Conversations With Ana

6

6

"Can we talk about your brother today, Ana?"

"Um no."

She ignored my response and continued on anyways.

"Do you remember what happened that night?"

A foolish question.

Of course I remembered what happened the night my brother killed himself.

I didn't say this, instead I said: "Yes."

She nodded, as if it was a good thing I remembered.

Screw you, I thought.

Too bad looks couldn't kill.

"What were you doing that night before everything happened?"

"I was with my friend, Mel."

"What were you two doing?"

I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

We were 14.

We were obsessing over stupid things that within three short hours would no long matter to me.

Or her, even.

"You know, the usual adolescent things."

"I don't know, actually. Do you want to tell me?"

"No. Not particularly."

She stared at me.

She did this often.

It was as if, she thought, if she stared at me long and hard enough, I would cave and talk.

She thought it worked.

It was never her stare that got me to talk.

It was the unbearable silence.

I was not very accustomed to silence, but there was lot's of it at this group home.

Especially at night.

Which drove me insane and drove my demons closer.

Finally I rolled my eyes and spoke up.

"We were talking about this boy Mel wanted to ask her out."

"Were you two happy?"

"Um yeah. We were 14. There wasn't much to be sad about."

Lie lie lie lie lie lie, my mind screamed.

There was plenty for us to be sad about.

After all, the world was a sad place.

At 14, though, I just couldn't see this.

"I see."

"Do you?"

She gave me what I called "her look".

It was this look she gave me after I would say something sarcastic or snide.

It was like a cross between a mom look and a teacher look.

Everytime she did it, I had to hold back a snort.

"Did Mel go with you to the bridge that night?"

"Yes."

"Are you and Mel close?"

"No. I kidnapped her and she now has Stockholm Syndrome. She's got no choice but to love me."

She gave me The Look again.