I took the elevator up to Mariska’s floor, and rang her doorbell over and over until her mother came out, her face a mask of red lines. I told her what happened and all she could do was gasp, fight for air. “She’s at the Rokus Hospital,” I said. I didn’t tell her she was dead. I couldn’t.
A man who I recognized as Mariska’s uncle came to the door and looked at me as if I were some ghost out of a bad dream. He led his sister back inside. Without going in, I told them I was sorry for everything. For waiting so long to tell them. I don’t know if they heard me. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “Mariska was my best friend.”
I was left standing at the door with nothing to do but to leave them to their grieving. I couldn’t grieve, and I hated myself for it, all the while knowing it would eventually c
