Nobody really knew

the girl in the casket.

Including me.

Caroline, was her name?

Or was it Cassidy?

Does it even matter now?

She’s dead.

I remember,

she sat a few seats behind me

in Algebra.

The teacher never called on her,

and she never raised her hand.

The day after she died,

I remember our teacher asking if we wanted to say a few words about her.

We all looked around at each other,

silently praying that someone would stand up.

Murmurs describing her danced across the room, but quickly died out.

And our teacher continued the lesson.

I don’t know why she even stopped in the first place.

Her parents are sobbing in each others arms a few feet away from me.

I want to tell them that their daughter was loved,

but I can’t even remember her name.

As the priest finished his words,

he looked around the small crowd,

asking us for a few words,

no one stepped forward.

And just like in Algebra,

everyone looked around,

murmuring to each other

small, insignificant compliments,

but soon enough,

final whispers faded away without care.