“You called them,” I accused. She looked a little hurt as I looked at her with hate now.
“I had no choice, you were drunk James, you could have died or, worse, gotten someone killed,” she said, not looking sorry at all.
“You let me believe it was Mickey, you lied to me,” I accused her.
“You two weren’t speaking and I never agreed with you, I just never corrected you. I didn’t want you to be mad at me,” she explained as if it made it alright but she looked guilty now.
“You should have told me,” I said, now more than angry, how could it have been June. “Go!” I shouted at her. She left me alone with no resistance, not putting in the last word like usual, she just left me. There was nothing I wanted more than to not see Mickey tomorrow or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I felt humiliated as I well should. What could I do tomorrow, how should I act? I couldn’t sleep all night, because every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face, the hurt. And it hurt me knowing I was the one to cause this and she had never deserved any of it. All she had done was be the best friend I’d ever had and what had she gotten for it.
Michaela
James thought I had called the cops on him! Even the thought was hilarious to me. So that’s why James hated me so much, I thought happily, which was weird because I shouldn’t be ecstatic that my enemy doesn’t hate me but the truth was, I was. James never actually hated me, he hated what he thought I did! A new question popped into my mind then, who did call the cops on him? Really, it could have been anybody at those parties, everyone showed up or maybe the cops had just seen him driving by but no, they said someone called and tip them off. Who? My memory of that night was a bit hazy and some parts completely blank, all I knew was that it wasn’t me. I remember James driving by me when I was driving home from my Gran’s. She lives over an hour away and I decided to visit her, so that she’d think being in the car and driving didn’t scare me anymore, even though I still get nervous and shake when I sit in a car or drive for a long time.
Something only a few people knew, is that I was in the car when my parents died. It had all happened so fast but it was still imprinted in my brain, just like when James hurt me. I remembered what it looked like outside, what they were talking about, what radio station was playing, even the song that was on, and how it all happened. I remember the cold night air rush into the car as it crashed and the crunching noise the windshield made as it shattered. The smile my mom gave me just as the car jostled, how Miguel got thrown out of the car and went sailing through the windshield because he hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt. How mom’s forehead was bleeding as she put her hand back and took mine and then how her eyes fluttered closed and wouldn’t open again, no matter how much I cried and begged. She was cold and stiff by the time the ambulance got to us. They tried to take me away from her body but I cried and wouldn’t let go. I held onto her hand for dear life, all the way to the hospital in the ambulance and wouldn’t let go until Grandma came and picked me up. Gran made me let go and promised everything was going to be alright and told me that we both had to be strong. Dad came and slept at Gran’s that night, which was probably weird for the both of them but it had helped me. Back then I only saw dad every second weekend but we were still pretty close.
The funeral for mom and Miguel was big, they had lots of friends come to pay their respect. I wore a little black dress Gran had bought me that day, I had never owned a black dress before and I never wanted one again. I said goodbye to mom for the last time and looked at her beautiful face, memorizing the details; her ivory skin, her blonde hair, the small freckles she had splattered across her face and rest of her body. Her eyes were closed but if they were open, they’d show her sky-blue eyes that were the bluest blue I had ever seen. I had always wished my eyes could be like hers, but she said mine were even more beautiful and special. I couldn’t and still can’t see why she thought that, my eyes were a weird multicolored brown with blue in the outer rim of the iris and also blue specks scattered throughout the brown, they were weird, most people thought so. But mom always told me that people were just jealous, that my eyes were truly unique, I still don’t believe her though. I put a red rose in her casket and said a few words to her just before they closed it, I would have done the same for Miguel who was always my dad to me,
