The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

36 - Stuck in the Epicenter

Hartley never came to after her cardiac arrest. One minute she was here and the next minute ... gone. Just like that. I worry she felt pain in those last moments though Melanie's mom assured us she didn't. She said it was sudden. Her heart lost its function and everything else followed.

Everything else followed.

Her laughter. Her outrageous sense of humor. The way she'd speak her mind no matter who disagreed. No more pinky hugs, or cracking up over silly things, or telling me what I need to hear exactly when I need to hear it. No more trying to convince Bastian to make her a star. No more best friend.

Just gone.

I've cried so much over the past several days it feels like my eyes are permanently swollen. I keep thinking this has to be some kind of nightmare. That she never spent time in the hospital.

That it's not true.

A dove coos outside my best friend's bedroom window, the melody sad and pensive. It sounds like it's right next to me. With Hartley gone, I'm strangely alert. Like when I was little and took the bus home from school for the first time by myself. No matter what I did, I couldn't relax, and instead of enjoying the ride home, I worried I'd miss my stop. I envisioned myself as the last student, somehow overlooked, locked away in a deserted bus garage waiting for the sun to rise and the driver to return.

Of course, that never happened. I'd made it home safe, but the idea didn't freak me out any less. It'd been a good few weeks before I adapted to the routine. That's how I feel now: on edge, terrified. Waiting to adjust to a new way of life.

Hartley always smoked when she was feeling stressed out.

My eyes dart to the bottom drawer of her dresser, where she hid her cigarettes. I dig through her socks and find an open pack, her sparkly, purple lighter wedged inside. I slide a slim roll of tobacco from the package and inhale. Unlit, it tastes like raisins. I strike a flame and hold the lighter to the tip, sucking in a whole-hearted breath until a raging inferno explodes in my lungs. I cough, smoke shooting out from my mouth and nose in a toxic gray cloud.

Instead of feeling better, I only feel worse. I wait for some sort of spiritual revelation or moment of clarity but it doesn't come. All I am is nauseous. And sad.

I stand from the bed and open a window, mashing the cigarette against the roof. When are two knocks on the door, it creaks open and Jolie steps inside. "Do I smell smoke?"

I shake my head, trying not to cough.

She either buys it, or is too preoccupied to care. "Are you ready?"

I chew the inside of my cheek. "Yes."

It's a lie.

"You look very nice." She drapes an arm over my shoulder when I walk toward her, her hands trembling slightly. "I love your new outfit. You and Bastian did a good job picking it out."

"Thanks." I glance down at my new black dress and matching Converse. "You look nice, too. How's Penny?" I'd heard her crying earlier. I didn't think she'd ever stop.

She winces. "Her heart is broken."

There's a weight behind her words and I know she's referring to more than just today. She means forever. And forever's a long time to have a broken heart.

"I spoke with your mom. She said you weren't answering your phone. She and Henry will meet us at the funeral home in about an hour. They're stuck in traffic on the interstate."

All I can do is nod.

When we arrive at the funeral home, there's a long line of people waiting outside the front door. They curve around the corner of the building and meander into the center of the parking lot, patiently waiting for visiting hours to begin. Shocked friends and acquaintances, kind-hearted and nosy members of the community, all of them there to pay their final respects. I wonder how many of them knew Hartley personally and how many are there out of curiosity.