The Day Gwendolyn Green Came Back

I had a best friend. 

Best friends braid each other's hair, make friendship bracelets, bake cookies, and stay up all night spilling juicy secrets with each other.

And me? I'm spending my Sunday having quality time with my best friend. 

At the Common Burying Ground. 

Sitting by her grave. 

Martha Green taps my shoulder. "Hey, sweetie." 

I turn around to face her, along with Mr. Green and Danny. Their faces are white and sickly, their arms veiny, 

"Hi, Mrs. Green. I-I should go." It feels awkward to be intruding on a family moment. 

"Oh, Rachel." Mrs. Green gives me a hug. "She smiled at so many things, but she always smiled the most when she was with you?"

"She did smile," I reply, mustering a smile of my own. And I know the words are true. I never knew anybody who smiled as much as Gwendolyn Green.

If she smiled so much, why'd she kill herself? I wonder. 

Mrs. Green looks at me with the saddest eyes, as if reading my thoughts. "I never knew, Rachel. I never knew. I still don't understand."

I squeeze her shoulder. These days, I feel like I'm taking care of Mrs. Green, which is ironic because she used to be the milk-and-cookies, enthusiastic mother whenever Gwen and I were hanging out at her house. 

"I know," I say softly. "I know." 

I feel tears forming behind my eyes and I gently gather Mrs. Green's hands and place them at her sides. 

"I'll give you some time." 

Mrs. Green nods. I turn to leave, dangerously close to breaking down in sobs. I allow myself a silent cry the second I'm no longer facing the Greens. I'm scared of what it would do them to see me cry. 

They're all holding on. Holding onto hope. I think that's what life is about. Holding on as tight as you can.

"Rachel?" It's Gwen's little brother, Danny. 

I force the tears back down and turn around to ruffle his blonde hair. He's seven, and looks just like Gwen. 

"Yeah?"

He throws his arms around me. "Gwen loved you. So I love you, too."

His words stab through my chest and go straight to my heart. My throat closes up. 

"I love you too, Danny," I whisper.

He tightens his grip. "Promise you won't go anywhere?"

I sigh. "I have to go home, Danny. I'll be back tomorrow."

Danny looks at me solemnly. "I don't mean it like that."

I know what he means, and it makes me want to never let go of him. 

"I mean, promise you won't go anywhere like Gwen did."

I look him straight in the eyes.

"Promise."

The water ripples down below. I watch the sun as it dips below the trees and fades. It disappears just like Gwen did, and stay, my elbows propped up on the railing of the bridge, leaning forward, for many hours. 

The cars that drove the Newport Bridge today are scarce at this hour. I can hear the occasional noise of a vehicle veering along, can see the concerned looks on the drivers' faces as they pass a teenage girl, by herself, leaning on the railing of the bridge, but it is mostly quiet tonight. 

Gwen jumped off that bridge. 

The words, while undeniably true, stab me every time. 

She took her own life. Right here, in Newport, where we spent our best times together. We unearthed sea glass at Easton's Beach, discovered our best thrift finds at Vintage to Vogue on Thames, drank smoothies and talked for hours at Bowen's Wharf. 

We always promised we'd never leave Newport, never move more than a few streets away from each other. 

And then she left. 

How could you do this, I yell at Gwen in heaven or hell or purgatory wherever she is. I imagine it’s heaven. I never knew anybody who treated others as kindly as Gwen did. How could you leave me here when I was going through so much?

I find myself feeling mad at Gwen. I needed her more than I ever had, and she went and killed herself. 

I let out a sob. What a terrible person I am. Gwen was so distressed that she killed herself, and here I am feeling bad for myself because she left me here on Earth. 

But of what purpose is my life if not to be with Gwen? I can't remember a time when Gwen wasn't my best friend. Fifteen years, that's how long we knew each other. And that's how long her life lasted, too. 

I stare down at the body of water surrounding the bridge, that always seemed impossibly long, but it seems small today. I always admired how blue it was, how the pigments were so deep they looked like a flowing cloak of sapphire. It seems as though even the ocean lost its color when Gwen jumped. 

"Rachel?" 

