Deadly rumors

Grovewood, Maine Population: 22,283. Last week, it was 22, 284. My name is Michelle Richards. I’m a senior at Grovewood HIgh School. I’m class president, captain of the girls basketball team and was just named class valedictorian.  As I navigate through the next couple weeks, I wonder what this should mean to me now. 

Grovewood is relatively small. It’s one of those communities where everyone seems to everyone, including their business, even the most private intimate moments, to a point. At least they heard one side of it. 

I pull into a parking lot, park my car near the end of the strip mall. I’m in Windham today for matters I wish I didn’t have to deal with but it’s a matter of being a squeaky wheel. I step out of the jeep my parents bought me a year and a half ago and walk towards the glass door. Sticker lettering on the door stated Lakes Region Daily News. I pull open the door and a bell rings overhead in the corner of the room above the door. The short haired receptionist wearing red wire rimmed glasses perks up and greets me, “How can I help you today?” she asks.

“I’m looking for Rachel Anderson,”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes,” I answered, “I scheduled it a couple days ago.”

“Michelle?” A woman down the hall called. I nodded, “Come on down to my office.” I followed the line of four cubicles to a small office in the back of the room. I stepped into the room, which was not much bigger than a closet. There was a desk with a laptop on it and a large iced coffee cup from the local coffee shop. There was a chair behind the desk on the other side and a chair on the side I was on. She closed the door behind me and took a seat behind the desk. “Hi, I’m Rachel Anderson. Have a seat,” she motioned. “How can I help you?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you can, but I figured I’d give it a shot. If you can’t help me, maybe you could point me in the right direction.” I pulled the bag that was over my shoulder to the desk, opened it, pulled out a manila envelope and placed the bag next to the chair and sat down. 

I took a deep breath in. “As I told you on the phone, my sister committed suicide last week.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”  Rachel said sincerely.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m not sure where to begin. I’m still processing everything.” I paused for a moment and continued. “My sister, Megan, used to be bright, happy, bubbly. When she started high school two years ago, I never imagined the circumstances now. Half way through her freshman year, she started dating Andrew Miller. I knew of him up until that point. We had a couple classes together but he wasn’t someone I typically associated with outside of school. Things were fine the first couple months. He came over to our house a couple times for dinner and we all began to get to know him.”

I remember the first time he came over. It was a Monday and it was spaghetti night. I knew he was on the hockey team. He devoured the first plate and even asked for seconds. The first time in a long time we actually didn’t have leftovers that we weren’t going to touch, taking up space in the refrigerator. We all talked, my parents asking him questions and drilling him like it was a job interview at an investment company that held secrets. Secrets were something he held, we just didn’t know to the extent.

“Around six months, she started becoming a little withdrawn. I had a gut feeling something was wrong but I didn’t want to push her, only to push her away,” I continued. “She told me they got into an argument and was contemplating breaking it off with him. I asked her what the argument was about. She told me he had been hanging out with another girl and she felt they were getting too close for just being friends. She said he had told her that she was overreacting. I told her to keep her guard up and that wasn’t really her nature to ‘overreact’. If something was bothering her, she was usually right.” 

I remember that conversation so well. She was almost in tears as she laid on her bed. I messed up her blonde hair and told her it was high school. There’d be another boy breaking her heart. In high school, six months was a lifetime. “Thanks Michelle, for being an ear to vent too.” She smiled as I left her room. I think that may have been one of the last times I had seen her smile. I never want to forget that moment.

“Well, she did break up with him. She cried the first couple nights. It was her first relationship, her first real heartbreak but she knew she wanted better. We’d thought that would be that. Spring came around. As she walked home one day, a car pulled up next to her. Michael Wilson, a teammate of Andrew's, was driving. Michael's girlfriend Chrissy was sitting in the front seat beside him and a girl named Jessica Bryant was sitting in the back seat. Jessica was the girl Andrew was getting close to while he was with Megan. So Megan’s intuition had been right. The same week she broke it off with Andrew, he was hooking up with Jessica as Megan was sitting up in her room crying. Now here they were, pulling up next to Megan on the side of the road. Jessica and Chrissy jumped out of the car and started attacking Megan. They were throwing punches, slapping and hair pulling, trying to rough her up a little. She came home with a black eye and a swollen lip. Here’s a copy of the police report from that night,” I pulled it out of the folder and handed the copy to Rachel.  “Luckily that was all she had that night. Part of me thinks that was the point. My parents decided to press charges. All they received was three months of probation and told not to do it again after pleading out.”

I inhaled and exhaled and continued. “Three months later, the same thing happened. My parents pressed charges again and again, they pleaded out and got three months of probation and told not to do it again.” I pulled another police report out and handed it to Rachel, who was looking over both reports.

“Wait a minute,” Rachel said, “did you notice that the same officer filed both reports? A Richard Wilson? Is he any relation to Michael Wilson that was driving the car?”

“Yes,” I answered, “Richard is his father.” I took another breath in and out and continued. “Summer came and it was the end of the school year. We were all hoping that everything would blow over and subside by the time school started again. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. It actually started to escalate. The harassing emails and the harassing posts began. Jessica, Andrew, Chrissy and Michael would basically terrorize her online. Andrew was calling her every name in the book and started making comments stating he was the one that broke it off with Megan because she was a slut. He went as far as to alter and photo shop a couple inappropriate x-rated pictures and posted them online.” I pulled the pictures out and handed them over as well, “My predicament is that there’s no way I can prove he posted them as they were posted anonymously. All the name calling, as you can see, was done by him, or at least with an account with his name on it.”

