Three Days Take a Lifetime

My journalism teacher told us we needed to write a quick first person story on one of your most memorable school memories, whether good or bad. I immediately thought of a single story, one that was regrettably not a happy tale at all. This is a ture story, one which I have changed his name, which stuck with me, and truly showed me the full length of three long days.


Three Days Take A Lifetime
By: Megan Young

I looked down at my phone with excitement, seeing the screen light up filled me with childish happiness. I tried to dodge all the kids bolting through the hallways to get to homeroom class, which was difficult when my nose was pressed against a phone. Jayson was on the other side of the conversation, saying he missed his long lost sister and wished I would move back home. Of course I couldn't, that wasn't my choice. If I had my choice, I would have gone back to Texas and embrace my friends with death gripped hugs. I missed them with all my heart and hoped someday we would be reunited. Texting back I spoke my true feelings, that I loved him and wished I could run all the way back on foot and change things back to the way they were before the move.

Arriving at my class, I took my seat and got ready for another homeroom filled with wasted time. We never did anything in homeroom; this may be because it wasn't actually a real class. All we would do was sit in our desks, and talk to our friends. I sat with false hope that someone, anyone, would talk to me. No such luck.

I pulled out my phone just as Mr. Gilbert walked in and lazily sauntered to his desk, trying not to acknowledge any of us. Mr. Gilbert was a short man with dark hair and a scruffy beard that didn’t look like it was intentional. In one hand he held a steaming cup of coffee and in the other papers that he would soon lay on his desk and pretend they don’t exist. Eventually he sat down in his chair and placed the papers in a random pile. Score one for Megan, I called it.

I turned my attention back to the text and opened the message, happy someone was talking to me today. That’s when things got weird, brace yourself, it gets upsetting. The message that struck fear into me was simple, just a question, but it was one I hoped never to be asked. “What do you think it’s like to die?” Okay, maybe it doesn’t seem so bad to you, but this is my best friend we are talking about here, one that I could not comfort on a daily basis, one I only see once every two years, if that. So it was pretty worrisome to me.

Of course I replied, hopefully with some sanity, saying I didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. This resulted in him asking even stranger questions, including how I would commit suicide, and why. I did not answer those, but instead asked him if he was okay, and if I should worry about him. I looked up at the clock that was hanging on the wall by the door, quickly figuring out I still had 45 minutes left in homeroom. My anxiety peeked when his quick reply was received; “I’m fine” was all he said, so short, not enough reassurance. Thinking back on it now, I bet my millions of texts after that annoyed him to no end, but I couldn’t leave it like that.

Three days passed by without any sort of word from him, not a text, not a call, nothing. Have you ever gone three days thinking your best friend was dead? It’s the worst feeling in the world trust me. I had no way to get a hold of him, and all the means to. At lunch on the third day, I finally got a message sent from his phone. My hands shook, hoping, praying that it would be him and not someone else.

We have already decided the worst feeling in the world, now do you know the best? When you find out you were wrong. Silly, I know, but sometimes being wrong is what you hope for. Jayson was fine; he explained to me he was writing an essay for school that required another’s opinion on suicide, and when he got home, his mother took his phone, the result of a bad grade. Although he was sincere with his apologies, the memory never fades, the panic never subsides, and I never appreciated my friend more.