Why am I looking at the Facebook of a dead girl?
I ignore my mind and continue perusing through her photos and her statuses. Photos of her in Manhattan with Phantom of the Opera posters, statuses of her latest relationships and of her nearing fourteenth birthday party…
Guys, I have a confession: I’m bi.
I close my eyes as the scene plays behind my eyelids. The images are a little dark and blurry, but I am still able to make out all their faces.
“You’re what?” I asked, intrigued.
“I like girls and I like boys,” she explained.
“You like-like girls?” my friend Jess asked to clarify.
She nodded her head and smiled. I made a face. “I don’t believe you,” I said.
“My first kiss was with a girl,” she recalled.
I laid my head back against the wall, mulling over her declaration and envying her for having had her first kiss already.
“Do you guys believe in ghosts?” she asked, changing the topic.
I shook my head ‘no’ as she pulled out the Weird NJ book.
“I see my grandfather sometimes.” She began to flip through the pages of the book. “It’s freaky. Okay, here. I like this story…”
I opened my eyes and looked back at the computer screen, frowning. Her face was scowling back at me.
I wish I could have…
I shook my head, unwilling myself to regret. There was no point, it was too late. I had made my decisions many years ago, and now I had to deal with them. Besides, I shouldn’t be pitying the deceased, I should be honoring them.
After staring into her pixelated, brown eyes for a minute, I sighed and logged out of Facebook.