A story without her.

Goodbye. I never liked that word. I think I've said it far too many times. I'll probably have to say it again.

 Now I was sitting in a cold, isolate waiting room at three in the morning, desperately waiting for someone to say my best friend was going to be okay.

 She was going to survive this, because that's just who she is. She always got though it.

I thought back to first grade when she broke her arm right before field day, and her mom didn't want her to do any of the field day activities, but of course, she did every single one of them.

That memory made me smile. It was such a long time ago. Look at us now. Still best friends. Living in the big city, like how we'd always dreamed of.

But we never dreamed of this. This was not part of our life long plan that we made in fifth grade science class and followed religiously.

 My heart was beating faster than a bullet train.

 I had gotten the call only an hour ago.

 Funny, now my heart was racing, because when I got the call, it completely stopped.

 Why was I the only one here for her? She was a very sociable person, and she was always making new friends. I guess I'm the only one they called because I'm her emergency contact.

I wondered if I should be calling her parents. They deserved to know. But know what? She wasn't dead yet. She could still make a come back.

The air conditioning started to blow harder, which made chills run up my spine. When I got the call, I hadn't really thought to grab a blanket.

 I heard footsteps coming.

Tap.

      Tap.

            Tap.

It was like my senses were dialed up from all the adrenaline.

 "Ms. Hoffman?" A voice rang out.

 I turned my head to look at the doctor in the doorway, "That's me."

 I was the only one in the waiting room, so it's wasn't like it was going to be anyone else.

The doctor sat down next to me.

Was that a good sign or a bad sign? I probably should have been thinking a bad sign, in retrospect. No one sits down to 'break the news' that your best friend is fine and healthy.

"Your friend just passed away ma'am. We did everything we could."

Bum bum.

Bum bum.

Bum bum.

I had been thinking about this moment for the past hour, wondering how I would react. I kept on thinking I would cry, and fall too the floor. But now I just sat, unable to speak. I had always kind of known that she wasn't going to survive this one. But it being real, and a doctor telling me... It was different.

"O-Oh," Was all I said.

The doctor continued to ramble about a number of things, but I wasn't listening anymore.

"Can I see her?" I said, interrupting the doctor.

The doctor frowned nervously, "She doesn't look pretty. She was in a terrible car crash."

"Yes, I am aware. Can I see her?" When had I become so rude? I guess grief makes you do crazy things.

"Of course. Just follow me." The doctor said now, getting up.

My hands were shaking as we walked down the hall, to the door of my best friends room.

When the doctor opened the door he said, "I'll give you a moment." And then he left.

I stared at my best friend. Her finger tips were already going blue.

The doctor was right, she looked horrible. She had stiches all over, but the worst part was her head. It looked horrible. I realized that the reason of her death was probably because her head hit something too hard on the crash.

"Maya?" I said, my voice weaker than I expected. I waited for her to respond for a moment. Of course she didn't.

"This isn't the goodbye we were expecting. We had a plan to grow old together on a tiny little suburban street, living next door to each other, so our daughters could be best friends just like us." I said now letting a tear slip.

"Your so stupid. Why did you crash? Didn't you even think about me?!" Oh gosh, I felt so selfish after I said those words.

"I'm sorry. I just don't know where to go next. What am I supposed to do now? We made our life plan remember? Now half of my life plan is missing." I said, my voice unsteady and tired.

 I sat there in silence next to the bed that held her dead body.

This isn't the end of the story.

I didn't know where the voice came from. I don't know who had said that, but I had heard it loud and clear.

Maybe it was God, speaking to me in my darkest moment.

Maybe it was a voice, traveling through the vents.

No matter what, I had heard it.

This isn't the end of the story.

"This isn't the end of the story." I said to myself aloud, repeating the words I had just heard.

This made the tears fall faster. Hot, salty tears streaming down my cheeks, falling into my lap.

I couldn't imagine a story without my besfriend to guide me through.

I thought back to just that morning, when we had been talking on the phone about going home for Thanksgiving.

I realized now I was going to go home alone. I hoped no one would blame it on me. Grief makes you do crazy things.

This isn't the end of the story.

If only I had known back then, at the time of her death, that my story was just beginning.

My story was just beginning, and everything that had come before that was like a prologue, giving the background of my life.

It took me a long time to get over her death. And, yeah, I was right, that Thanksgiving was one of the hardest Thanksgivings ever.

There was someone missing in our town celebration, someone who could light up a room with her smile.

But that was then, this is now.

I realized my story was just beginning, even if hers was just ending.

I thought I could never have a story without her in it.

But then again, you just read one.