For Adia

At the age of fifty, Susan Langley finally confronts what has been haunting her for thirty-five years. (This is fiction and not based on or inspired by true events)

When I say I didn't remember much from my school days, I am lying. I remember it well. I went to an all-girls school. My form class at comprehensive school was, to me, much like my pencil case. The case itself was my form room (it was old, off-white and a little bit dirty). My multi-coloured glitter pen was Eleanor, the only one of us who was willing to openly admit she still liked multi-coloured glitter pens.  The pencil I had sharpened down to a stub was Jemima, who was the shortest in the class. The pencil I had broken in half but still kept was Tracey, who had fallen out of a tree once and broken her leg. As for me, I was the thick white oil crayon which I kept trying to use, but it would just smudge and make a mess. We were very much alike, myself and that crayon. I was a chubby, pale, clumsy little thing who never meant to cause trouble but always did. My favourite pen, though, was the expensive black calligraphy pen my mother bought me for my birthday one year. I adored it because it made even my sloppy handwriting look lovely.  

The calligraphy pen represented Adia, the polar opposite of me in every way. She was thin and angular, beautifully built. Her skin was literally black (usually the word 'black' used to describe a person means brown, but her skin was the same colour as a cloud in the middle of the night) and her eyes were so dark you couldn't see her pupils. Her hair was thick and curly, and she always said she wanted rid of it because it was difficult to control. She never did cut it off though. 

Adia was the kind who was friends with everyone and yet no-one. I would pretend not to notice the loneliness she felt when people would group up and leave her. I knew what loneliness looked like; I wish I'd befriended her. I was never sure of myself though and strongly believed that Susan Langley wasn't worthy of her friendship. How stupid.

I'm quite sure I was the only one in class who noticed the changes Adia went through as we grew older. She began to wear jumpers even in the summer. She was absent at least one day a month. She was often late for school. I seldom saw her eat. While she still smiled and laughed, her eyes didn't.  I never said anything about it; I was far too shy. Plus, I felt that Adia didn't want me to say anything. It was like she was silently urging me, that she knew. That was probably my imagination however, I doubt she was a telepath. She wasn't happy, but she marched on. Always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. Until the day she didn't.

April 29th 1979, it was. Thirty five years ago today. The day Adia snapped. The day when everything and everyone  was too much to cope with. When she collapsed under the pressure of existing. I don't even remember what started it. What I do remember is Adia at the end of all hope. She was screaming, and crying. I remember the wet tears shining on her matte cheeks. Adia curled up in the corner, in despair. She went home at the end of that Friday, and that was the last time any of us ever saw her.

We didn't hear about it until the following Monday. Adia wasn't at her desk. We shared theories as to where she could be. Maybe she'd made herself ill. Maybe she had moved school. Maybe she was just avoiding school for now. One girl, I don't recall her name, even called poor Adia a 'b***h' for behaving the way she did. That girl was the first to cry.

Adia had gone home that Friday night and hung herself. 

The entire class went to the funeral. Our clothes were the same colour as her skin had been. Her parents constantly looked at the floor. I had brought my calligraphy pen and considered setting it down on her grave but decided against it. No-one, not even Adia herself, would have understood why I put it there, so I kept it. I decided not to use it until I wrote about Adia, if that ever happened. So here we are.  I suppose this may count as some sort of eulogy for her that I'm writing. I feel terrible for waiting thirty five years to do so, but at first it was too difficult and it only became worse as time went on. She would have been fifty now, the same age as me. I do hope Adia rests in peace. she deserves that much, at least.

Susan Langley, April 29th 2014 

For Adia

1963-1979

Reviews

[AUU]

I really like the comparison to the pencil case and the classroom. I will say i was lost with the whole "form room" thing at first because...I never heard the term before (different country ;))

It's a little hard to read without paragraph indentations.

[spenderlou]

That was beautiful. I wish I could actually help you with some constructive criticism, but you're the far better author than I am. I hope you post many more stories, you will do great.