I don’t remember much of what happened the first few months after my best friend died. Maybe it’s self-defense, my mind handling the emotions the best way it knows how: by forgetting.
A tragic car accident, the media called it. I still don’t watch the news, just let my girlfriend tell me.
My dad tried everything to help, from professional shrinks offering temporary relief in rattling bottles to back alley empaths blathering about “bad energy” as they lit scented candles for the sleep uk therapy.
The people at church avoided my eyes. I thought they were letting me grieve until I heard one say that she’d deserved it for being the abomination she was. I never went back.
“Anna,” my dad said one night, a year after, “Why do you hurt, child?”
I answered, “I can’t help it. I loved her….deeply.”
My old man gave me a hug. Great guy.