden of Lyn’s suicide and let it bore into our reality. Every second seemed to be minutes, every minute seemed like hours, every hour seemed to drag on for days.
The few people that weren’t bothered were called into the counselor’s office to see if they had problems coping with the issue at hand. Every youth pastor and preacher in the town was called into the science lab. They were there to help students with all that had happened.
They did this when Squill had the accident coming home from a party one night last year. All this had shook the community; yet, somehow, it hadn’t matched the devastation of Lyn’s suicide, even to the smallest degree. As devastated and heartbroke everyone was when Squill died, it wasn’t his choice to go.
Lyn had the choice to stay or go, but she chose to end her pain. I knew that she was in so much pain in the years and years before. Everything with her dad and grandma, with her church and school life, with her everyday life and her thoughts. She was constantly hurting, even though she masked it well beneath laughter and smiles. She’d have her moments when she’d get lost in her own thought. Her smile and fake enthusiasm would die and fade away. She’d fall apart and no one would notice, except me. I always noticed because her real smile was my favorite thing and her tears and sorrow were my least. Now don’t get me wrong, I rarely ever saw her cry, but when I did it tore me up, and I would cry with her. Lyn rarely cried, she was so strong, and yet she wasn’t.
Now I was left here without the one person that made me the happiest I could be. She had helped me through so much, why couldn’t I have helped her through this? Why wasn’t I able to help her through it? But more importantly, why didn’t she text me asking for help?
When school ended I trudged onto the bus as I realized I had 16 new text messages from assorted individuals and Lyn’s mom, Mrs. Mae. It was times like this that made me miss being able to text Ray. Be that as it may, I knew that there was any way I could ever properly and appropriately get back in touch with him.

I waited and waited and waited for a reply, but it didn’t come. When I looked at Lyn’s mom’s text it was like a slap in the face.
Mrs. Mae: Why?
Mrs. Mae: Did you know she was going to do this?
Mrs. Mae: What did you do to my baby girl???
Mrs. Mae: How could you?! And now you’re ignoring me, you little brat?!
Mrs. Mae: I knew I should’ve never let her spend so much time over at your house this summer. I knew you and your whole family were going to poison my daughter and make her into a monster. Just like your older sister Breanne, the one who got knocked up before she got married!
All I could reply with was: I’m sorry.
I was crying so hard when I entered my house that I couldn’t see. No one was home. So I just threw my stuff in my floor and then proceeded to throw myself onto my bed and cry until my eyes had run dry. Then convulsively sobbed into my pillow until I was asleep. Next thing I knew my dad was waking me up. When I raised my groggy head off of my pillow, I noticed he had a bowl of ice cream and some tissues. I turned onto my back and adjusted myself so I could lean against my headboard. My dad’s eyes were full of misery and woe. Without any words, he handed me the bowl and I knew he had found out about Lyn. He sat the tissues on my hope chest next to my bed. I sat the bowl in my lap and wrapped my arms around his neck and cried the tears I didn’t know I still had. He just patted me on the back and grumbled, “I know.” His voice was hoarse and sounded like a gravel road, he had been crying too.
Lyn had been just like another daughter to him. He loved her as much as he loved me. My dad and Lyn had bonded one night when Lyn’s dad, Mr. Reybourn, had rushed over to my house to come and take Lyn home. Mr. Reybourn had taken what Mrs. Mae had said too seriously.
He knocked on the door. Then he asked my mom to go get Lyn because she had been “deceitful and deceiving” to him earlier that morning. (Mrs. Mae and Lyn had a minor upset in communication of whether Lyn was allowed to come over to my house or not. (Lyn had forgot to ask directly.) Mrs. Mae had no problem with Lyn being over at my house. But she would’ve liked Lyn to have been a little bit better with communicating.) My mom came into my room. Where Lyn and I had been talking with Mrs. Mae on speaker. Whenever Mr. Reybourn overheard Mrs. Mae’s and Lyn’s conversation on the phone he decided to take action. He stormed out of the house to come and get Lyn. She told Lyn that her dad was waiting for her outside. Lyn took an anxious breath as she walked reluctantly out of my room and placed her phone (which still had her mother on speaker) in her bra. Lyn walked into my mom’s room and held open the front glass door.
“Get in the Yukon,” Mr. Reybourn said. My dad walked up to the corner of the hallway outside my mom’s door. My mom and I had been anxiously listening to everything.
