Maria (A True Story)

Maria and I were basically inseparable in 6th grade. We were both Justin Bieber crazed and loved everything the other did. But, in the summer of 6th grade going into 7th, Maria moved to the city of Silver.

Silver was a city about three hours away from my small town of Clack.

During 7th grade, I didn't talk to Maria that much. I missed her copper skin, flowing black hair, and quirky smile. I had tried to text her countless times, but the messages never sent. It was up until one night on the bus when she called me that I finally knew everything was okay. We talked to each other for hours; she explained to me that she cut.

I was new to the term then. I wasn't fully aware of the seriousness of self-inflicted wounds. I didn't even know where.

The next time she called me, Maira informed me that her parents found out. She told me how her mom pulled up her sleeves for her. Once her mom saw those marks, she instantly burst into tears.

I could tell that Maria was close to crying herself. Her voice was shaky and she had to pause a lot to take a deep breath. It was strange for me to picture my confident - sometimes even cocky - best friend with a sob rising in her throat and tears threatening to spill.

Maria had sworn to me that she never wanted to see her mom cry like that again.

Little did I know that that promise would be nothing but a distant memory in just a matter of months.

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School had ended for both Maria and me. It was the beginning of August. We had gotten to see each other a handful of times. She was just as bubbly as ever.

When I had seen her for the first time, she showed me her arms. At least 12 thin, red lines marked both her wrists. Just the sight made me want to cry. How could she do this? Why would she in the first place? It mad no sense to me whatsoever, but the topic was dropped.

It felt like summer had just gotten up and left it went by so fast. Maria started school a day before me. I hoped that her first day was as good as mine.

The weeks went by uneventfully - except for one thing. I had had a dream about Maria committing suicide. I hadn't talked to her in a while. Was she still alive?

When we finally got in contact with each other, she begged me to tell her about my dream. I didn't realize it then, but every violent thing I told her could end up with her dead and me to blame.

Exactly two and a half weeks later, Maria called me. What started off as a boring conversation turned into drama in a blink of an eye.

"What colors should I get my braces?" Maria asked in a bored tone. We had run out of good topics having talked about boys already. But not even that seemed to interest her.

"Rainbow!" I shrieked with glee.

For some reason having a colorful mouth didn't amuse her. "Listen, you don't tell an emo girl to get rainbow colors for her braces," Maria said in an annoyed and angry tone.

Emo? What was she talking about? Cutting? I thought she moved on. "Maria if you've started cutting again, I'm going to come to your house in the middle of the night with a chainsaw and cut your head off," I threatened, somewhat teasing.

"Well, I am."

Wait - something was wrong. How could my happy - even annoying gleeful at times - friend start cutting again?

Although I tried to make my mind not believe it, my eyes filled with tears.

"Why?" I choked out.

"Because."

"God, are you happy now Maria? I'm crying over you and you couldn't care less," I snapped back.

And the line went dead.

I was sobbing now. What had I done? Butterflies appeared in my stomach. Is she trying to kill herself now? No. I wouldn't let myself believe it. But somewhere deep inside, I knew it was true - anything upsetting could easily be the end of Maria's life.

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I managed to tell my parents. I don't know how, but I did. They knew Maria as a bubbly, happy girl, not some dark emo chick.

My mom had volunteered to tell Maria's mom. I objected, I wouldn't feel like I helped if I didn't tell her myself.

"Hello?" Franchesca Gonzales, Maria's mom, asked.

"Hi, Franchesca. It's Jenny. Listen I-" I began.

"Oh, hi Jenny. Maria should have her phone on her," she replied, completely oblivious of my knowledge of that.

"I know ma'am. I was kind of wanting to talk to you." I said each word slowly so she would get the memo.

"Yes?" she pressed.

I drew in a deep breath to calm my nerves. It didn't help. "Franchesca. Maria, she......" I couldn't finish.

"What's going on with Maria?"

"She's suicidal. And cutting again," I whispered.

I could hear Frenchesca crying and begging me that it wasn't true.

"Please, you have to believe me," I said in my calmest tone.

The very next day, Maria was sent to rehab.

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Through the month Maria was in rehab, I didn't get much sleep. Would she - could she - ever forgive me for telling her parents?

My dreams were haunted with those questions, every night until there was a knock on my door.

Maria.

Her skin was still beautiful, even with the long scar that went down her left cheek- I guessed it was a new cutting mark. Her dark brown eyes were warm and tender. Maria's black hair was in soft curls that framed her face.

"Maria, I-" I began, but I didn't know what I was going to say.

Words were not necessary. We hugged each other with tears streaming down our faces. I had done the right thing, because, after all, cuts heal.