Alone

Alone

Lindsey used to hate roses. She insisted that her parents bring carnations to our eighth grade graduation and when her boyfriend brought roses on Valentine’s Day, she cried. Her distaste began in fourth grade when we made homemade perfume. We trampled through our neighbors’ perfect gardens searching for fragrant flowers. On a dare, Lindsey bravely stole a rose from the crankiest woman on our street. In the process, her calf snagged on a thorn and blood trickled down the side of her leg. She began sobbing, swearing off roses forever. 

            Now, it almost seems ironic that I’m gingerly holding a blood-red rose between my hands as I amble towards her drab headstone. Her name, Lindsey Anne Gregory, and her lifespan of barely eighteen years are depressingly etched into the looming rock. Unlike Lindsey, I’ve always been fond of roses. Maybe it’s the fact that Rose is my middle name, but I’ve always taken a liking to the flower and its natural simplicity. I brought one today to say goodbye to my best friend, not only to spite her spirit, but because it’s the epitome of our friendship.

            Our friendship was undeniably beautiful on the surface, and our ridiculous memories intertwined to tell our story. A story that seemed as effortlessly faultless as the graceful symmetry of a striking rose. But underneath all that, there was more.

We fought endlessly like sisters, which people often mistook us for. Lindsey always forgot about the fight the next day and we went back to being the angelic best friends people thought we were. But I never forgave her for the wretched things she said. And I hated myself even more for the horrible insults I shot back. I used to make her cry, her sparkling blue eyes glistening with tears. With her seemingly supernatural ability to always look great, even with mascara streaking down her face, she was my opposite. But they say opposites attract, so I guess that’s why we were friends.  

            Being next door neighbors, we grew up together. Lindsey’s family practically adopted me, much to my deadbeat parents’ excitement. In second grade, Lindsey officially pronounced me her best friend forever, bestowing me with a sunset chevron friendship bracelet. She eagerly pointed to the matching one hanging from her wrist, explaining how these bracelets would bond us for the rest of our lives. Neither of us expected that one of our lives would be cut so short. Nevertheless, I brought my bracelet with me today.

            Being friends with Lindsey was both a blessing and a curse. I truly loved her and so did everyone else. We did everything together, from ballet lessons to class council. But somehow, everyone only knew her name. I’ve always assumed it was because she was prettier, with her chocolate strands, high cheekbones, and full lips. Her slim, elegant dancer’s physique gave her a presence wherever she went, or maybe it was just confidence. She was the star of the show, and she knew it. I never stood a chance.

            After eighteen years, however, I had gotten accustomed to blending into the background. It was enough to know that Lindsey needed me even when no one else did. I was the only one she could call after a breakup or would trust with covertly buying her pregnancy tests. I was the one washing the vomit out of her hair after she’d been partying too hard. She depended on me, and it cost Lindsey her life.

            I feel as if I should remember every trivial detail about that night, but honestly, it’s a blur. Every time I think about it, I remember a slightly different story with the same tragic ending. A charcoal Subaru, disregarding the vibrant red light, plunges into the busy intersection. Two carefree, young girls are harmonizing to “Timber” in their silver Camry. One moment, they’re on their way home from a night in the city, and the next, splat. The virtually unharmed driver of the Subaru drunkenly speeds away, disregarding the mess he’s left behind. The Camry is totaled, the driver glancing petrified at her motionless friend.

            We learned about moments just like these in Drivers Ed, but we never thought it would happen to us. Since that fateful night, I transformed from being unknown to the girl who killed Lindsey. Lindsey, who was always so full of life and never failed to make anyone laugh. The exuberant poster child who everyone knew was going places. Suddenly, I was the one who ruined it all. I didn’t have to be a genius like Lindsey to know what people were saying. I heard the whispers saying that I should’ve been the one in the passenger seat. For a while, I agreed, regretting every decision leading up her last moment of life. If only I hadn’t used the restroom one last time before leaving or maybe if I convinced Lindsey to drive, just this once, instead of me. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

            But fate has funny ways of working and now, I’m here but she’s not. If she were, she would have accepted her scholarship to UCLA as a dance major. But now, her open spot has gone to me. I’m leaving today, but not before saying goodbye one last time. I remember every one of our memories, the good and the bad. I remember the time we triumphantly celebrated the completion of our high school bucket list, which included camping on the beach and going to our first concert. I remember the time we got ready for Junior Prom, doing each other’s makeup with Beyoncé blasting in the background. I think about her date, slyly revealing her corsage and I remember how even though they were officially dating then, I was in love with him. I was infatuated by his tan skin and lazy smile, even after he explicitly chose Lindsey over me. I remember how many times I’ve been rejected in the past, especially by the elite dance teams who were forced to decide between Lindsey and me.

Everything’s different now. Lindsey isn’t here to stand in my way, and now that I’m on track to achieving my dreams, no one can stop me. I’m tired of being her understudy and I’m finally going to leave this awful town behind, ready to show everyone who ever doubted me. My name, Amber Rose Kelly, will be up in lights across the nation. I’ll be the best dancer ever known.

            They say death changes a person, and for me, there’s no exception. Death has made me stronger, harder, and I will not stop until I get what I want. If there’s one thing I learned from Lindsey, it’s to be fearless. And I’m not afraid.

I toss my juvenile sunset chevron friendship bracelet on Lindsey’s grave, along with the rose. Blowing her a kiss, I toss my hair over my shoulder, and with a spin, I’m off. Off to a new place, new life, new me. I’ll be more than Lindsey ever was.

For the first time in my life, I’m utterly alone, but maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be. Because for the first time in my life, I have never felt so free.