{"id":250965,"date":"2026-07-13T00:52:09","date_gmt":"2026-07-12T21:52:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/absent-katie-williams\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T00:52:09","modified_gmt":"2026-07-12T21:52:09","slug":"absent-katie-williams","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/absent-katie-williams\/","title":{"rendered":"Absent – Katie Williams"},"content":{"rendered":"
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For inspiration.\u201d \u201cAll that paint is still there.\u201d She fidgets. \u201cYou might want to put it away before someone pours it over the wall or floor or something.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t think anyone would do that.\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t?\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s a memorial mural, so vandalizing it would be pretty harsh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. I guess so.\u201d She pulls at the hem of her shorts, not that the extra quarter inch covers much of her stick legs. I wait patiently for her to leave. She\u2019s odd and, well, exasperating. No wonder people make fun of her. Why is she standing silent and fidgeting? Why not head on her way? Finally she says, \u201cI\u2019m sorry about your friend.\u201d \u201cThanks,\u201d I say, then, on impulse, \u201cWhat happened to your regular clothes?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looks down at her gym clothes as if she\u2019s only just realized she\u2019s wearing them. \u201cOh,\u201d she says. \u201cThe toilet.\u201d \u201cThe, um, what?\u201d \u201cSomeone put them in the toilet while I was in gym class.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s awful.\u201d She sways in place. \u201cI guess. After the last time it happened, I started keeping a spare set of gym clothes in my locker. See?\u201d She plucks at the armpit of her sweatshirt, pulling the fabric up toward my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cFreshly washed. Doesn\u2019t smell.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s okay.\u201d I pull back. \u201cI believe you.\u201d When I step back, Greenvale takes my place and breathes on the streak of grease my fingers have left, lifting her sweatshirted hand to rub the glass clean. \u201cWhy bother?\u201d I ask. \u201cOh.\u201d She gestures at the gold and silver cups. \u201cI think they\u2019re pretty.<\/p>\n

I mean, imagine doing something like that.\u201d For a moment, I try to imagine it\u2014the globe of the ball between my hands, the ribbon breaking across my chest, the faraway roar from the stands\u2014and maybe she\u2019s right. Maybe it is something to imagine. But then I notice the reflection in the glass. The bathroom door. I haven\u2019t been watching it. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d I say, leaving Greenvale by the trophy case.<\/p>\n

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\u201cWHEN YOU DIE,\u201d LUCAS HAYES ONCE TOLD ME, \u201cIT\u2019S LIKE every wound your body has ever had\u2014every skinned knee, paper cut, pimple\u2014opens up and says See? I told you so.\u201d Lucas had held Brooke Lee as she\u2019d jittered and bucked, rolled and foamed, and\u2014yeah\u2014died, so I figured he knew what he was talking about. My best friend, Usha Das, took a different view. \u201cDying isn\u2019t pain,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s nothing. That\u2019s scary now, but you won\u2019t feel scared when you\u2019re nothing. You\u2019ll feel nothing when you\u2019re nothing.\u201d The biblicals in their cafeteria prayer circle all agreed that dying was being folded in the arms of Our Father, all woolly beard, thick bathrobe, and water vapor.<\/p>\n

The burners, on the other hand, hated their fathers, who bothered them all the time. Or didn\u2019t bother them enough. They sucked on their cigarettes and said that dying was like blowing out smoke. Then they\u2019d watch their smoke rise and twist and disappear over the heads of the shampoo-shiny ponies and gym-wet testos, who didn\u2019t need to think about death because they could just smile pretty at the grim reaper and watch him float the other way, couldn\u2019t they?<\/p>\n

People were talking a lot about death that year, my senior year, because Brooke Lee had died right there in the girls\u2019 bathroom across from the gym. I didn\u2019t pay attention to most of it. My classmates were no more than what Usha and I had named them\u2014biblicals, well-rounders, testos, and the rest\u2014and they were always babbling on about one thing or another.<\/p>\n

But after I died, they started talking about my death and then I had no choice but to listen. 1kitap1.com\/en 1: MARCH GRIEF GROUP MEETING AT THE MARCH GRIEF GROUP MEETING, MY FORMER CLASSMATES steer their chairs in lazy circles, bumping the armrests against one side of the table, then the other. Posters stare down at them, pouting teen models labeled with pretend afflictions: Anorexia! Gonorrhea! Steroids! Depression! On the table, a row of Kleenex boxes issues its scratchy white blossoms. How many tears would it take to soak this supply?<\/p>\n

How many nose blows? How many muffled sobs?<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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