Epochal Events

A significant moment in one’s life is called an “epochal event.” The day you graduate from high school. The day you finally gather up the courage to ask that guy you’ve had a crush on if he wants to go on a date. The day you’re accepted into your dream job.

Mine was a bit different. Don’t get me wrong, everyone has multiple epochal events, and so have I, but the most significant one… well, it happened three weeks ago, during a game of Truth or Dare. It had started off innocent enough, but it quickly helped shape the worst day of my life.

Her chair scraped across the concrete floor as she scooted forward and braced her arms against the table, leaning closer into my face. A few of her fingers drummed on the table as she continued to wait for a response. Eventually she let out an aggravated sigh.

“Look, kid, I need something from you.”

I avoided eye contact with her, pulling on the purple hair tie wrapped around my wrist. I slid further back into my seat and crossed my legs, beginning to pick at the threads on my distressed jeans.

“Kid. You’re a witness. I need a statement.”

I grimaced at the word “witness.” Who would’ve thought that that one afternoon in the treehouse would’ve led to something like this? My eyes stung with the threat of tears, so I repositioned my body in the uncomfortable, thin chair and looked at the woman. She maintained eye contact with me, her tired eyes begging for some answers. Finally, she relaxed back in her flimsy white chair and crossed her arms with a small huff.

“Your mom’s waiting outside,” she told me in defeat as she gestured toward the door.

I pushed my chair back from the table and stood, walking slowly to the door and swinging it open. I expected to feel some relief from the interrogation’s end, but there was too much going on for even a twinge of happiness to make an appearance. My mom was leaning against the wall. When she saw me, she dropped her hand from her cracked, peeled lips and gave me a small smile. Her face was creased in worry and the bags under her eyes told me she hadn’t slept since the incident.

“Hey, honey,” she cooed, holding her arms out for me. I stepped in to take the hug.

“Hi, mom.” I replied softly, closing my eyes and letting her hand hold my head against her shoulder. “Can we go home?”

“Of course,” she responded, dropping her hand from my head and backing out of the hug. “The car’s out front.”

I gave her a tiny, forced smile and we began to walk out to the entrance. As we pushed the glass doors of the police precinct open, a cold night breeze rushed to greet us. The moon hung in the sky in front of us, a glaring sphere flooding our surroundings with silver light. Yellow rays from street lights illuminated small circular patches of the parking lot, their lights occasionally flickering on and off. I wrapped my sweater tighter around me, hoping to block out some of the cold. It didn’t work. We reached the car and dropped into our seats, immediately turning on the heat and slamming our doors shut with a thud. I closed my eyes and sat back into my seat, trying to block out the memories and the cold.

“Guys, guys!” Alison shouted over our laughter. She flailed her arms around, trying to get our attention. Finally, she stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans and cupping her hands to her mouth. “GUYS!” 

I nudged Louis and Ben, who were laughing over Louis’ applesauce incident in seventh grade. He had accidentally catapulted a spoonful of applesauce into a teacher’s hair after getting spooked by Ben. He was still embarrassed, but at least he found humor in it. “Shut up! Ali wants to say something!” I yelled at them. They stifled giggles and turned to Alison.

Satisfied with the silence, Alison announced, “Let’s play Truth or Dare.” She had this smug smile on her face, like she’d just come up with a revolutionary new game idea.

I shrugged. “Sure.” I turned to Ben, who was admiring a fuzzy black caterpillar slinking across the wooden flooring. “Ben, you go first.”

I groaned and squeezed my hands to the sides of my head, opening my eyes. I didn’t want to think about it. I watched the trees ahead of us dance in the wind as we passed under a burnt-out streetlight.

My mom glanced over at me as she drove through the night, her forehead creasing deeper in concern. “Oh, honey, try not to think about it.”

“I’m trying,” I told her, the frustration clear in my voice. I let out a regretful sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes focused on the road, she replied, “I know. It’s okay.” She paused in thought. “Do you want to stop at the Graham’s drive-thru? We could pick up a milkshake?”

I shook my head, watching the trees fly past my window. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not hungry!” He laughed, pushing the sandwich away from his face.

Alison groaned. “But that’s your dare! Besides, doesn’t it look delicious?”

It did not look delicious. This infamous sandwich had been hidden in the back of Alison’s pantry for a very long time. By the looks of it, decades. I think it used to be peanut butter and jelly, but at this point it was mold with a side of sandwich. I could’ve believed she had saved it for this very day.

