First Encounter

The first death a child has to deal with can be confusing and terrifying. Every moment that follows will be forever altered.

Malebeka was her real name, but all of the kids called her Sonu. She lived across the street from me. She was a sweet person with a bright smile. She still had some of her baby fat. Sometimes she really got on my nerves.

Sonu about a year younger than me, but we were in that phase of life where all of the kids on the block would play together. When it snowed we alternated houses to pile into for hot chocolate. We'd happily gulp and chat while we waited for our snowsuits to come out of the dryer.

I remember one time it snowed and then rained so that a layre of ice formed. Our neighborhood turned into a giant ice-skating rink. We spent hours skating, falling and laughing. I can't remember if that was before or after Sonu died.

Sonu went to a private school so she rode home on a different bus. She was the only kid at her stop and she had to cross the street to get to her house. One day she was hit by a van. I remember hearing how she was propelled across the street from the strength of the impact. The man driving the van didn't stop for the school bus. He didn't even slow down. He was in one of those work vans that had the bumper sticker that said, "How's my driving?" and provided a phone number.

I was furious. I wanted to call that number. Sonu was being flown to the hospital in a helicopter. She was in critical condition.

I didn't know what to do that night. She had to live. Kids my age just didn't die so suddenly. I supposed I should just go to bed.

My mom woke me up. I have no idea what time it was. She told me that Sonu had died. I still didn't know what to do. How was I supposed to feel? Nothing seemed different. I figured that my world would turn up-side-down when I heard news like that. Nothing. I was just shocked.

Stunned silence eventually turned into tears. It was never the way they portray it in the movies...at least not for me. I didn't beat my fists on the floor and scream to the heavens. I just cried. Quietly. I felt bad. I didn't like Sonu all of the time. Was I allowed to be upset that she had died? I felt sad and I felt guilty.

The next day at school, the guidance counselor took my group of friends into her office to help us handle the grief. I felt guilty for getting out of class when she wasn't even my best friend. I was so upset though. What was going on? What was the right way to feel? How could I have ever thought anything bad about a girl who was dead?

We went to her wake. I went up to see the body. A lot of people were there and some were touching her. I wanted to touch her hand. It felt like a hand. She looked like Sonu. I found it hard to cry. Her parents were so nice. Why were they standing there talking with people? Shouldn't they be screaming and crying? They were crying, but it was so polite. Again, my image of the movies was shattered. They weren't hysterical. Such kind people they were to hold it together like that. How could I be more upset than they seemed? I wasn't. Not right then.

A few months later the neighborhood got together to plant a memorial garden. Her parents and baby sister moved away. I guessed that the memory was too hard for them. Maybe it was something else. I'll never forget it. And I'll never forget that damn bumper sticker.