I am the last of the unfortunate four. If you believe ghosts can write, then this story ends with me dead. Or not. Possibly both. Definitely both because a person can be dead inside and walk among the living. I am dead without those three I wanted to follow along after them, take the easy way out but I am also a coward. I couldn't and I didn't. Instead, I held onto my death wish through college, through graduate and nursing school. I enlisted, asking for death. I became a flight nurse, the damn flight nurse anyone has ever seen. I worked through war zones, saw Josephine, Mitch and Tyla in some of my patients, I held onto my brave face and mustered up enough courage to move forward for them, even if I wake up every day wanting to die.
I had my moments of happiness.
I met a man: a strong, kind, rough-around-the-edges man and I almost allowed him to break down my walls.
Then, he asked about my mother.
My mother: a sweet, ganja-loving, brave woman. Loose with her words but never her heart.
A little after Mitch's death, my mother had passed. I was years away from eighteen and I wasn't about to be uprooted from my home. I saved by stealing money from my mother's wallet since she started trusting me to cash in paychecks. Since I was seven-years old, I stole one hundred dollars from her purse each week. As long as she had her ganja and food, she was set. To say I was covered was understatement. She died the most idiotic boring way possible.
She choked on a piece of hamburger.
She forgot to chew her food.
Arriving home, I found her wide-eyed spread across the floor. I was not traumatized. I had a couple dances with death, it seemed to follow me wherever I turned. So, I dug a hole in the backyard. I said some words and I moved on with my life. No one asked questions and no police has tracked me down to accuse me of murder. The whereabouts of my mother was not asked. She never showed up for school events. I was not a problem child and she remained a homebody. My friends parents were obligated to speak to her only if a sleepover requested. All of my friends were dead at this point and Josephine's mother couldn't care less what her child was doing.
She didn't come to the funeral.
Some classmates from school and a few teachers came, but it was a small gathering.
It made me wonder what my funeral turnout would be like. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care?
Anyway, that sweet man had to go. He poked a nerve and I was not prepared and I ran for the hills.
I didn't want a family. I didn't want a friend. They would all die eventually and I would have survivor's guilt.
I have survivor's guilt.
The day I met Tyla, Mitch and Josephine, I was bored and new to the neighborhood. There was a playground in the community. Believe it or not, Josephine was first to welcome me. I remember her smiling, grabbing my hand. She introduced me to Tyla, while Mitch was busy digging in the sand. I do not recall what he was looking for but we all pitched in to help him search. I remember my hands being gritty and tiny particles went into places I hadn't planned but we laughed together. I don't remember what about but I was happy to make friends that day. I thought they were going to be lifetime friends, but that is why we are unfortunate. They took the best parts of me to other side and they were worth it.