Billy - Original Writing

Billy - Original Writing

It was late November. The leaves (what was left of them) were a

multitude of colors, reds, oranges, and yellows. The air was cool, but

not as bad as what was to come. Pittsburgh usually has a good autumn

but a horrible winter. It was the day before Thanksgiving. I was

sitting in Trigonometry counting down the minutes until the school day

would be over. I still had around four or five hours. It was only the

beginning of the day, but my excitement was growing. Of course I was

excited. We were going to have extra days off from school. What more

can a girl want?

So there I was in Trig doing nothing because my teacher did not make

us do anything the day before a break. He was a pretty cool guy! My

friend Lauren was looking at the pictures in my wallet. She looks up

at me with this weird look in her eyes. She pointed at my friend

Billy’s picture and said to me, “Isn’t this Billy Bergman?” I replied,

“Yeah, why?” That look crept back on her face, “I went to Tech with

him; he died last week.” I assured her that he did not die. How could

he have died last week and I have not known about it?

Billy Bergman was a great guy. I met him working at a haunted house

back in Pittsburgh called Phantoms in the Park. We both volunteered

there. During the summer of 2003, we worked countless hours in the

sweltering sun preparing for the upcoming season. We had repairs to

do, we had to build new rooms, and do basic maintenance. I really

never talked to him until that summer. He was so much fun. He would

blast his “Me first and the Gimme Gimmes” CD (They are one of the best

punk bands). He made working for 12 hours fun. The tim...

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... was Thanksgiving. I was not very thankful, to say the

least. I felt like I could have prevented Billy’s death. If I would

have known he was on drugs, I would have gotten him some help. All

throughout the day, my mind was on Billy. How could my family and I be

celebrating when his parents were grieving for their son? I kept

imagining his parents sitting in their picture perfect house hurting

and crying. Surly, their tears were much deeper than my own.

Billy passed away nearly one year ago, and the pain has yet to go

away. All I think about is, “Why didn’t I say I’m sorry? Why was I so

immature to hold a grudge with my best friend?” His death has left a

great impact on my life, and he will never be forgotten. Even when I

am a hundred and two, I will still remember him and still wish I would

have said that I was sorry.