Almost Famous

The alarm clock buzzed, and I pushed the snooze button like I do every morning. I groggily rubbed the crust out of the corners of my eyes, coming to reality. When I dream, she’s still alive. I laid in bed, remembering the accident. I envisioned what her last moment was like: what she thought as the car started to flip, how the emergency team felt as they tried to free her mangled body from the car, what the person who’s job it is to cut the jewelry off of her swollen corpse felt. I wonder if she was peaceful, I wonder if she screamed, I wonder how long it took for her to die.
I jumped off the top bunk and clamored around the dark room for my towel and bathrobe. A girl on my floor gave me a cheerful, “Good Morning!” I replied with all that I could muster, a mumbled cross between a groan and a grunt. Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the bed.
The scalding water burned my skin as I climbed into the shower. I stood under the nozzle letting my tears slip through the drain. I had never met anyone like her. I want to tell her that.
I smoked a pack of cigarettes the day of her service. The map quest directions lead us to a foreign highway and as we got back on track, the car hit empty. I don’t think I’ve ever been so anxious. By the time we made it to the temple, the entire room was full. I had never seen so many people in one place. It was as if we were at the funeral of someone famous. I stood in back, an outcast amongst people garbed in black. I wore a white and green sundress, and clung to my tie-dye sweatshirt. Green was her favorite color.
It had not yet hit me, then. I felt like I would turn around and she would be there. Her mom doubled over into my arms, and I held her weeping body. I was completely calloused to emotion, in a state of shock and dismay all in one. I wondered when I would feel our loss.
New Years was the last time I spent time with her. Always busy traveling and changing the world; she only came home every once and a while. New Years was a surprise. We spent the night taking shots of tequila as she told me everywhere she had been that year and all that she had experienced. She was an artist, a writer, a speaker, a dreamer, a sister and a best friend. We went outside for a smoke, losing interest in the time. It was a minute to mid-night when we realized we would miss the count down. Happy New Years! I would have given her a longer hug if I had known that was the last time I’d see her. I looked at pictures from that night and see her smiling back at me, we were so happy.
No one here knows the void that is missing from me. No one knows her here. But if she lived past that night, I’m sure the world would know her name. She left a fingerprint on all she met.
I stepped out of the shower, leaving wet feet marks across the tiled floor. It hit me that morning that she isn’t coming back. That life lives on, even if she doesn’t. I realized that the world is more beautiful since she lived in it, that I am more beautiful since she lives in me. I dried off and got ready for class. That morning, I wore green for the first time since her funeral. On my walk to campus, I swear I smelled her Dior perfume in the air, I felt her walking with me, and I smiled. I knew I’d meet her in my dreams again that night.