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Nobody’s Home

So Troy Yang

    Jennifer was an old friend I met in Junior High. We sat together in the same school bus and sat together during lunch. She was kind of a loner, but it took her time to get out of her comfort zone. Basically, I was her first friend. At first, she was very extroverted, but she became more and more introverted with people around her. Everyone slowly started knowing her as someone who was very artistic. She loved drawing. She was a huge anime fan. Jennifer was also an academically dedicated individual. She took her academics serious while I spent my junior and high school years having too much fun with my group of friends. There was just something that no one knew about her outside of school.
    When we entered high school together, we stopped talking and hanging out. It just became distant or brief conversations. I still hung out with the same group of friends while she hung out with her friends. It was until Sophomore Year, Jennifer disappeared. One day, she wasn’t in school. One of her friends asked me where she was. I didn’t know where she was. Her friends knew that I was extremely close to her. Jennifer loved going to school. After that, she stopped showing up to school for a week.
    Her friends and I were getting worried about her, so we messaged her on Facebook, no answer. Nothing. Jennifer used to always message me just because I was one of the few friends she would bother. Two weeks later, we found out that she dropped out of school. Why, though?
    It surprised me that Jennifer, someone who was outgoing, artistic, and very social around others would drop out of high school. It wasn’t until we all found out that she’d quit school because she was a drug addict outside of school. Her friends were shocked as I was. We couldn’t believe it.
    I kept reaching out to her for weeks and weeks with messages, but no answer. I was worried about her, so I ended up going to her house since her stop was always before mine. I knocked on the door, and her sister answered. “Where’s Jennifer?” I asked. She then sighed, “She’s no longer in this household,” her sister informed me with a disappointed look. I then assumed that she moved somewhere or just left unexpectedly.
    Two years later, I noticed a familiar face out in the streets. My friends noticed her first and told me, “Dude, is that Jennifer?” I took a glace at her from across the street, and she was laying on the sidewalk with a blanket. Her clothes wrinkled, and her shoes beaten up. She did become homeless. I couldn’t look at Jennifer’s face or bother her. She had a syringe by her. For someone to have found happiness in school and with friends become someone like this. It was a hard sight to see. From someone I have known laying out in the streets like that, she really needed help.
    A week later, my friends met up with Jennifer’s friends about what we saw. It started off awkward because they were from my group. I decided that I should at least say something. “So, ummm. Remember Jennifer? I saw her over the weekend,” I said trying to break the ice or something. “Oh, Jennifer? I have not heard her name in a minute! How is she doing?” one of her friends asked. “Ummmmmm, yeah. I saw her out in the streets while the guys and I were walking from the store,” I replied. They looked at me confused. “That’s good to hear! Did you catch up with her or anything?” they asked. I sighed in disbelief. “I didn’t. She was laying down cold with a needle or something. She didn’t look okay,” I replied still in disbelief.
    After that brief conversation, I ended up running to her parent’s house again for the first time in a while. I knocked on the door, and I was assuming it was her mother who answered. “Hello, can I help you?” she asked. I took a deep breath. “Is this Jennifer’s house, and are you her mother? I’m an old friend of hers from Junior High.” I asked. I didn’t even think about what I said. It felt like I just followed my own gut into something that could get me in trouble or under a lot of heat. She brought me into the household and asked me to have a seat in the living room.
    “Jennifer left without a word. She seemed like her mind wasn’t in the right place. I tried helping her years ago, but she refused to. When she was living with me, she spent her days locked in her room. It worried me. When she was in school, I used to go inside of her bedroom just to find syringe needles. I didn’t know she did drugs to help ease her pain or anything, and I still don’t know where she got them from,” her mother explained. “Was there a reason why she had a weird behavior around you?” I asked. “I think it’s because of her father. We filed for divorce after she finished Junior High. He was just very demanding of her. He made her look vulnerable because she had no other interest in anything he wanted her to do. She used to cry a lot. I couldn’t do anything about it, but watch because I feared standing up for her,” she said, teary-eyed.
    I was left speechless. I couldn’t say anything at all. I was contemplating the things I should have done. I wished I should’ve kept her in check. I really did wish a lot of other things. My mind was left with so many doubts. If only I was there for her.... if only...

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