I didn’t push her. She slipped. She slipped. The rocks were slippery and she was standing too close to the edge and she slipped. I didn’t push her. Yes, I was mad, but I didn’t push her. Yes, my vision went red, but I didn’t push her. Yes, her hand is forever frozen in a position of reaching out to grab at me, but I didn’t push her. Yes, I have the nagging memory of the feeling of her t-shirt beneath my palms, but I didn’t push her. Why would I have pushed her? It doesn’t even make any sense. Because she lied to me? Because she betrayed my trust? Because the thought of her face when she confessed makes my vision blur and my hands shake from anger? I didn’t push her. She shouldn’t have been standing so close to the edge. She shouldn’t have worn those shoes with no grip. She shouldn’t have lied to me. I didn’t push her. I feel sad when I see her body at the bottom of the cliff. I don’t feel proud. I don’t feel satisfied. I feel sad. I didn’t push her. My hands are shaking out of fear- out of shock. Not thrill. Sweat drips down my back because I just witnessed the accidental death of a close friend. Not because I’m imagining the sounds of sirens getting closer and closer and locking me up the second I’m within view. My voice trembles as I call the police because I’m traumatized. Not because I’m guilty. I didn’t push her. She slipped. I didn’t push her. I don’t know how it happened, Officer, she just slipped. One minute she was here and the next… gone. It’s so windy up here. She just slipped. Her feet slipped off the edge. My hands slipped against her shoulders. I didn’t push her. I didn’t push her, Officer. She slipped, Officer. You have to believe me, Officer. I don’t need to calm down, Officer. Officer, I didn’t push her. Your Honor, I didn’t push her. Mom, I didn’t push her. I didn’t push her. She slipped. I slipped. She lied. She fell. I didn’t push her.