Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash
by Suzanne Hicks
You were reading during study period on the day they announced she’d died. A car didn’t see her crossing the street when she was walking home from a friend’s house at dusk. When you got up from your desk, the screech from your chair startled the other students, but no one stopped you when you ran out of the classroom. You flung open the door to the bathroom, and it was full of crying girls, so you cried, too. A teacher with her arms wrapped around one of the girls reached out in response to your wailing. You let her pull you close and felt your sobbing synchronize with the others as she gently asked if you knew the dead girl before you looked around, not recognizing a single face, and lied.
Suzanne Hicks is a disabled writer living with multiple sclerosis. Find her on Bluesky @suzannehicks and read more at suzannehickswrites.com.
