Pretty Little Bones

Still So Young, Desperate for Attention

Still So Young, Desperate for Attention

Ava always said we were destined to be best friends.

According to her, the stars were aligned when she was born exactly one month, one week, and one day before my first birthday. Supposedly that's what made us click. Everything was a sign that we were supposed to be together forever.

But I didn't really believe in fate the way she did. I didn't believe that we were only friends because the universe wanted it that way.

For me, we were best friends because she held my destiny and I held hers. It was that and nothing more. There was no celestial power trying to push us together through symbolism and chance. We were simply in the right place at the right time.

So I guess it was because of the way she saw fate that she had a hard time with people. She was nice, sweet, sympathetic, and always said the right things, but no one noticed her all that often. Just me.

I was the one to think of her first. To think of her at all. Unless she was gone, people didn't notice. And when she came back, they noticed her for all the wrong reasons.

That was the tragedy of Ava. She wanted attention so badly, but she didn't know how to ask for it. Fear of rejection kept her from joining conversations and the worry of being annoying kept her from starting very many. Usually, she sat idly by, waiting for someone to notice her. To ask her if she was okay.

If someone had asked that, maybe she would have told the truth. Perhaps those three words would have been the key to heal the fractures in her bones. Maybe it was those three words that would have saved Ava before she lost control.

I always imagined the way it might have happened. The way the grin would fade from her pale lips and the mint gum would bounce off her teeth as she said "I'm not good. There's something very wrong with me and I need help. I wanna get better."

Except they didn't talk to her like that, because they didn't really care how she was. No one ever asked and she never told.

That's the fault in people. They only ask how you are so you'll ask about them. When you answer, truthfully or not, they don't hear what you say, because they're already planning what they'll tell you about themselves.

But not Ava.

Ava wanted to be there for everyone like no one was there for her. She cared too deeply for the people that didn't care about her at all. On a rare occasion they'd see her pretty little grin and loose, transparent skin and ask if she wanted to hear about their day.

And she did.

She honestly wanted to hear everything about their day. Every single word that rolled off their tongues and hit her tiny ears she felt with an intensity that could have killed her, but she didn't mind. Because for the few moments that she got to talk about someone else, she was important. For those few little moments, she wasn't so lonely.

Of course, she had friends. They were the people she talked to daily, but they only talked about themselves and occasionally spared a moment to ask if anything had happened to her to which she would simply smile and say "nothing much."

Her friends were the same as anyone else's. They didn't realize how lucky they were to have someone like Ava. They didn't know that she was something special. Over the years she had lots of friends, but she had no luck keeping them.

One day she'd manage to strike up a conversation with someone new and they'd talk for hours, days, weeks, even months. I always loved when she met new people, because then she wasn't so lonely and I didn't feel so bad about not always being around.

Something about a friend made Ava glow. Her gray eyes would sparkle, like they were made of the finest, deepest glass. The blonde waves tickling the small of her back would bounce and shine, swaying over her broad shoulders in the most beautiful sea of hair. 

God, the way she laughed was incredible. The way she smelled, like vanilla and honey; the way she tasted. Everything about her was epic when she made a new friend.

She was so lovely in her strange little way. But beauty never lasts.

Eventually they'd get tired of talking to such a nice, transparent girl and they'd slowly start to fade away. The conversations would stretch out until they were simply a couple of words every few days, then weeks, then months. Then, they'd simply stop. She'd never even know why. She couldn't understand what she had done wrong.

And she never had the courage to ask. Just like no one ever had the courage to ask how she was. But I know that it wasn't because they didn't like her. I always made sure to tell her that. People liked Ava. They liked her a lot, and for the same reason people seemed to like me. For the same reason we liked each other.

Ava and I, we were good listeners.

For some reason, when people looked at us they saw safety. Strangers everywhere would unload the burdens in their chest onto our shoulders, because instinct told them we would listen. We would actually hear the words, unlike their friends. Everyone needs someone to listen once in a while.

Ava was so good at it.

I would simply nod and smile, giving sympathetic grunts here and there to ensure my part in the conversation. Being able to listen, I felt, was more of a curse than anything. These people trusted me with secrets and dreams, and I didn't even know their names. They stole moments of my time and I couldn't escape, because they gave me stories in return.

But Ava was a gorgeous listener. Not only did she hear, but she cared. She saw being a good listener as the simplest of blessings. Watching her interact with complete strangers, seeing the way her eyes would light up in the darkest embers and her lips would twitch in the sincerest of smiles, was the most beautiful thing I could ever witness.

And although I never could quite remember the exact moment I realized how much I loved her, I imagine it must have been while I watched her listen. There was some sort of magic to how much she cared. It was enchanting how these people suddenly became part of her life. Their memories kept her company, no matter how small.

More than once, she brought up someone she'd met and wonder aloud how they were. "I hope everything worked out for them," she'd say, snapping the black hairband on her wrist. "I hope they're okay now."

That was how I always felt about her. I wanted everything to work out.

I wanted her to be okay.