I had a couple more emails in the folder. I glanced down and looked back up at the journalist I was pouring my emotional devastation too. I continued. “The last round of emails,” I pulled out, “was sent two and a half weeks ago. Megan gave me her password a while ago. Jessica emailed her telling her the whole school thinks she’s a slut, the whole town thinks she’s a slut and she’s just jealous that she is with Andrew now. The last email she sent, she told Megan that nobody likes her and that she should just do herself in. We reported this as well to no avail. No official report was filed despite Megan being physically assaulted prior to. In a nutshell, we were given the attitude that kids will be kids. Megan was the one who walked away from Andrew. All she wanted to do was be left alone. She certainly wasn’t the aggressor.” I handed the last of the emails to the woman across from me. “Last week, I was the one that found Megan. I was going to bring her to school and I had altered my schedule to bring her home. We were trying to keep her out of the situation.”

Rachel Anderson looked over the last of the emails. “Again, I’m so sorry for your loss. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to be able to do, especially for you now. I suppose I could do some digging around. I could at least be a squeaky wheel. If there’s anything that needs to change in regards to how things are reported and filed, or even laws, that could be a next step.”

“I’m for anything. What was done to my family, I don’t want to happen to another family. If I can save another person from the destruction that rumors and words can actually do, then, for me, maybe her death wouldn’t be in vain.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Rachel stood up from her desk, Michelle stood as well and opened the door to Rachel’s office. “I’ll start digging around the police station. In the meantime, have you contacted a lawyer?”

Michelle stood in the doorway. “Not yet. I don’t exactly have the money for a lawyer.”

“Most people don’t. Shop around, so to speak. See if a lawyer will at least give you a consultation meeting and let you know if there are any other steps you could or should take.”

“Will do. I know everything is a long shot. Thank you for giving me your time today. I know you didn’t have to.” 

Rachel walked around the desk and walked with Michelle to the front door of the office. “It’s a small town. Things have been quiet the last couple of months. Believe me, this will just give me a job to do.”

“Thank you so much.” Michelle exited into the parking lot.

“No problem,” Rachel answered back. She stood in the door and watched the teenager leave.

“There’s a Roland Berry on line 2 for you,” the receptionist said, looking up at her. 

“Can you tell him I’m out of the office? I’m going to visit the police station. Specifically, Richard Wilson.”

“Can I help you?’ Richard Wilson said gruffly as he walked out of the locked door into the lobby of the police department.

“Hi, I’m Rachel Anderson, reporter with Lakes Region Daily. I was wondering if I could get your side of the story in regards to a teenager that recently committed suicide.”

“What’s there to know? She committed suicide. And?” Wilson said, his tone unfriendly and unwavering.

“Prior to, she was assaulted twice and she was clearly being harassed online. In fact, the two times she was assaulted, it was your son that was apparently driving. Do you have comments to add to this?”

“No, I don’t,” Richard Wilson turned back towards the door he came out of and was buzzed in. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Rachel standing alone in the lobby.

Lakes Region Daily News

Opinion

See Something Say Something

Rachel Anderson, Editor

Last month, the town of Grovewood, Maine was shocked by the apparent suicide of Megan Richards, 16, sophomore at Grovewood High School. Circumstances surrounding the whys are still being looked into. Was she bullied? Did she have a mental illness? Did she have a good home life? Did she leave a note? Police have no comment at this time.

 Not all the questions will have an answer but we, as a community, I believe we can do better. Usually there are red flags. Does the person seem withdrawn? Are they getting bullied at school or assaulted? Are these instances being reported? If they are being reported, are they being handled properly? With the many platforms of social media, sometimes people forget that words and rumors can and do hurt other people. Sometimes we forget this when we’re behind a monitor and keyboard.

 As we get into full swing of graduation season and summer, I ask you to keep an eye out on your neighbors, friends, people who are isolating themselves. If you see something, say something.

If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, I encourage you to call or text NIMH (National Institute of Mental Health) at 988 first. Don’t do something permanent over something that is most likely temporary. There could be a better way that you just might not see yet.

Take care, 

Rachel Anderson.

It’s Friday, June 9th. 4:30 p.m. I’m in the auditorium where our graduation ceremony will take place. It starts in a half an hour. Family and friends are trickling in, climbing the bleachers and finding a seat. I look at the audience coming in, looking for a specific face that I know I will no longer see. I have my speech folded in my pocket, approved by the school administration. More people excitedly walk in. Part of me wants to scream. Part of me wanted to go online last night and rant on every social media platform, like others had done to my sister. But I knew that if I did, I could never take that rant back. Whatever you put online, it’s there, somewhere, forever.

Tonight, and probably for a very long time, my heart will be heavy. Tonight, not only do I close the door on high school, in a way I feel like I’m closing a door on my sister. In my mind, she will forever be a 16 year old sophomore at Grovewood High. The band and chorus start to pile in their seats. As more of the audience enters the room, I walk towards the side door to where my class is lining up outside. For one last moment, I stand in the doorway, still looking for a familiar face. I step outside and the sun blinds my eyes.