I used to play bananagrams or B.S. with Marlo everyday after school. After hopping off bus five-zero-two, after we’d wave and fake smile at Brandy and Emma and Nora. After we’d genuinely smile at Mrs. Jamie, our bus driver that would give us pretzels or goldfish after school, since lunch was in the morning.

We would walk down the gravel road to my house, kick rocks and talk about the family of ducks that lived under the school playground each spring. At the time we thought they were the same ducks, but, later we realized ducklings don’t stay ducklings forever. Maybe they came back to raise their kids where their mother raised them. I guess you can’t forget somewhere that kept you safe for so long.

We would never go to Marlo’s because she had four siblings and only two bedrooms. Marlo told me her time with me was her escape. My house had a sunroom where the afternoon light would shine on your back, and made you feel all warm and rosy inside.

Then we’d sit on the shag rug and play games, eat cheerios out of the box, and have coke or water, depending on if my mother was on a diet or not. I would put my mom’s Madonna CD’s on as we played.

Marlo’s parents forbid her from listening to Madonna, said she was too “overtly sexual” and would “poison our minds”. But what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Especially if it was the queen of pop.

“Hey, Ana,” she asked one day, “Why are we friends?”

Honestly, I didn’t know why.

She liked cats, I liked dogs. I liked the piano, she liked lacrosse.

I told her the universe is complicated, and she made me laugh. She smiled and nodded, and we kept walking.

My mom would tell me that. That the universe is complicated. She said, that just like a magician, the universe doesn’t reveal its secrets. You just have to have faith in the trick.

I always remembered that, still do. I still believe the universe willed Marlo and I to be friends that played board games and eat waffles, and it happened.

When we grew older, instead of talking about ducks and if we’d rather be a mermaid or a fairy, we would talk about boys. I was the love struck one; Marlo claimed we were both too high class for all the “rats” at our school. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t infatuated with the idea of love, just not with guys surrounding her.

That’s when my mom decided to show us her collection of John Hughes teen love stories.

“Don’t tell your parents, Marlo. You’ll be banned from my house until you’re 60.”

“I would never!”

Marlo, my mom, and me snuggled into the couch, drank hot tea, and swooned over Jake Ryan.

Strangely, the movies made me want to cry. Ball my eyes out. They weren’t even sad.

“What’s wrong, Ana? Is Jake too gorgeous?” Marlo noticed my complexed expression.

I actually was overwhelmingly upset because of the setting, or the characters, or anything. I couldn’t name the feeling if I tried.

“Yes, Marlo, I just can’t handle it.”

“Same. Totally same.”

Still, that was my best day.

We hopped off bus five-zero-two and fake smiled at Brandy and Emma and Nora. Said bye to Mrs. Jamie. We walked right down the gravel road, as always.

“Let’s run away.” Marlo said to me.

“Why?”

“My parents are going to send me to catholic school.”

“Well, I guess my mom will be fine with it.”

“Cool. Let’s go to Chicago, like Ferris Bueller.”

“Serious?”

“Serious.”

“Y’know if you do this you’re definitely going to catholic school, right?”

“I know.”

“So when are we leaving?”

“Tonight?”

“Ok, tonight.”

But, I never got to see Chicago.

Chelsey Brown got off her shift at target. She was only working there to get cash to rent an RV and drive across the country to surprise her long distance boyfriend. Who, coincidentally just broke up with her over text.

Her fingers moved constantly on her phone screen, and so did her eyes. Her hands weren’t exactly paying attention to her steering wheel. Nor were her eyes to the road.

Her tires rolled over the gravel road.

She turned a corner.

And, then, she hit a very big rock.

Or so she thought.

First, I tasted blood in my mouth. Second, I heard a scream. Third, I felt nothing at all.

I was confused at first.

I saw Marlo crying, but I was above her.

But, that wasn’t right either, because I was walking right next to her.

There was blood. My blood. But I didn’t feel it. I wasn’t in pain.

Marlo was on the side of the road. Her hands and knees were skinned and scraped.

“Hey, are you ok? Should I call my mom?” I asked.

She didn’t look at me. She was screaming, still.

“I’m ok, what’s wrong, Marlo? What’s up?”

Still no response.

But I saw what she was crying over.

It was a body.

It was my body.

Then, it dawned on me.

I was frickin’ dead.

Dead before I got to Chicago.

Dead before I had my first kiss.

Dead before I got to say goodbye to my mom.

I watched as I was covered with a tarp. Not even taken away, because it was a crime scene, a hit-and-run.

I sobbed. I actually don’t know if I did, because I’m not sure if ghosts can sob.

That was my worst day.

I saw Marlo grow up. Move past me. I wasn’t mad. It was only fair.

Marlo went to the catholic school. But, only for a year. She took a bus to Chicago the summer after I died, just as we’d planned. She really did love the city.

Marlo met a boy. He was almost as dreamy as Jake Ryan, but not quite. He loved her, though.

She’s an editor at a magazine, a really good one. And she met Madonna!

Marlo doesn’t talk to her parents anymore.

But, I wish I could talk to my parent.

Mom still lives in the same house. She hasn’t moved past me. She hasn’t even tried. It’s sad, but I don’t think she ever will.

But, I spend most of my time in the sunroom. I understand the ducks now. This sunroom is my safe place. I couldn’t leave even if I tried.