“No, mom said -,” Lyn defended.
“I don’t care what your mom said, I said get in the Yukon. Now quit wasting their heat,” Mr. Reybourn demanded.
Lyn closed the glass door she had opened between them and quakily repeated, “No.”
“Nothing’s going to happen, now c’mon,” Mr. Reybourn aggressively insisted.
“I don’t know that.” Lyn’s voice began to quiver as she took a step away from the door.
“Well then give me your phone.” Lyn quickly and decisively handed over her phone. Mr. Reybourn thrust the phone in his hand up against the wall of my house and left. Lyn closed the wooden door and turned around to walk out of the room, she was met by my mom, dad, and me in the hallway. “I’m sorry y’all had to see that,” Lyn muttered.
“What’d he smash,” my mom asked sweetly.
“My phone,” Lyn replied as tears eased down her face. I met her with a hug and she sobbed into my shoulder. She raised up to wipe her tears and my mom met her with another warm embrace. Lyn began to sob again. She continued to repeat how sorry she was that we had to see that. None of us cared, we were just glad she was okay. Lyn, my mom, and I went into my room to call Mrs. Mae to explain what happened. When the call ended and my mom left the room, Lyn fell apart. She started crying uncontrollable, all I could do was try to comfort her as best I could. My dad walked in a few moments later and patted Lyn and I on the back, “I had an abusive father too. I know how it is,” he comforted. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Y’all shouldn’t have seen that,” Lyn’s lip began to quiver but she bit it to make it stop. When my dad left, she was crying again.
When I finally lifted myself off of my dad’s shoulder I looked him in the eye and whimpered, “Why do you think she did this, daddy?”
“A lot of people do a lot of things for a lot of reasons, maybe she was tired of hurting. Maybe she just wanted to eliminate herself from everything to avoid a certain situation. Or maybe she simply just couldn’t cope with the way her father was to her. I know I had a hard time coping with my dad when I was younger,” my dad replied very sadly.
“I used to tell Lyn I didn’t know what I would do without her, but now I can’t even tell I don’t know what I will do without her.” I choked on the words.
“I have no idea what you must be going through and there’s nothing I can say that will cause your pain to go away.”
I slumped back against my headboard and sighed. I took the spoon from the ice cream only to slowly poke the ice cream. I wanted to eat it, but couldn’t gather the willpower to pull the spoon to my mouth and force-feed myself the ice cream. No one understood me. Ray hadn’t texted in hours. The one person I thought might have the slightest idea of what I may be feeling - Lyn’s mom - blamed me for this.
My dad, realizing I was done talking for a while, took a deep breath. He ran his hands against his jeans and pulled himself off my bed. The quiet loneliness was all I needed. I sat the ice cream down and watched each droplet race down the side on its way further into the blue bowl. As each drop fell the ice cream became smaller and smaller, until it was just a puddle of it’s former self. It still tasted the same, but it wasn’t.
It reminded me of how young Lyn and I had this friend, Renee. Renee went to school with us for about 3 and a half years, but every year Lyn and I became less and less like ourselves. We looked the same, but we weren’t. Every waking moment Renee spent bringing Lyn and I down to her level. Lyn and I were innocent 5th graders when Renee entered our lives. Heck, Lyn and I weren’t even friends back then. Renee had us believe that we were witches or fairies or some stupid little kid stuff like that. She influenced us in ways Lyn and I never wanted to be. In 6th grade, Renee had brought Lyn down to the point where she was cussing like a sailor. In fear that my parents may find out of such habits I refused to start cussing. But by 7th grade I was worse than any sailor. I just wanted to fit in. My “friends” constantly badgered me about how my parents wouldn’t find out; how it was okay because everyone our age did it. I believe that was called peer pressure.
Anyway, by the middle of my 8th grade year, when Renee left for Oklahoma, Lyn and I were totally different people. I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Then things got messy between my family and I. My mom and I barely talked, my dad and I lost our relationship we once had. I noticed that Lyn had become less and less emotionally stable as well. She’d cry in the middle of class, when people would ask what was wrong she never had any idea. She was always at school no matter how terrible her health was. Against school advice, she stayed not willing to go home to her dad. Her dad would undoubtedly beat her for being a “selfish weakling,” or something even stupider.
My phone buzzed and I jumped out of my memories of old and checked it. There were two messages, one from Ray and the other was from Nathaniel. I opened Ray’s first.