Ben groaned, closing his eyes. I shuddered. He was actually going to do it. “Okay, FEED ME!” He yelled triumphantly.

Alison’s hand holding the sandwich slowly crept toward his mouth, and Ben bit down into the fuzz.

“Ewwww,” Louis whined. He shifted a little further from the scene and averted his eyes.

I grimaced. He was definitely getting sick from that. “Okay, okay, he’s had enough, let him spit it out.” We couldn’t just let him swallow it.

Alison turned to me in confusion. “Spit it out? He’s gotta follow through with the dare.” She shrugged and mocked, “That’s how the game works, Cassie.”

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, but… no. She always took these things too far. I crossed my arms, looking up at the treehouse roof to distract myself. I always worried some of those cobwebs would detach and cover me with a family of spiders. Or, like, the whole roof. Alison had said she helped build it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing just fell down now.

Ben coughed, spitting out the sandwich. Alison groaned in frustration.

“Beeeen!” She whined. “You were so close, why’d you spit it out?”

He stared at her, still coughing. “Ali, it’s…” He coughed. “Disgusting,” he croaked.

She rolled her eyes and threw the sandwich out of the treehouse. She went back to her corner, plopping into a squat with a grin. “Fine. Do me next. I’ll show you guys how easy this is.”

We pulled into the garage, and my mom turned the car off. She sat for a second, staring at the cement wall. There was a faded orange sled hanging from a hook a little to the left of the car. A wooden cabinet stood in the corner, covered in dust and spiders. Other than that, the garage had been pretty empty since Dad had left.

“Her funeral’s next Thursday.” She murmured, letting her head fall against the headrest.

I felt the betrayal of a tear run down my cheek as I played with the hair tie in my lap. Her funeral.

She took a deep breath, then opened the car door, sliding out of her seat. She bent back into the car to peer at me. “I’m gonna start making dinner. Tacos. They’ll be ready in about 15.” She shut her door and I heard her disappear into the house. Funeral.

“Really? I said a hard dare.” She laughed smugly and bounced up. She walked to the entrance of the treehouse, gripping a branch above. She carefully stretched her right foot out onto a second tree branch, about two feet from the treehouse. Her plan was to make it all the way around the treehouse and back to the entrance.

“Be careful,” I half-whispered. I had a bad feeling about this. If she fell it wouldn’t be good, we were about ten feet off the ground and traumatic brain injuries were a thing.

She laughed at my concern. “Cass, come on, I thought you trusted me more than that.” She swung around to face me, accidentally letting her right foot slide off the branch. Her fingers lost grip from the branch above, and her left foot fell off the edge of the platform.

I tucked my knees into my chest. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. I couldn’t help it. It was my fault. If I had just kept my mouth shut, she wouldn’t have broken concentration.

“ALISON!” I screamed, shaking her shoulders. She laid in the mud and grass, her eyes closed. Her arms were sprawled in opposite directions and her auburn hair was whisked across her mouth which was still open in mid-scream. She looked so… lifeless.

Louis and Ben scrambled down the ladder and appeared at my side. “Is she okay?” They asked in unison.

My hand quivered in front of my mouth as I began to cry. “I- I don’t know.”

I still remember the call from her mother. I couldn’t tell what she was saying through the sobbing, but I knew.

I opened the car door and slowly picked myself off the seat. I shut the car door quietly and went to the garage door. I stepped into the kitchen and the smell of tacos filled my nostrils. It smelled good, but I still wasn’t hungry. I dropped into my chair at the table.

“We’ve got to go shopping for black clothes,” my mom chimed in as an attempt to alter the mood. She was bent over a black skillet sizzling on the stove, stirring ground beef with a wooden spoon.

I buried my head in my arms as the tears began to flow. “Yeah,” I mumbled.

Four Weeks Later

Alison’s funeral had been nice. Not nice as in, because she died. That part wasn’t nice. But the service was. I guess.

I was still getting adjusted to life without her. She hadn’t always been the nicest person, or the greatest friend, but I had known her since elementary school, and she had always been there for me. When my parents got divorced, when I lost my aunt to cancer, she was there. And now she wasn’t. I had finally gotten over the “it was my fault” mentality, thanks to my therapist. I know that I was part of the reason she fell, but there were too many other factors for it to have been completely my fault.

I had given the police the details. They let me off. Everything was okay now. I just hoped they wouldn’t find out about what I did to Ben. His funeral is next week.