The Day Hannah Died (wlw / gxg)

The Day Hannah Died

The day Hannah died, I was happy.

Not because she died, of course, but because I got an A on my semester work in English (which had been surprising) and an A on a maths exam (which hadn't been surprising). As a reward for the great semester I just completed, Mom took me shopping and we laughed a lot and found some clothes for both of us.

Cordelia called and told me to come to their house. I knew at that moment that something terrible had happened. Mom just looked at my face and knew, too. Cordelia gave me a tight hug and led me up to Hannah's room. As if I didn't know the way.

I remember the first time going up those stairs. They were covered with a yellow-dotted red carpet. One night, Hannah and I got so drunk that we tried to count them, the yellow dots.

That day I went up the stairs for the first time, Hannah made me guess which room was hers. I knew the answer instantly. There was a poster on her door. Written in capital letters stood: SAY SOMETHING. Underneath, there were names scribbled and crossed out.

"It gives me confidence," she said. "First it was just that I remembered to talk to them about school and grocery and and... Now it gives me confidence. I talk to whoever is on the list. This is the fourth one."

"What do you talk to them about?"

"Depends. Julian was really annoying the other night and I wanted to tell him that it wasn't okay to talk to me like that. Ava always forgets to bring out the trash. I heard Bonnie talking shit about Julian to Rick and so I put both on the list."

"And there's me."

She smiled her wonderful smile and crossed my name. "You're here. That's all I wanted."

The day of her death, Hannah's room looked all the same. The red walls, the unmade bed. Her books were all over the floor. She had forgotten to turn off the christmas lights.

"What's wrong, Cordelia?"

Cordelia cried a lot that evening. Ava tried to comfort her. I tried to comfort her. But I guess nothing really helps when your daughter had just died. She told me to take anything I wanted from Hannah's room.

I didn't want anything. I wanted everything. I didn't want to be reminded of her, but I wanted to remember everything about her. I broke down that day. I fell to my knees and cried. I punched a pillow. I cried more. I did everything you do when your first love dies.

I decided to take her list with me. It would always remind me of that first day which wasn't the first day. It wasn't when it all started. It was just another day in our story.

I didn't count the days, but Hannah did. Hannah always counted days. Day One was the day we met. Day Thirty-seven, she started playing soccer, so she could train with me. Day Forty-one was the day she asked me to guess which room was hers.

I wrote down 41 next to my name on the list. Day Forty-one was the day I almost kissed her but was too afraid of rejection. I would never forget Day Forty-one:

Her room was in chaos. The bed was unmade. There were books everywhere: on the floor, on the desk, on the nightstand, on the piano.

"Oh, I haven't played in ages. Do you play?"

"I did."

"Do you want to try?" Without waiting for my answer, she started to clean the piano.

That's just how Hannah was. She believed to know what the best thing for everyone was.

I hadn't played in a long time, either. There was a reason, but I couldn't say no to her. I took a deep breath and sat down. I played a little.

"You're great! Why didn't I know?"

"Because you never asked." It shouldn't be a reproach, but it sounded like one anyway.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"But I am. Let me be sorry."

I wanted to leave that evening, but she wouldn't let me go. She gave me a toothbrush and a t-shirt that was way too big for me. She offered to get Ava's mattress since she wasn't home, but I said I was okay with sleeping in her bed. Of course, I was. Why wouldn't I?

When we lay there on our backs, heads turned to each other, I asked: "Why wouldn't I be okay with sleeping in your bed?"

"You haven't heard?" She sounded surprised. I shook my head.

"I don't exclusively like boys. I'm bisexual."

"Why wouldn't I be okay with sleeping in your bed then?"

"I don't know if you're saying what I think you're saying or if you're just being nice."

"What do you think I'm saying?"

"Riley?"

"Mh?"

"Good night."

I know she wanted to say something else. And I'm never going to know what. I didn't want to ask. What if she would've said that there was never a chance for us? But what... if I had told her? What would've happened if I'd kissed her?