loving friend by Evelyn deVos (18, Arizona)

[Trigger warning: suicide]

i am standing in the pews draped in all black and you are wearing your favorite all white sundress. 
no one can see it, but if i squint hard enough, i can just make out your petticoat peeking out of the casket 
and if i squint even harder, i imagine your hands lifting the old oak open
bursting out from your supposed eternal rest with no warning at all. 

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one day you were toying at the knots in your hair as you so often did 
and carelessly remarked how you wanted to be buried with your hair in braids
two twins of hair pinned up like a crown upon your head 
what an odd thing to say, i thought. 
maybe i should have known then. 
i should have known then that the way you wore your hair was not the only thing you had
planned out about how you wanted to die. 
you wanted a bouquet of irises and violets to be placed above your coffin
you wanted your tombstone to say “loving friend” 
you wanted to do it when your family was out of town upstate, when i had made plans with an
old friend and my phone was off in my pocket so 
no one would worry. 
you had a guest list on your phone of 50 people 
some names looked familiar to me and mine was at the top 
i asked you 
what was it for? 
my birthday isn’t until november and yours is in march 
our wedding you replied with a glimmer of something in your eyes that i couldn’t quite place
and i rolled my eyes because you were never the type to think things like that. your name
wasn’t on that guest list 
and i should have known then. 
it’s been two years since i watched pall bearers drag your lifeless form to your family plot
your tombstone was rather unimpressive because no one had expected 
you would need one so soon.
you should have given them more time. 
now your mom and i have brunch once every month 
we trade stories about you and talk about my time at college and sit in silence
or lie in wait. 
holding our breaths in case you decide to join us. 
in these moments i wonder when my life stopped being my own 
when i became a living shrine to you 
a testament to your greatness 
i come back to our hometown on holiday breaks and every now and then i catch whispers
she is still broken up about that girl, from centuries ago 
what was her name? 
the teenager strung up from the ceiling like a butchered pig? 
how lovely she must have been to leave so many in shambles 
how good 
what a loving friend

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