The day that Jess drowned was a bad day. It had started out as a great day on the water. The speedboat glided effortlessly over the deep blue waters of the Pacific, bouncing over waves here and there. Jess in her yellow bikini top, laughing and holding a beer, taking pictures with her phone. We were so preoccupied with having a good time, maybe too preoccupied. The two jet skiers came almost from nowhere, certainly going too fast for being around so many other boats. We struck him so hard that the smear of red on the side of the boat was almost permanent. I'm not sure how soon after the accident we noticed that Jess wasn't sitting perched on the back of the boat anymore. All that was left was her Ray Bans, floating in the water; we never found her phone. It took a team of divers only four hours to find her arm and shoulder, ripped grotesquely from her body. We knew from the dragon tattoo on the forearm that it was Jess. They never found anything else. Yup, the day that Jess drowned was a bad day.
Maybe it was because I was depressed, or maybe I was hoping for an answer, but every few days I sent Jess' phone a message. As expected I never heard anything back, but it's helped with some of the grief. I just can't for the life of me figure out why my messages keep coming back with read receipts.