Danny was my neighbor. He was tall high school boy, with blue eyes and brown fluffy hair. He was my best friend.

I first met Danny when we moved into our new house. He and his mom offered to help us unload boxes from the big moving truck. I had been scared to move into the big new house, but when everyone was inside, it didn’t seem so big anymore.

Everyday when I would play basketball outside, Danny would arrive home in his car. One day he stopped to help me get my ball out of the street. I thanked him, and he asked if he could join my game. That became our tradition. He would play with me when he got home, and then he’d go inside to do his homework.

I was the only girl on the Parks and Rec third grade team. The other boys thought I was weird and called me a freak when I first joined. It used to bother me, but Danny changed that. He was older, taller, and a boy. Yet, I could always beat him in our basketball games. This made me fearless. It didn’t matter what the boys said, because I knew I was strong and tough.

One day, Danny didn’t come over to play. He parked his car and went straight inside. I was upset, so I went inside and tried to forget about it. I fell asleep in my room and woke up to chaos. There was a siren and saw flashing red lights. I peeked out my window and saw an ambulance and police officers.

I ran downstairs and saw my mom crying on the phone. I hid on the stairs and tried to listen.

“Oh my god, it was awful” she said with a heavy sigh, “The neighbor’s kid committed suicide. I can’t believe he’s gone, he was only 17”.

Gone? What does that mean? He can’t be gone if I saw him today. Where did he go?

I didn’t want to make Mom more upset, so I went back upstairs and tried to go back to sleep. That night I dreamed about playing basketball with Danny the next day, hoping he would want to.

I didn’t know that I would never see him again. Still to this day, I don’t know why he did what he did. Danny was a brother to me. No matter how old I get, I can never fathom how someone can just not be there anymore. Although my childish innocence is lost now, the heroic memories of Danny will always stay with me.

My heart is racing and it feels like my head could explode. It couldn’t have been me, I couldn’t do something like this. The knife in my hand is feeling heavier and heavier. I drop it and it clangs on the floor.

I know what kind of person I am. My parents had always called me their golden child. I went to cotillion and private school. My college plans were always ambitious, but instead I married someone obscenely wealthy the summer after my Freshman year. I went from future lawyer to perfect wife fit for his perfect house. But I did my duty faithfully and even bore a child with him. This disaster was merely an accident, because this was not me.

I mean how could it be? I “loved” my husband. Everyday I cared for the baby, cleaned the house, cooked meals, and made sure everything was tidy before he got home. For I knew how upset he would get if something was out of place. What else is love? I knew him so well: how to avoid his screaming, how I should stay in the kitchen until he went into the living room and then only come out if I had another beer for him. That was love. I was faithful and I was a good wife.

So I may have felt anger inside, rage in fact. Nearly every day, wanting to destroy this house, the perfect meals, the perfect nursery, and sometimes even the perfect husband. But those were just thoughts, I would never show it. That would be improper. Just because I felt that didn’t mean I was a monster. I’m not a monster! It couldn’t have been me.

So let’s review this case. How did I get here? I had gone out for a grocery run- the sprouts I bought before were too mushy- and I came home just a little after my husband had arrived home from the firm. I went to the kitchen to cook the new sprouts and my darling had gone upstairs for a shave. He had a tough day at the firm. As I was cooking this delicious dinner I heard a scream from the upstairs bathroom. I called up and didn’t get a response, but my timer went off! As I was pulling the roast out of the oven, I heard another scream. I ran to the top of the stairs, into to the bathroom, and oh... it was unbearable.

That’s it! That’s my story! I should really cut myself some slack. How silly of me to think that I was capable of something so heinous.

I got up, and kicked the knife a little closer to his body.

“Oh Harold, how could you have done such a silly thing?”

The cops were on their way now. I walked towards the mirror to reapply some lipstick. In my mind I repeated the story, replaying every detail like a movie. And every replay with such a tragically good ending.

I want you to hear me For my voice to roar over the crowd I want you to see me To be more than just an epiphany

I’m not the darling pearl you dream of I’m too restless for the clams you confine me to For I am made for more than love But not strong enough to keep some

I dream of reaping the crops I sew Of being strong enough to carry my plough But you brand me with a diamond and bow Confining me to only a party gown

I want you to take me And all of my thoughts and passions But I am just a Woman I am not fit for those fashions.

We feel as though we could fall into a pit of despair. We feel our world is collapsing and danger is at every corner. Fear can be consuming, and stop us from getting out and exploring. There is so much world out there, and we can miss it just because we are afraid.

To live without a purpose and miss the biggest adventures of life is my biggest fear. That is my bottomless pit of despair. Despite all of the fears I have, I must go out there and see the world. I want to see the beautiful places and hear the stories of happy and wise people. But I also want to hear the stories of broken people, and travel to deadly places. Who am I to go through this world with a filter over my eyes? Without growing or learning, I am not living. If I don’t at least trying to learn all I can, I might as well fall into my own pit of despair.