On November 3, 2010 I sat on the right side of my king-size bed texting my friend Shawnna and attempting to finish my homework. It was 1 AM when she asked me if I had heard about Scott. Scott who? I asked. Scott W., she responded, He was hit by a car earlier today. I didn’t recognize the name so I checked my eighth grade year book. When I flipped to the last page of the seventh grade section I saw his familiar face. Scott W., the boy who I spent countless days flirting with on the staircase after lunch on my way to geography. Oh my God! Is he okay? I replied. He isn’t doing well. My brother is best friends with him. For the next hour or so we reminisce about Scott and every now and then I lean over with tears threatening to stream down my cheeks and pray to God that he recovers.

A few hours later, Shawnna and I sit through computer science quietly, along with everyone else. Fifty-two minutes later, the bell rings and we trudge sadly down the stairs to our hallway. I am standing at my locker when I hear- Scott died. Oh God, I say quietly. He had died peacefully only an hour or two after Shawnna and I had said good-night.

A year and a half ago, my friend of one year, Jen, hung herself. Fresh out of seventh grade, I didn’t take her death well. My friend Erin had called me up, asking about the sleepover we were supposed to have that night. Did you hear? Jen died. I hadn’t heard her correctly and responded with Oh really? What color? I had thought she said Jen had died her hair. Erin repeated herself and I sat there, not believing it. After we hung up, I walked into my mom’s room where she asked me what was wrong. I burst into tears after a minute of unsuccessfully holding them in. I told her then- My friend just died. I don’t remember much after except the endless crying.

Now I sit, trying to cope with the deaths of two people I barely knew but who had made huge impacts on my life. Since the summer of 2009 I have cried at least four nights a week. I am now severely depressed and, as of a few months ago, suicidal myself. Despite the millions of tears that have fallen from my eyes in the past couple years, I am slowly recovering. However, I still wonder sometimes, what if I had prayed a little harder for Scott, if I had been closer to Jen, maybe they’d still be alive?