Say Goodbye

• Rebekah Bojkovska, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2011

It was a Monday. The grey clouds hung low and were dark and bright. The rain had been pouring on and off. It was cold, dull and miserable: a perfect setting for school. I could tell there was something wrong because there was no laughing today. I assumed it was the usual perils that plagued a teenage girl: melodramatic friends, analytical parents or stress-inducing teachers. This was the trifecta; one would surely be the reason for her distress. Random days she was overcome with anger, a life as a cynic. Today it was different, there was something more; she seemed lost. As if she was not currently present in this world or time. I did not know and I did not ask. I was being a friend.
We sat at our spot. The rain fell behind us, pounding on the ground, beating it senseless. There was a murmur of chatter that was heard as those who engaged in conversation attempted to compete with the sound of the rain. Chaotic best describes the moment. We were chaotic too. We were all talking and she was being an active participant. Our liveliness simmered as everyone broke away, some leaving for a trip to the bathroom, some cornering off into private conversations filled with inside jokes that no one but the participants would understand. We sat speaking cordially and then it changed. One minute we were talking and the next she was crying, telling me her grandmother had passed away.
Death is awkward to respond to. I don’t believe anyone can comfortably give a reply when someone tells them that their loved one has passed on. Most people say sorry but I have never understood this sentiment. ‘Sorry’ to me is something that is said in the circumstance of an accident or mistake; death is not a mistake. It is a common tragedy.
We sat there for a few moments and I mumbled some clichés about life after death. She continued to cry, tears falling down her face, while I just looked on, hoping my presence would be some sort of comfort. Death is not like people think. It is not the dramatic scene portrayed in film with people crumpling to the floor breaking down in sobs. It takes much longer to comprehend and adjust to. Often I go to places expecting to see someone and it is not till I am there that I realise they are not coming, they are somewhere else. I wish to provide her with closure, let her know that her grandmother is somewhere better, but I know that she does not believe this. So I sit there in the hopes that one day she will.
We are talking now with everyone else. She has stopped crying but she has not forgotten, this much I know. It will take time for her to feel less empty. Until that time comes I am here, if that is all that I can do. I look out towards the vast playground, shimmering with puddles and raindrops, and see that for the moment, at least, it has stopped raining.