“Are you going to do anything reckless?”
The girl was curled up in a tight ball on a rigid chair somewhere on the first floor of her high school, having been left there by her history teacher a few minutes before. Her eyes drifted back and forth between a blurry sort of darkness and the tired worn out faces in front of her and she attempted to pull herself back into reality by focusing all of her attention on the collection of fidget toys fighting for space on a small round table on the left side of the room. Popits, stress balls, and a little box of sand with a small rake precariously balancing on its side were strewn on top of colorful pamphlets about topics ranging from having divorced parents, to anxiety, to something about gender identity that she couldn’t quite make out. She could feel her heart pounding against her legs as she tried to focus on the little round table. She drew them in closer, hoping that if she made herself into a tight enough ball the pain echoing between her skull would go away. She closed her eyes, letting the soft stroke of darkness dissolve into her mind, and let out a long shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding. For the overwhelming numbness, she thought, was at least better than endless pain.
“Honey…” The woman in front of her started again as she pushed her glasses farther up her nose while continuing to stare at the ball-like figure in front of her. The woman's voice was softer this time, as if she were telling the girl a secret that the other people in the room weren't supposed to hear. The kind of secret that you tell someone hoping you will receive one of theirs in return. “Honey, please answer the question.” The girl was aware that the woman was talking but couldn’t think of a reason to muster up the energy to actually figure out what the words tumbling around the room meant. Someone behind her cleared their throat and began whispering softly. Whispers that no longer reached close enough to form into words, sounding more like the soft gurgling of a mountain stream during springtime than conversation. But it was these murmurs that pulled the girl's head out of the darkness and back to the face of the woman in front of her.
“What? No. No. I’m good. Sorry, I’m good…Can I please leave? I’m sorry.”
The woman leaned in slightly, looking as though she wanted to comfort the girl but hadn’t quite worked out if it was the right thing to do. “You aren’t planning to do anything reckless?” the woman repeated, her voice rising slightly.
“No. Yeah no, sure. Can I just leave?”
“Sure honey.” The woman sighed, leaning back in her chair, the concern on her face not leaving as the girl rushed out of the room. She was concerned because she did not believe the girl. Believed that the girl really wouldn’t do anything reckless once she walked out those doors.
***
It was a Thursday in September when we received an email from our cross country coach regarding practice that day. It pinged into our school emails, an account we seldom remembered to check even after gentle scolding from our teachers about being “responsible young adults.” Some of us read it under the table in our class, rocking the chair back slightly and looking up once in a while to make sure the teacher hadn't yet realized that someone had their phone out in class. Some told their friends in the hallway or saw the sign on the coaches’ office door next to the collection of peace sign stickers and a sheet listing the 5k record holders: “‘Cross country runners, today we will be meeting in the cafeteria before we head outside for practice.’ -Coach John.”
No matter how we got the news, we all reacted the same way: shrugging it off and stuffing it in the back of our minds, joining the dusty corners of our imaginations with the other mundane activities we needed to complete. We met in the school for meetings before practice all the time. Usually during these meetings someone was awarded a t-shirt for having a good race or we were informed about bus pick up for the upcoming meet. After the final bell rang we all raced to the bathroom to beat the after school lines, changed into our running shorts and tennis shoes and then met our friends in the hallway as we all lugged our backpacks down to the cafeteria. We haphazardly plopped down at empty tables, laughing as we watched a group of underclassmen playing a brutal game of hand tennis.
But when the coaches came in as one big group instead of hurriedly trickling in 5-10 minutes late from their respective classrooms, we all looked up intently, the lighthearted chatter slowly melting around us.
Eventually, Coach John stepped forward. It looked as though he were fighting to make any words come out of his mouth. He placed both hands on the chair in front of him, took a deep breath and looked up facing all of us for the first time since he had entered the room. “Good afternoon runners.” He gazed around, a tired look carved into his usually smiling face. He looked older, the usual glint of charisma gone from his eyes. As we watched our coach, it was as if we were collectively holding our breath, not sure we wanted to hear whatever he was going to say next. “I know you all know your teammate Will. You might have noticed that Will hasn’t been here for a few days.” He paused for a moment and continued. “And I know that many of you also know his older brother Griffin as well.” He paused again and his voice cracked as he began to speak again. “Griffin…Griffin took his own life.”
And we all sat there, tears began to fight their way out of many of our eyes. Coach John was now rocking back and forth, still holding onto the chair in front of him, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. Silence draped the room and no one moved, like there was some way to reverse the pain if we all continued to sit still. Someone got up and ran out of the cafeteria and we watched them leave, wishing they could have taken us wherever they were going.
Many of us don’t remember much after that. Just little moments that once and a while flash through our minds. How we eventually got up and walked out of the cafeteria. How we hugged each other tightly, trying to convince ourselves that eventually, it was going to be okay. How we wondered if anyone had taken the time to ask Griffin if he was going to do anything reckless. How we wondered what his answer might have been.
***
And then it was you and me on the bridge looking down at the reflection of our college city in the glossy dark water below. The soft breeze carried the whispers of summer as we looked out into the darkness together lost in each other's thoughts. For it was our last week before we would both be yanked back to our respective homes where if you closed your eyes tight enough it felt like college had never even happened. Like maybe it was all a dream. That when you just opened your eyes again, you’d be caught up in a life that used to be everything you had ever known.
You asked me what my family was like. I asked you how it felt growing up as an Indian-American. You asked me if I was excited for summer and I told you not to worry if I didn’t answer the phone for a few days. You asked me if I would be safe and I put my head on your shoulder. I told you I was grateful for you and grabbed your hand. You asked me if I would ever do anything reckless and I squeezed your hand tight, waited for a moment, and shook my head slightly. I wonder if you believed me.
Sole Magazine