I put the letter into an envelope and addressed it. The next morning, I mailed it on my way to school. The day wasn't much different from the one before, but I could see that as time went by, the excitement and interest other students had in me and what had occurred would wane. There was nothing as dead as old news. Not that those who had been friendly and interested in me started to be those things again. Oh, no. That would take much longer and only if I made a great effort. For the present, I was treated as if I were invisible.
I saw Beau a few times and every time, he looked at me, he had an expression of shame and regret on his face. I felt more sorry for him than he did for me and tried to avoid him as much as possible so things wouldn't be so hard for him. I knew there were girls and even boys who would rush home to tell their parents if Beau defiantly returned to my side. In a matter of hours, the phones at his house would ring off the hook and his parents would be enraged at him.
But on the way home from school that afternoon, I was surprised when Gisselle and Martin drove up to the curb and called to me. I paused and went over to Martin's car.
'What?' I asked.
'If you want, you can come with us,' Gisselle offered, as if she were handing out charity. 'Martin's got some good stuff and we're going over to his house. No one's home,' she said. I could smell the aroma of the marijuana and knew that they had already started having their so-called good time.
'No, thanks,' I said.
'I'm not going to invite you to do things if you keep saying no,' Gisselle threatened. 'And you'll never get back into the swing of things and have friends again.'
'I'm tired and I want to begin my final term paper,' I explained.
'What a drag,' Gisselle moaned.
Martin puffed on his joint and smiled at me.
'Don't you want to laugh and cry again?' he asked. That set them both laughing and I pulled myself away from the window just as he accelerated and shot off, his tires squealing as he made the turn at the end of the block.
I walked home and went right to my room to do what I had said, begin my homework. But less than an hour later, I heard some shouting coming from downstairs. Curious, I walked out of my room and went to the head of the stairs. Below, in the entryway stood two city policemen, both with their hats off. A few moments later, Daphne came rushing forward, Wendy Williams hurrying with her coat. I took a few steps down.
'What's wrong?' I asked.
Daphne paused in front of the policemen.
'Your sister,' she screamed. 'She's been in a bad car accident with Martin. Your father's meeting me at the hospital.'
'I'll come with you,' I cried, and ran down the steps to join her.
'What happened?' I asked, getting into the car with her.
'The police said Martin was smoking that dirty . . . filthy . . . drug stuff. He crashed right into the back of a city bus.'
'Oh no.' My heart was pounding. I had seen only one car accident before in my life. A man in a pickup truck had gotten drunk and drove off an embankment. When I saw the accident, his bloodied body was still hanging out of the smashed front window, his head dangling.
'What's wrong with you young people today?' Daphne cried. 'You have so much, and yet you do these stupid things. Why?' she shrilled. 'Why?'
I wanted to say it was because some of us have too much, but I bit down on those thoughts, knowing she would take it as a criticism of her role as mother.
'Did the policemen say how bad they were hurt?' I asked instead.
'Bad,' she replied. 'Very bad . . .'
Daddy was already waiting for us in the hospital emergency room. He looked terribly distraught, aged and weakened by the events.
'What have you learned?' Daphne asked quickly. He shook his head.
'She's still unconscious. Apparently, she hit the wind-shield. There are broken bones. They're doing the X rays now.'
'Oh, God,' Daphne said. 'This, on top of everything else.'
'What about Martin?' I asked. Daddy lifted his shadowy, sad eyes to me and shook his head. 'He's not . . . dead?'
Daddy nodded. My blood ran cold and drained down to my ankles, leaving a hollow ache in my stomach.
'Just a little while ago,' he told Daphne. She turned white and clutched his arm.
'Oh, Pierre, how gruesome.'
I backed up to a chair by the wall and let myself drop into it. Stunned, I could only sit and stare at the people who rushed to and fro. I waited and watched as Daddy and Daphne spoke with doctors.
When I was about nine, there was a four-year-old boy in the bayou, Dylan Fortier, who had fallen out of a pirogue and drowned. I remember Grandmere Catherine had been called to try to save him and I had gone along with her. The moment she looked at his little withered form on the bank of the canal, she knew it was too late and crossed herself.
At the age of nine, I thought death was something that happened only to old people. We young people were
