It’s been a week . . .

A week since I crashed my car. A week since I last sat with the girl. The girl who lost her Mom . . . Because of me.

I stare into the mirror, everything about me looks wrong. Everytime I see myself in the mirror I see a monster.

I staighten my tie on my neck, sighing as my eyes fall to the white granite counter.

“Dave!” my dad knocks on the bathroom door. “You ready?”

I take one last look at myself in the mirror before I open the door.

I slide out of the bathroom, Dad swings his arm around my shoulders. “It’ll all be fine.” He says.

I force a smile. “Yeah.” I mumble. “Maybe.”

I watch the trees and houses fly by out the car window as Dad drives down main street.

Oddly this is my first funeral. All of my grandparents are still walking around in the world. I always imagined that they would be my first funreal to go to. Not the funreal of a mother. Of a mother that I killed.

Dad stops the car, putting it into park.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” He asks, turning in his seat to look at me.

I nod, “No thanks.” I whisper. “I’m fine.”

Dad looks down at the straw wrappers that cover thr bottom of the car. “Okay.”

I unbuckle my seat belt, pushing open the car door.

I step out into the warmer summer morning. The rising sun shines in my eyes, I lift a hand shading my face.

“Call me,” Dad nods. “If you want to go home.”

I ignore him, not because I don’t like how much he cares. It’s because I don’t need special treatment. I don’t need hugs, and him telling me I can call him if I need my daddy.

I ruined that girls life. She doesn’t get any of that anymore. So why should I?

I walk past thousands of graves. As kid I always loved reading the names and finding someone who died a hundred years ago.

Now that just seems stupid.

The long, wet grass drips over my sneakers. I lift my head up, there’s a whole group of people.

Most are wearing black, some dark blue. There’s a open coffin, which seems to be the glue to everyone at the event.

A older woman notices me as I walk up. She smiles, dabbing her eyes with a white napkin.

I stop a few yards away from the rest of the group.

Sitting next to a huge oak tree is the girl. Even from here I can see her gashed cheek.

I hold back my tears as I look at what I’ve done.

Suddenly without thinking, start toward her.

She looks up, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Hey,” I lift my hand in a small wave.

She wipes her eyes with the side of her hand. “Hey.” Her voice trembles.

Her blonde hair is tied up into a neat pony tail. I put my hand into the pocket of my suit pants. “I’m really sorry.”

She looks up at me. “For what?” Her eyes shine with tears. “You didn’t do anything.”

I slowly drop down next to her. Letting my legs stretch out in front of me. Part of me is begging me to tell her. And the other part just wants me to pretend I’m a normal boy.

A boy who saw a girl in pain and decided to try to cheer her up.

“I still can’t beileve it.” She chokes out. “Just a week ago we were getting ready to go on a girls trip. And now . . .”

I gently touch her shoulder as she burries her head into her knees. “The world is weird that way.”

“Not weird,” she cries quietly. “Wrong . . . The world is wrong that way.”

Her blue eyes look so broken. So lost.

Without thinking I pull her close, embracing her tightly into a hug.

She burries her head into my shoulder, shaking as she cries.

For a small moment I feel okay. And then I remember it’s my fault.