Honey Fields 2

I should have caught on but I didn't.

It's not blatantly obvious like in the movies; you don't find them
shaking and psychotic with bottles of sleeping pills in their
bags.

Unless they wear a T-shirt with 'I want to die' on, it's very hard to
catch on.

But I should have known. I knew her best, and yet she fooled me.

This wasn't like tenth grade when she showed up at school, flaunting
her lacerated wrists like some prize she'd just won.

This time was different.

There was no trigger, the break up had been
more than six months ago, and she'd moved on.

She had her own friends, not that many, but she looked happy.

She was always busy. Always running, arms piled high with books and
paper, I barely had time to talk to her, before she rushed past
me.

She liked being busy, I knew that. But I wondered what she was keeping
herself busy from.

When she came over, and we watched MTV, she kept trying to talk about
something but it never came out. I didn't push her, and I guess I
should have, but how could I know?

She always left early, and we never did talk.
Only yesterday.

When she put down her cup and wiped the lipstick off the rim, she said
it and my heart turned cold.

"Je ne suis pas contente", she said.

I am not happy.

And yet I blamed it on PMS.

She was generous, with her own special charm and a heart that could
carry countries.

And yet, lately she'd become snappy, distant. As if she was building up
walls to hit her head against.
She spent less time with us, less time with herself, more time
running.

Hid her eyes behind dark and hostile glasses, wrapped her little throat
up in a scarf, breathing in warmth to reactivate her lungs.

She had no other choice but to keep busy.

And I couldn't get in.

She stopped keeping a diary, so I never came
out.

She stopped looking in the mirror so that she
never saw me.

And when she made me listen to 'That I
Would Be Good' for the first time since tenth grade, I should have
known then.

But somehow, of all people, I was the last to know, and there were no
good-byes, no notes, as she slowly sank to the floor, gripping the
tiles like a spider in his web, she pulled me down with her, and the
last thing I saw before I sank into her arms was my reflection.

I saw her eyes, they told me

No Pain.

And there was none.

I just wish I had known.