text: Life is funny in the moments that it doesn’t hurt. It has that sense of humor that isn’t supposed to be funny, but somehow it is, and you laugh. It was her birthday. All day she had been calling me with plans, but I just wasn’t in the mood to party. I would celebrate with her tomorrow, but I still listened to her voicemail. “Let’s drink.” Is all I could make of it. Well, all I decided to make of it. I rolled over and looked at my book shelf. I needed a new book to get lost in. I wonder if she would read with me. I had fallen asleep before I could think of an answer or pick a book. By the time I had woken up, it was dark outside. Although it was that time of year where it got dark at around 5 p.m. and your body reacted to it by being tired all the time, my clock read 9:15 p.m. Below the time on my phone was a notification of a missed call and a voicemail. She had decided to go out without me. I was okay with it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to celebrate her birthday with her. That day I just didn’t want to be anywhere but by myself. I had pushed all the errands I had to run off, making the next day the only day I had to get them done. I just wanted to relax. I decided to walk to the store for some snacks, given that I had put off grocery shopping, I had no good fattening foods. This was a walk that she usually accompanied me on. I usually never walked by myself at night, but the store was so close I was sure I would be okay. However, as soon as I hit the street my anxiety decided to kick in. When I got closer to the gas station, police cars were lining the street. Something happened, and I wanted to get home before getting asked questions that I didn’t know the answers to. Just as I started to pick up my pace, she called again. “You know I never got to tell you how much of a good friend you are,” she began. A greeting I had never heard before. She continued before I could ask if she was alright. “it’s like sometimes we forget that the greatest things are in people, and before you know it, we’ve forgotten to tell them just how much great shit they added to us.” I was focused on a man walking a black dog as I listened to her words. She was most likely drunk. “You must be walking to the store,” she said. I assumed that she heard the wind or something in my background. “You getting candy?” she asked. “Uhm, yeah,” my eyes shifted to a street light as I avoided the police cars across the street. I was still thinking about her greeting. “Where are you? Are you okay?” Even drunken her had never told me those things. We were alike in that sense. We could read each other’s eyes, making words unnecessary in most instances. Our strong-point usually included us saying everything by saying nothing at all. “I’m okay.” Was the last thing I heard her say before the line faded out. I hung up and imagined how she would recap her night to me tomorrow. I made it into the store and retreated straight to the candy and snack aisle. I would change these habits one day. I picked my poison and placed it onto the counter. 3 Milky Ways. I asked the cashier to hold on before I ran over to the “Slim Jim’s”. I decided against it. When I returned to the counter the cashier handed the candy over to me. “That guy paid for you.” She said. She then began attending to the next customer, barely allowing me enough time to move out of the way. I turned around to thank the good Samaritan. He was cute, and looked to be no more than 20 years old. I gave my thanks to him and walked out of the store. I wish I would have said more. I adjusted my coat while wondering why he paid for my things. My phone ringing interrupted my thoughts as I unwrapped one of my candy bars. It was my dad. I clicked the green button before putting the phone to my ear. “What you doing?” another weird greeting. The phone line faded out again before I could process my confusion. I decided to call him back later, along with Sprint to discuss their sucky coverage. \*\*\*\*\*\*\* The next morning, I woke up expecting a conversation to take place about how her birthday went. It didn’t happen. Instead, everywhere I went, people kept handing me flowers that had magenta ribbons tied to the stems. But it wasn’t the odd gesture that concerned me, it was the sorrowful looks on their faces. People I had never seen before had somehow seen me, and for some reason, they were sad for me. I could feel it. At this point, I called her. I was wondering if people were handing her small bouquets as well. The phone rang until it got to the point where everyone knows to hang up. I decided to walk back to the store that I went to last night. Maybe we would bump into each other. As soon as I got to the curb, two women greeted me. They both handed me flowers wrapped in a magenta ribbon. But this time, one of them spoke to me. “Sorry about your friend.” She then dropped her head and walked away. “Hey! What the fuck does this mean?” I called after them, raising the flowers into the air to seal my question. They kept walking. I turned on my heels to cross the parking lot. It was then that I seen the boy again. This time he was on the ground, being cradled in the arms of a much older woman. I suspected that it was his mother. The scene made me uncomfortable, like it was supposed to take place in their home, behind closed doors. Not