February 17th

Dear Stones,

Today’s been a crappy day. The weather sucks. It’s been super dark out all day, and it hasn’t stopped raining since last night. Normally, I like the rain but, today … today, I can’t stop thinking about you. Sometimes it’s like this. Some days I don’t really think about you too much, and others, like today … I can’t stop thinking about you.

When you left, I was still at that party. I mean, I was there when you left the actual party, but I think I was still there when you, like, “really” left. I heard the police tell your mom something about your presumed time of death. And if it really was between 1 and 2 AM, then I was partying and having fun when you died. I know I couldn’t have known what you were doing but, still … I was partying.

I walked home with Loren, Drea, Adam, Mateo, and Rebecca. I remember it was Drea who convinced us to stay out longer. Take the long way home. She was in a fight with her parents and didn’t want to go home until she knew they were in bed.

We walked through the tennis courts near your house. We were laughing and throwing empty beer cans over the nets in the court. We made a game of it and wanted to see who could throw the farthest. Was that when you were killing yourself? Were you dying? Were you already dead?

I remember sneaking into the house so I wouldn’t wake up my parents—and so they wouldn’t find out that I’d been drinking. I checked my phone and texted with Loren about Mateo. Texted with Drea about her parents. Then I fell asleep.

I woke up when Drea phoned. I was mad that she was calling because I still felt sick and I just wanted to sleep. I almost didn’t pick it up.

She’d heard from someone who heard from someone that there were police at your house, and that they had put a body in the back of an ambulance.

“Everyone is saying that Kacey is dead.”

That’s what she said.

That’s how I found out.

My mom came into my room and ripped the phone out of my hand. But it was too late. I think I got mad, and all I kept yelling was for her to shut up and that it wasn’t true. Over and over again, I kept saying the same thing. My mom told me that you had committed suicide. Committed suicide. She had just gotten off the phone with your dad. He asked if she could come over to be with your mom, because he was taking Owen to get some ice cream.

I went with my mom to your house. Your mom was sitting on the porch outside. We never went into the house. Our moms just sat on the porch and talked.

I remember sitting on the steps, thinking about how tired and hungry I was. Your mom was crying but she was also weirdly calm. Tears were falling but it wasn’t like she was sad, there was, like, no emotion to her voice at all. It was weird. I listened to her telling my mom about how she found you. How you looked like you were just sleeping. I don’t remember being sad or upset or any of that. Maybe that’s what she felt—nothing.

When your dad came back with Owen, I asked my mom if we could go out for dinner. I do remember feeling guilty for wanting to eat. Like maybe the right reaction was for me to be crying in a ball on my bed or something. But I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before.

We went for burgers. My dad watched a football game on the big TV. I don’t remember talking about anything. I remember I had only eaten about half my burger, when I asked if we could go home. I’m pretty sure my parents weren’t done eating, but we all left anyway.

I wanted to have a bath, but then I thought about you. I couldn’t stop seeing you. I had a shower instead, and I remember that I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I kept turning the hot water up, until all I could think about and feel was the heat turning my skin bright red.

I went into my room and checked my phone. I had over a hundred messages from different people. My FB page was covered with notes and questions asking if it was true/what had happened / if I had talked to you before / how was I? I just couldn’t deal with any of it then, so I turned off my computer, put my phone on silence, and went to bed. I’m not completely sure, but I think it was that night that I scrolled through all of our past texts to each other. I think I fell asleep right after that.

I still think about that night a lot. I wonder what would have happened if I had asked you to stay.

The truth is … the truth is … I didn’t want you to stay that night. You were being a total downer and, when you left, I remember that I felt … not happy, but relieved. With you at the party, I wasn’t having any fun, because I felt like I needed to stay with you, keep you happy and involved … I was drunk but I can remember you saying that you thought you should go—and I said, “Okay.” I didn’t say that I wanted you to go but, I think, when I agreed you should go, you knew that I didn’t really want you to stay. It’s just that … you weren’t any fun to be around. I never knew if you were going to be in a good mood or not. And in order to keep you happy, I was always careful about what I said, and I tried to do everything you wanted to do … and it was exhausting. I wanted to party with Loren and Drea without you. I wanted you to go home that night. I just wanted to have fun. And now I just feel like the worst friend in the world. The OC said that it was natural to feel guilty. That when something like this happens, we all feel like we could have done something more. What if it’s not something I didn’t do but something I did? I shouldn’t have said, “Okay,” when you wanted to leave. I was basically telling you to go. I should have told you to stay. I should have wanted you to stay.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I feel like I had a point when I started, but now I don’t know what it was.

Sticks

P.S. It’s still raining.