Ray: I just received word about Lyn, I’m so sorry.
Me: Uh, yeah… It’s pretty bad.
Ray: I wish there was something I could do to make it better, and I’m srry that I can’t. Best wishes. :)
Me: Thank you. Best wished to you as well. :):
I, hesitantly, checked Nathaniel’s message. Hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. Though I didn’t really know Nathaniel, I did know he was nobody to mess with. I had no idea how emotional he was nor how rough he was. So I emotionally prepared myself for the absolute worst thing imaginable. Although Mrs. Mae had already beaten my expectations for the worst possible thing.
Nathaniel: So she finally took my advice and rid the world of herself. Ha.
Me: YOU ASSHOLE!!! It was you all along wasn’t it?
Nathaniel: Hm?
Me: You were the one sending Lyn all those messages about how she needed to kill herself and cut herself, weren’t you?
Nathaniel: Yup, I was.
Me: Go to Hell.
Nathaniel: I know where I’m going I don’t need some stupid bitch telling me.
Me: Leave me alone. Don’t ever text me again, or I’ll report you to the police for encouraging an act of suicide.
Nathaniel: Prick.
I blocked his number.
I sat my phone down and sank further into my blankets, covering my face with my pillow. I screamed out of frustration into my pillow as if I wanted to die. I was hungry, but couldn’t bring myself to eat. I was sleepy, but couldn’t face my own dreams. I was tired, but couldn’t rest. I was thirsty, but couldn’t drink. I wanted to talk, but couldn’t find my voice. In the midst of my grievances, my phone rang. I grunted and grimaced at the thought of having to talk to someone. I look at my phone and was relieved when I saw that it is my sister, Brianne. I answered as fast as I could, with the best smile I could form at the moment.
“Hey,” I chirped, as cheerfully as I could so he wouldn’t worry.
“Hiya,” she whistled in reply, her voice more comforting than my dad’s attempted comfort. “How are you doing? Please don’t give me any of the fake ‘I’m doing great’ crap. I want to know how are you actually faring in light of the shocking and life-altering news you received this morning?”
I reluctantly replied after a moment’s silence with a sigh, “I’m not doing well, at all…” my voice trailed off.
“Thank you for the truth. I’m right here for you. Always,” She stated too sadly for words to describe.
“I know. I know,”I echoed. “But, Bree, I don’t understand why she would leave. Why would she do this?” My voice had an edge I didn’t like and it took me aback.
“I-I don’t know,” she stammered. Brianne was realizing she didn’t have the answer to the question at hand and couldn’t help. No matter how much she wanted to, we sat in silence for a moment. “I didn’t know her nearly as well as you did,” she finally added.
“I realize that. I really need a hug from you right now,” I stated.
“And I, you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too and you know that.”
“I want to see you,” I added in a childish voice.
“I want to see you too, and I will be over later… maybe tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“You know I’m here for you right?,” Brianne assured me. The tone of her voice that soothed every bone in my body.
“Yes, Brianne, I know,” I insisted pathetically.
“Okay good,” he softly demanded.
“Fine… Oh, by the way, Nathaniel texted me and he’s the one that had been bullying Lyn.”
“Yeah? What’d he have to say?”
“He started the conversation with ‘So she finally took my advice and rid the world of herself,’ shortly after that I told him if he didn’t quit texting me that I would turn him into the police for suicide encouragement.”
“Yep, he deserves it,” her voice sounded quakey. We sat in silence over the phone for a while. I heard Brianne take in a breath to say something.
“I think I’m going to go to bed, Brianne.”
“Okay, Rosie, sleep. For me. Please.”
“I will try. Night,” I hung up. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. It was nearly midnight and I hadn’t even eaten dinner. I had barely touched the now melted ice cream my dad had brought me in an attempt to cheer me up. I felt bad to have wasted the ice cream, but I felt bad anyway because of everything that had gone on in the past 48 hours. My mind was desperately wanting to rest, it had grown tired of constantly working. I then smelt a horrid stench. I looked all around my room to figure out what it was, but no matter where I went the smell still was strong. After smelling everything in my room to no avail, I smelled myself and realized that stress makes you smell bad.
I wanted so badly just to take a shower and wash away my day (and funk), but I knew the noise would wake someone. I just changed into my pjs before slipping under my covers.
I began to think about the first time Lyn ever told me about the problems at her house.
