On the way back from the funeral, I turned the volume on the radio up, hoping to drown out the sound of my warring emotions.

We had always thought Katy was so brave and strong. Everyone knew what her home life was like, and she always seemed to grin and bear it. Smart, beautiful, and talented, she was the girl that everyone wanted to be.

I ignored my mother’s attempts at conversation. Talking wasn’t going to help right now. I needed to numb the pain. Turning the volume up to an almost ear-splitting decibel, I tried to find absolution in the music.

I had been flattered when she plopped down next to me at lunch the first day I moved in. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that someone so pretty and smart would want to hang out with me. We quickly became fast friends, though I still don’t know what she saw in me.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, each a testament to my failure to find my redemption in music. I don’t think I’ll ever find it, no matter what medium I look to.

I knew that there was a darker part of Katy, but I had never probed, thinking that it was best not to rub salt into her wounds. But every time she needed a place to escape to, my doors were open.

My mother didn’t try to turn down the radio, despite the angry looks we were getting from the other cars at the stop light. Maybe she understood that it was part of my way to mourn. Or maybe she just understood that I would lash out at her if she tried.

They found Katy’s body three days ago, hanging from the rafters of her room. A note still clutched in her hand had stated that she just couldn’t try to be everyone’s savior any more. She thanked several people by name, including myself, for all of the kindness she had been shown by them.

If I had probed where I had been afraid to go, would she be dead now? How could I claim to be her friend, when she hadn’t even trusted me with the knowledge of how much of a nightmare her life was to her?

Redemption is too good for people like me.

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