I walked past a dead girl today. That sounds melodramatic and fucked up and I wish that's all it was.
She was on Adelaide Street, outside the 7/11. I saw the people around her first and then the cop. My eyes followed the officers arm down to where their hand met with the girls wrist. Her face was a pale yellow and her eyes, still open, were frozen and pointed straight through me. I wish I looked away.
I couldn't. I wanted to stare until I caught her chest move or her eyes water.
I've seen dead people before. Two. They had that same emptiness in their eyes. As if their insides had turned to stone.
I had been on my way to Target to look for a costume for my birthday party this weekend. I ended up power walking up and down Queen Street Mall, my chest pounding. Feeling immense guilt over the existence of my breathes, which had become painful and shallow. She was my age.
I can picture her face so clearly. Her eyes. Her glass eyes. Every asian girl with long black hair that I passed made my heart leap. I was desperate for one of them to be her. Maybe she just tripped over and I had misread the situation entirely.
I decided I had to check. I had to know for sure that I hadn't made this up. Turning back onto Adelaide I saw the ambulance. Good! Good. I told myself that was a good sign.
I wished I believed that.
The paramedics had some red cords hooked up to the girls chest and they were working slowly. That's when I knew I had been right. There was no rush.
I so badly felt responsible for this girl. She was alone. I wanted to be her friend, and to go with her to the hospital. Stay by her bed until she woke up.
I noticed a boy, a man I guess, my age. I swear he was doing the same as me. I watched him power walk past the girl and quickly steal a nosy glance. He stopped at the corner and timidly wandered back towards her body. I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted him to put his arms around me and let me cry. I wanted to be squeezed.
