And Then Death Greeted Me

ANOMALIES

Farley's subdued in class the next day. Her behaviour is no longer unusual, but her silence and thoughtfulness is no less concerning. Her mouth is twisted in a frown, and she won't look me in the eye. She is... incessantly still, never stirring. Only when I tap her on the back of her hand does she look up, a cursory glance. But she gives me a smile, at least, wan and maybe ingenuine.

'How are you feeling?' I whisper, so as not to alert the rest of our class to the conversation.

Her eyes shine, tears welling up in the inner corner of her eyes. She just shrugs. 'Bad night's sleep.'

'Farley –'

'Vernice.' Her voice is cold, her lips drawn tight in a grim line. Even the blue in her hair seems dull today. There's no sparkle in those green eyes. 'I'm fine, okay? I've taken my meds, I'm fine.'

'What –?'

'Can you leave me alone for today, please?'

I draw back slightly. Her tears never roll over her eyelids, and I know she means what she says. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me. And who am I to judge? What do I know about the inner workings of her life? I can't say she's doing anything wrong, I don't have that right.

This morning, she'd entered the class with her usual demeanour of nonchalance and swagger. Her V-neck sweater hung low over her pleated skirt. I wasn't altogether sure where her blazer was. She sat down beside me, rested her head on the wall, and shut her eyes.

No hi. No how are you. None of the other pleasant and meaningless phrases I'd come to expect of everyone else. There's no false pretence hiding anything of hers from me. I know – or at least, I knew – what to expect of her. I don't know her well at all, not much past her full name and the fact that she likes maths and art but can't cook. No, I know barely anything about her. But still, I felt her. With me, in me, deep in my heart. She felt like a breath of fresh air, a clean wind brushing anything else away. I wanted her to be my friend. I wanted to lean on her. Just for a while, to make the load easier to bear.

She feels my thoughts now, I think, because she leans over and rests her hand on mine. I tilt my head to the side in thought, but my jaw passes over the top of her head and when I feel her hair bristle underneath my skin, I feel sad. Not angry, because she led me to care about her before I knew she was a sinking ship, or frustrated that I genuinely like her, and wanted to be her friend before she ruined it with her venom. Just sad. Because I can't forget what she is, and what she did, and the people she surrounds herself with. I'm an anomaly in her life, and she in mine.

It's all well and good having a friend like Chris, with whom I can share a laugh and lift my spirits, even when my senses have been dulled and desensitized to the world. But Farley is one of the only people I've ever felt a connection to. A connection, or a dependence, I hardly know the difference anymore.

I don't want her to know the impact she's had on my life in the short period of time I've known her – or the raw hurt of her being ripped so brutally out of my good graces.

I didn't judge her for the cigarettes or the alcohol or the bad attitude or the wicked piercings. Never thought of her badly. I even respected her, because she was who she was and never apologised for it. I still respect her. But I can't think past what I saw yesterday.

I realize I'm crying. Slow tears, rolling down my cheeks and dripping off my nose. I make no noise. No-one pays me any attention. If Farley notices, she doesn't say anything. If she cares, I don't know what to think.

I wanted her to be the best friend I relied on for the rest of my life. Now I don't know who she is at all.

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