The Truth

Prologue

No one knows everything about me.  People think they do, but no one does. I have one secret that I have been keeping from everyone, for the past year. Now, I am faced with this situation, one where I will have to tell.  I swore that I would never speak of the day again, but today is the day. My secret will be out, and everyone will know.  I don’t know how it will affect my life, I might not have any one who cares about me anymore, but I need to come clean. I need to confess.

“Amanda, what happened to Jennifer?”  Jennifer’s mom, Sherry, said while pausing to try to calm down.

            “I don’t know,” I said, staring at one spot in floor.

            “…what happened? Tell us now,” my mother said, looking around the whole room.

            “It was December; December 22^nd, just three days before Christmas. We were walking home from school. She told me that she wanted to show me something. I asked her what she wanted, not sure what to expect. She told me to follow her, and not to worry about anything. It was about a mile away, I was wondering if we would ever get there,” I said, chuckling, from memories.

            “Then what?” a police officer said, writing down notes to everything I said.  

            “We got there. It was an old, empty farmhouse.  I was confused why we were there, confused why she knew what this was.  It was cold, and covered in snow. Jenny told me that there was nothing to be scared about, as she opened the doors.  I couldn’t believe what I saw.  There were books, tons of them. I would say close to 500. I asked why she had so many books, and she assured me it was because she liked to read. I walked closer to them, reaching my hand out to grab one, when she stopped me. I just wanted to look at one of the books, but it all makes sense now. She wouldn’t let me look at them. She told me she needed to be home, and took my hand and ran out of the building,” I paused, looking out the window, watching the snow fall.

            “This doesn’t explain how my Jennifer is missing,” her dad said, crying.

            “Just listen to her,” her mother said, trying to calm the room.

            “Jenny, she wasn’t honest with all of you.  She had done things in her past that she wasn’t proud of, it started when she was six. She tells…told…me that at the age of six, she ran away from home.  She was gone for two hours, and no one noticed.  I kept trying to tell her that you guys probably were frantically searching for her, but she always doubted me. Then, at age eight, she started lying to you guys.  She would always go out with friends, friends like me. We would play this stupid game. Whoever’s house we were out, we would steal their cigarettes, and see who could smoke the most. At eight.  Then, when she was ten, she became depressed.   She injured herself…a lot. I think it was a year, yeah a year.  She wore a long sleeve shirt every day, and wouldn’t stop crying.”

            “Not my baby,” her father said, crying miserably.

            “On her 12^th birthday, I asked her if she was okay, if she needed help.  She said she didn’t, because everything was getting better.  Her life started to change around.  She joined more clubs, got some help, and was on top of the world. As for what I thought, she was the happiest person in the world.” I said, losing it, bawling.

            “Can you just get to what happened to her? Please,” her mother said.

            “We were running.  Sprinting back home, because she had to get to soccer, or what I thought was soccer.  She took me a way I had never been before.  She was laughing the whole way there, telling me how much she loved having me as her best friend, how much she loved having me there for her.  I was confused; I didn’t know what was going on.  Then we got to the train tracks. I could hear an engine roaring, and told her that we were going to have to wait for the train to pass. She had told me that she knew the train was there, she knew it was coming,” I said, laying my face in my lap, crying out to anyone who would listen.

            “It’s okay,” my mom said, rubbing my back.

            “She walked over to the tracks, and sat down. The last thing I remember seeing was two bright lights, and my fried disappear. But, when she was sitting down, she opened her mouth, and shouted “I’m free”, for the whole world to hear. She was gone,” I said to everyone in the room.  The room filled with only the subtle sound of tears, but no words.

            “The books, they were all of her journals.  Ones from the age six and up.  There was train schedules, with different ones circled, there were different books on suicide.  Different things she had written. I sat there, all night, reading them.  Crying, because my best friend was gone. Crying because I didn’t know what to do, crying because that was all I could do,” I paused, “but one thing stuck out to me, a letter, addressed to me. It was about how she was sorry, and how I couldn’t let anyone know what happened to her, so I didn’t tell anyone. But today, it’s been a year, and I just needed to confess, I am so sorry, I really am,” I said, crying uncontrollably, because I had just let my friend down.