Lyn walked into school one day with a bruised arm and a gashed foot. The teacher asked her what was wrong. All she said was that she had caught her foot in her fan and had bruised her arm when she fell. I could tell that her story was a load of crap but wasn’t going to call her out on it in class. Later that week Lyn came over to my house. I don’t even remember what we were talking about I just remember asking, “How did you actually cut your foot and bruise your arm? I’m only asking because you seem to ‘trip’ a lot and you aren’t that clumsy from what I’ve observed.”
Lyn’s beautiful smile faded, her eyes grew dark with conflict. She looked at me and whispered, “I’ll tell you, but you have promise that you never tell another living soul.”
I grabbed Lyn’s hand and scooted in close to her before cooing, “I swear on your life that I will never tell anyone.”
“Well, you see, Roselyn, my dad gets angry sometimes. I am his punching bag, sometimes I bring it on myself by doing something stupid. The other day my little sister Marie came into my room to wake me up and I accidentally hit her. Marie went and told my dad and he came into my room, threw my box fan across the room and into my foot. Then grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go as his grip got tighter. His voice got louder. I couldn’t even understand what he was yelling about at this point because when you start yelling crap at me I stop listening.” She bit her words between her teeth. She sighed and awaited my reaction.
I looked around the room. I was desperately trying to make the words splayed throughout my thoughts into a coherent sentence. There were a million things I wanted to say, but only a few I knew I should say. I stared up at the ceiling, the words finally came. I knew that I would have to be very cautious with how I worded everything. It was so hard to hear that my best friend was being beaten and broken every time she went home. I looked back at Lyn and cautiously whispered, “I’m sorry that this is going on. Have you told anyone else?” Lyn just looked at me with so much sadness in her hazel eyes and nodded. It was in that moment I realized that meant I was the only one she’s ever told. She and I looked at each other for a moment. I couldn’t believe that every injury she’s ever had was most likely because of her dad.
“How often does he… you know, hurt you?” I looked her dead in the eye so I would be able to tell if she was lying to me or not.
“Uh, n-not that o-often,” she stuttered.
“Please don’t lie to me, Lyn.”
“I’m not,” she whined.
“Lyn,” I warned.
“Only every once in awhile,” she reluctantly admitted.
Lyn walked into school one day with a bruised arm and a gashed foot. The teacher asked her what was wrong. All she said was that she had caught her foot in her fan and had bruised her arm when she fell. I could tell that her story was a load of crap but wasn’t going to call her out on it in class. Later that week Lyn came over to my house. I don’t even remember what we were talking about I just remember asking, “How did you actually cut your foot and bruise your arm? I’m only asking because you seem to ‘trip’ a lot and you aren’t that clumsy from what I’ve observed.”
Lyn’s beautiful smile faded, her eyes grew dark with conflict. She looked at me and whispered, “I’ll tell you, but you have promise that you never tell another living soul.”
I grabbed Lyn’s hand and scooted in close to her before cooing, “I swear on your life that I will never tell anyone.”
“Well, you see, Roselyn, my dad gets angry sometimes. I am his punching bag, sometimes I bring it on myself by doing something stupid. The other day my little sister Marie came into my room to wake me up and I accidentally hit her. Marie went and told my dad and he came into my room, threw my box fan across the room and into my foot. Then grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go as his grip got tighter. His voice got louder. I couldn’t even understand what he was yelling about at this point because when you start yelling crap at me I stop listening.” She bit her words between her teeth. She sighed and awaited my reaction.
I looked around the room. I was desperately trying to make the words splayed throughout my thoughts into a coherent sentence. There were a million things I wanted to say, but only a few I knew I should say. I stared up at the ceiling, the words finally came. I knew that I would have to be very cautious with how I worded everything. It was so hard to hear that my best friend was being beaten and broken every time she went home. I looked back at Lyn and cautiously whispered, “I’m sorry that this is going on. Have you told anyone else?” Lyn just looked at me with so much sadness in her hazel eyes and nodded. It was in that moment I realized that meant I was the only one she’s ever told. She and I looked at each other for a moment. I couldn’t believe that every injury she’s ever had was most likely because of her dad.
“How often does he… you know, hurt you?” I looked her dead in the eye so I would be able to tell if she was lying to me or not.
“Uh, n-not that o-often,” she stuttered.
“Please don’t lie to me, Lyn.”
“I’m not,” she whined.
“Lyn,” I warned.
“Only every once in awhile,” she reluctantly admitted.