A shiver runs through my entire body when I hear the heart-wrenchingly familiar voice. 

I turn around and nearly faint. And then I scream at the top of my lungs.

Because there, standing in front of me is my dead best friend.

And she looks terrible. 

What used to be the loveliest curly blonde hair is now tangled in knots that stick to the side of her head. Her eyes, that were a deep, sparkling sapphire blue, look pale and watery, with dark red semicircles beneath them. 

"Gwen?" I whisper. 

I run to hug the weary-looking figure standing a few feet away. But my arms go right through her like she's transparent. 

"I'm not here, not really," Gwen whispers back. "I'm still dead, you know." 

"How did you...why did you...I-I have so many questions, Gwen." 

Gwen waves my hand away. "I'll answer everything, Rach. Well, everything I can before time's up."

My voice cracks. "When time's up?" 

"Well, I can't stay here forever."

"Why not?" I reach out to put my arm around her, but then remember that I can't. My arm again goes through her pale body. 

"I left this world for a reason,” Gwen says quietly, and we lapse into silence for a moment. 

“But, c'mon, Rach, I'll answer as much as I can. You need to take me to Easton's beach, though." 

"Why there?" I know the answer, though. It was the last place that Gwen and I were together in. We had gotten our Panera meals boxed and Gwen drove us down to the beach. We rolled the windows down and sang at the top of our lungs to Adele. Gwen and I loved Panera. Every Saturday was a chicken caesar salad, crusty bread, and an agave lemonade shared with her, while we gossiped about Michael and Dylan Clancy, the cute exchange students from London. 

"It's the last place we spent time together before...before..."

“Before you died,” I say quietly. 

Sunday, July eighth, three thirty-four in the morning. Hours before, we'd been sunbathing on the beach just like we always did. I've gone over every detail of that night, scanning it for something off with Gwen. I never would have suspected that anything was wrong. 

"Okay," I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "let's go." 

"I...I don't understand. How did you get here?" I ask, still stunned.

"I never said goodbye to you. Or anybody. I think God knew that I had unfinished business here."

Gwen seems to fade with every step she takes. I know that I have to savor every minute with her.

"Come on," she says softly. "I have a way." 

She lightly places her thin, transparent hands on my shoulders. I shudder. They feel like jelly. 

All of a sudden I feel as though I'm having a stroke. Images that were so clear a moment ago are now fuzzy, but still vaguely familiar. As if I'm remembering them, but not quite seeing them. 

The Earth seems to rotate around us with increasing speed, and everything goes blurry: the Pell Bridge, the light smattering of cars, the water that seemed colorless today. The only constant in the chaos is Gwen's pale face. Everything goes black except the two of us. I close my eyes to stop the nausea rising in my throat. 

A few moments pass. The Pell Bridge is back in focus. It's dark, impossibly dark. There are no stars in the sky tonight and I'm suddenly aware that I'm alone. 

"Gwen?" I whisper, but she's nowhere to be seen. "Gwen!"

Horror grips my stomach. I call out to her, but it's as if my words just bounce back and smack me in the face. "Gwen!"

From afar, I see a petite blonde girl teetering at the edge of the bridge. 

"No!" I scream. It's Gwen. 

I watch as Gwen hesitates, then takes a huge leap. 

I expect to hear a huge splash, but the water is completely still. 

I realize then that I've just relived Gwen's suicide. It's the most terrible thing I ever could've seen. 

A dizzying blow to the head makes my eyes fly shut, and when I open them, ghostly Gwen is peering at me. We're on the beach, lying on our backs, our toes in the sand. Just like old times.

Except for the small detail that she's dead. 

I look at Gwen and wonder for the thousandth time why she took her life, and then I realize that the water is sparkling again. Gwen brought the color back. 

And Gwen? She’s colorful, too. Bright and lovely and more wonderful than I’ve ever seen her.

Is that why she left the world? To bring the color back? Suddenly, it doesn't seem selfish at all.

I had never lost anybody like Gwen before. Maybe growing up is about letting go, too, and not just holding on. 

As her eyes meet mine, I understand that nothing is ever quite as beautiful as when it's gone.