How I Killed Easley Harper | ✓

Let me start by saying, I didn't know Easley Harper. At least not personally. We never talked. But I saw her every day. I saw her come into school, gripping the sleeves of her over-sized hoodie and avoiding the gazes of anyone who neared her. I saw her isolate herself and sink deeper and deeper into depression starting freshman year. I saw her deteriorate, but I was convinced that it was none of my business.

That was until I saw her scars on the seventeenth of April.

Let me explain. It all happened when I left English class to use the restroom. When I stepped foot into the school bathroom, I didn't expect to find Easley Harper hunched over a sink without the protection of her notorious over-sized hoodie. I didn't expect to find her crying, mascara streaking down her blotchy cheeks. And I certainly wasn't prepared to see her paper-white forearms exposed and covered with scars.

It was clear that Easley's scars weren't faded or from an accident. Her scars were painted in angry slashes of hate and ruin, running across the canvas of her own skin. Easley's scars were made from a blade that she used upon herself to take away the agony. And they were recent.

When Easley discovered my presence, we made direct eye contact. I could tell that she knew there was no use in hiding her forearms, because I had already seen them. I had seen her scars. With confliction in her eyes, her pale chapped lips uttered a single, fragile word.

"Please."

I didn't understand what she meant. Please don't tell anyone? Please help me? Please leave? Please stay? There were so many things that Easley could've meant by the simple word, please.

The truth is, I was scared when she told me that. So scared that I broke eye contact with her, turning on my heel and bolting out of the bathroom, leaving her in isolation.

It wasn't my business, and it was certainly not my problem. The rest of that day, I pretended that I never saw Easley's scars. I said nothing to her in Biology class. I said nothing when I passed my teachers in the hallway. I said nothing.

Little did I know, that when Easley went home she wouldn't come back to school ever again. Easley Harper would overdose on prescription pills, and she would be dead before midnight. And it would be all my fault.

For the longest time I've lived in silence about the murder of the quiet girl who sat on my left in biology.

Easley Harper was gone because I didn't speak up. I murdered her with my silence.

But what if I spoke up? What if I said something, anything?

Maybe Easley Harper would still be here. And maybe that would make all the difference.