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The night they found her body, Steve, Erica, Chris and I were at the Cinema Pub in Stoughton (dollar movie nights on Monday and Tuesday) watching The Mummy. I love Brendan Fraser. I thought he'd take my mind off the whole Melissa thing. It didn't work. I only remember tiny pieces of the movie. By then, Steve and I had already decided we were going to help the search the next day. We couldn't sit back while strangers looked for her any more.
It was pouring as we drove to the theater, poured through the movie, poured the whole way home. Chris headed home straight from the movie, the rest of us went back to the apartment. As we were walking through the door, Erica ran to answer the phone. It was Chris. He said three words--"They found her."
An hour later, my living room was full. Ten people, all friends of Melissa's, friends of mine. One of them was the Artboy. Our feet were back out of the pool, at least for the moment.
When I get stressed, I cook. That night, I made ten pounds of mashed potatoes with garlic-sauteed mushrooms. At some point, we started flinging them at each other. Funny what situations like this will bring out in people. I called my boss at about 4:30 in the morning, once I realized there was no way I was going to work. Someone made coffee. There were people in the living room, people clustered around the kitchen table, people on the back porch. Eventually, the Artboy put his arms around me and led me to bed. I've never been so glad to not be sleeping alone. When I woke up, a couple friends were passed out on the floor.
The next night, Jim came over to "talk." He'd been at Melissa's mom's house, trying to console her. He offered her our sympathies. What she told him next still mystifies and frustrates and saddens me.
Melissa had apparently talked with her mom two days before she disappeared about Steve and me. She'd told her mom that she was hurt and angry that he and I hadn't come to her fundraiser, and that she wasn't sure we were friends any more.
Melissa's mom told Jim to tell us that Melissa was mad at us when she died, that we weren't really her friends, that if we'd been better friends Melissa would still be alive, and that we weren't welcome either at the funeral or at her house while they were sitting shivah.
What do you say to something like that?
I was already grief-stricken. Now I was guilty.
Evil, angry, guilty bitch. How dare she?
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