in the middle of a gas station parking lot, with people surrounding them. My feet walked toward the woman as my mind protested it. The boy laid lifeless, obviously dead. My mind went back to how he paid for my candy. A man walked up, and laid flowers wrapped in a magenta ribbon at her feet before walking away. I seemed to be the only one close enough to actually talk to her. “What happened?” I managed to ask. “Magenta days.” Was all she could muster up to say through her tears. I got up quickly and went inside of the store, trying to escape the chaos from outside. The same cashier from the night before was working again. She didn’t seem to notice the commotion going on just outside of the store’s doors. I walked up to her in a panic. “What happened here?” I asked, desperately searching her blank face for answers. “A boy committed suicide. He stayed out there all night before somebody discovered him inside of his car. I suppose his mother got here before the police did,” she said through pops of gum while peering out of the window from the register. “I’m stayin’ out of it.” I looked at her and was offended by her mannerisms and comments. It may have stemmed from the boy’s kind act from the night before. She noticed me staring at her and looked down at the flowers that I still had gripped in my hand. Her expression changed. “Sorry about your friend.” She said while nodding at the flowers. “He’s not my friend. I didn’t even know him.” I responded through a sigh. My eyes were closed and I was massaging my temples. “Not him, the girl. The one I always see you with.” She said matter-factly. I’m surprised she didn’t add a “duh” to her statement. “What are you talking about? And what is with everybody and these damn flowers?” I began to get angry because I was still processing the stranger’s death. “Your friend was murdered last night,” her face told me that she was surprised that I didn’t know. “Right outside of here.” She said while pointing to the parking lot. I recalled the police cars from last night silently in my head. My heart began to beat faster, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of the flowers in my hand. “Wh- what time did this happen?” I stuttered, still staring at the flowers. I still don’t know if I believed her when she said it. “Around 9. About thirty minutes before you came last night.” Her voice was quieter now and I could tell that she regretted talking, not prepared to accept the fact that she was the one who was breaking the news to me. I shook my head, a bit relieved. “That’s impossible,” I dropped the flowers on the counter. “I was talking to her on the phone right before I walked in here last night.” I said, unknowingly talking much louder than when the conversation began. She gave me the look that everyone gives when they know that someone is in denial. That look of pity with a touch of fear. She was afraid to say anything else. “Are you sure it’s her?” I asked, while blinking heavily. My anger was turning into annoyance. And what was with those stupid ass flowers? Magenta days? I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the cashier turn on a small TV behind the register. She kept her head down as I looked at what was on the screen. It was her. My best friend. The picture of her that I had taken not too long ago was plastered on the news. Below it, a headline. She was murdered. Last night. Around 9. Prepare for magenta days. Magenta. Universal love at its highest level. Compassion that ignites harmony and balance. My eyes went back up to her picture. I had forgotten I was standing in the gas station. Seeing that picture and word combination on the TV screen caused something to break inside of me. I drew the connections in my head. I had heard of connections from beyond the grave before, but it just didn’t seem real until now. That’s when I began to laugh. A big, hardy, belly-filled laugh. The cashier looked taken aback and looked at me with her eyebrows furrowed. She was the one offended now. But despite her judgement, I could not stop laughing. I recalled her greeting in my mind. *“You know I never got to tell you how much of a good friend you are.”* My laugh turned into a big, ugly cry. I clinched onto the flowers and fell to my knees, staring at the ribbon. The flowers comforted me in a weird way. I began to think about the boy, and I stopped crying. I thought of his mother and stood up, wiping my tears and steadying myself. The cashier was still staring at me. I was relieved that no one else was in the store when I looked around. I made sure that the flowers were in my hand as I made my way to the door and walked out. Outside was still in a frenzy, but I found the boy’s mother through all of the people and flowers. She was talking to police officers now. The boy was no longer in her arms. I slowly walked over to her and handed her the flowers wrapped in ribbon that were given to me. I still don’t entirely know what they mean, but I know how they made me feel. “He paid for my candy last night, and I didn’t even know him,” I said, looking at the flowers that were now in her hands. “Sometimes we forget that the greatest things are in people.” I walked away remembering my friend’s words, and all the people that handed me flowers. I crossed the street with two things on my mind: my dad and magenta ribbons.