For Brandon

I had Brandon in my freshman lit class, two years ago. He turned in his work and laughed at my jokes. We had our ups and downs, but mostly got along. After he passed the class, I'd run into him in the halls. He'd nod and smirk at me. He was a quiet kid, a good kid.

Brandon killed himself last night. We found out today after A-Block.

I had to read an announcement to my B-Block class. I couldn't really, not word-for-word. The class, a good group of freshmen, were silent for the rest of the period. The whole school was different, as though someone had ripped the life out of the building: we felt gutted. Between classes, the crowded hallways were silent, people passing each other with their eyes down. Teams of counselors from the District Intervention Team set up "care rooms" on both floors. The Gay-Straight Alliance took down their display in the forum and in its place put up a makeshift memorial to Brandon with markers and poster board. My juniors skipped their Advisor class, opting instead to quietly walk around the neighborhoods, returning to school when C-Block started. The JV Soccer Team--Brandon's team--lined up on the field as though it were game day and stood in silence. Little groups of students spilled out of the counseling center, huddled on the floor, hugging their knees and crying softly. To me, those groups were the most arresting image.

My dad killed himself two summers ago. I've also huddled on the floor.

I didn't go to Advisor, either.

After school, I went on a run on that path I like along Walnut Boulevard. It was my longest run yet--I went down to the fairgrounds. It was pretty when the sun went down. The trees and the fields and the hills were all illuminated, in the slanted light, turning proudly to gold.