Small Stories

What Did I Do?

I never noticed it. Not really, anyways. I had noticed it, but never really NOTICED it. She was always so happy and cheerful and optimistic.. Just... An all-around bright person. Given, she had her tendencies to lash out at times, and if there was one thing about her anyone remembered - it was that mouth of hers. The day you found someone who could out-curse Jen would be the day hell froze over. She was eccentric, to say the least. First time I met her, she was quite formal, considering it was a lunch-break during freshman year. She shook my hand, addressed herself with her full name and did the whole 'Its a pleasure to meet you' spiel. You can imagine my shock when she practically screamed "FUCKING HELL!" .2 seconds later because someone ran into her.

Jen was always happy. I'm sorry-check that. Jen was always really fuckin happy. She was a klutz, an all-around goof. If she was a cartoon character, that show would never go off air. The girl practically ran on puns. If you told her even the shittiest of puns, she'd laugh for the good part of an hour, most likely smiling for the rest of the day. It was so easy to get her to smile. And I suppose that's exactly why I should've seen it coming. It was hard to get her teary-eyed or upset. As in-impossible. She brushed off every insult with double the sass as the offender. I never once saw her cry. I don't think anybody else did either.

But apparently, she saved all the tears for home. We never noticed the bruises or the cuts and scrapes. Because she hid them so well. She hid many things very well. Her bruises, her cuts(self inflicted included), her depression, herself. She loved hide-and-seek. She constantly turned off all the lights in my house, spun me around, and hid herself in some shadowy corner i never would have expected. Hide-and-Seek. With Juniors in high-school. But it was her favorite, so we all played along. We all played along very well. We were like kids, and she was a puppet. Telling us lies about how she really got hurt, dancing around on strings, always bouncing back no matter how harsh a beating.

None of us ever realized it till she was gone and dead. Things had gotten out of hand at home. It's all quite ironic, really. Her dad was a teacher, her mom was is a CASA worker. And neither of them even recognized the signs. Her brother was unnessacarily violent. Everyone knew this. But we never knew how deep it went. When you approached too fast, she would put her head down. Half the time, when you raised your hand for a high-five - she flinched. She was always so scared. But we never really noticed. Nobody did.

According to the rumors, her brother used a coat-hangar. The coroner, however, said it was an unidentifiable object. We all know he got paid off. The police claimed no verdict on her death, too. Nothing is concrete. And I guess thats how she would have liked it - with an air of mystery. But there is no mystery here. We all know what happened. Sometimes, I swear - I can hear her. The same, sad voice she used when anyone sounded irritated. The softness that nobody ever really noticed. I can hear her every time I pass her brother in the hall, or see her picture in my locker. "What did I do?" The thing was, she never did anything. Not even fight back. "What did I do?"