When the Sleeping Bird Sings

Private: November 22nd, 2017

Neveah Waller has always been a good friend to every person in her life. She has always been a good friend to me. She listened to me, and she also knew I needed to get my mind off of Marissa's case.

A few days after the last post, another victim got the plug pulled after failing to come back from a coma. It's now been three weeks since the incident. The new ratio: nine to five.

Even as a spiritual person, I found myself praying for little Wendy Hindes and the others every night when I closed my eyes. I wondered how Marissa slept at night, especially all alone this weekend at the State Line motel in Salem.

"I'm so proud of you, boo," Neveah told me. "I know you've been working really hard. That's why you have no time for me." I cracked a smile.

"Thanks for do.ing th.is for me." My girlfriend pulled me into her arms.

"I'm always here for you." She was right about that.

I let Neveah Waller use her magical fashionista powers to style me for the night out in Iowa City. She picked out a tight-fitted deep purple top and my only pair of black jeans and knee-high boots. "The purple will compliment your hair," she said when she pulled the suit out of the closet. I shrugged and decided to trust my best friend. She styled my sleek black hair in a high-ponytail and gave me silver eyeshadow that made my blue eyes pop.

Neveah took me to one of her friend's social gatherings at a small rustic white house just outside of downtown. From the moment we walked in, I was welcomed by her friend Steffanie who kept handing me beers and mixing me drinks all night.

We sat on the couches, drinking around an over-sized coffee table as they told stories of the times they almost hit ruthless pedestrians on the way to class. Steffanie's friends were nice and smiley, and I discovered Steffanie's euphoric mood could have been attributed to the joint they started lighting up.

Neveah reached over and squeezed me as if to say she was glad I was there. Sometimes I wondered if I'm the friend they choose to bring along for moral support since I never have much to contribute. I wonder if I'm like a dead weight, slowly sinking, and bringing them down with me. When we first entered the living room they asked us our names and Neveah introduced me to them for me.

They passed me the joint. I took a drag and passed it to Neveah. Looking up, I saw him and another man come closer. Even through the haze of the smoky room, I recognized him. This time Mr. leather jacket was wearing a black hoodie and faded blue jeans, carrying himself with just as much confidence as he had in Literary City. He looked even more carefree.

Tipsy as I was, I had the upper-hand. In an instance you could miss it, but I saw his eyes flash a new shape when he found me on the couch. Then he smiled. At me?

Steffanie came and wrapped her arms around him, guiding him over to the sunken chair, and plopping down on its arm, while his friend took a seat next to me.

"Hi, Raúl," the handsome foreign man introduced himself, holding out his hand.

"Bryn," I said, shaking it.

"I'm Neveah," she said with a wave.

I couldn't help but notice Mr. leather jacket as he leaned into the seat, looking too comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. He took a long drag and then pulled out Crime and Punishment from his bookbag and started reading.

I tried to pretend like I was interested in the conversation with his friend but I wished immensely to be reading my own book right now.

"Why the hell is that dude reading," Neveah asked Raúl.