Emma was stunning. She had long, beautiful, curly hair. She never let anyone know that she was upset, even though I knew she had to be on occasion. She was smart but in a quiet kind of way. The kind of intelligence that could only be noticed if you studied her every move. Emma was my whole life, and then suddenly she was gone. Almost as though she was never there to begin with.
     She was just “cool,” and I think that people are only allowed a certain number of cool people in their lifetime. Emma was one of mine. She wasn’t “football” or “cheerleader” cool, but a different, more complex kind of cool. Like “listens to classic rock on vinyl and manages an indie Tumblr account cool.” She didn’t try too hard, but she still cared. She cared about the beautiful things in life.
     Emma was my favorite Sunday afternoon pastime. She was my bright sunshine on a cloudy day. In fact, we even had that tattooed on each other. My tattoo read, “You are my sunshine,” and hers read, “My only sunshine.” We used to listen to that song on her ancient record player. There are are days now when my whole world is crumbling down around me, there are days now when the taste of food makes me sick and I can’t eat a bite, and there are days now when the shower burns my bicep where my tattoo is and I break down and cry. Someone told me that maybe writing about the day I found her would help me, and at this point, I’m just looking for some kind of release from this constant hell inside my head.
     Emma hadn’t shown up to school that day. I just thought that she must be sick, though usually when she is sick, she tells me. Something about this seemed different, though. She wasn’t answering my texts or phone calls, and she always does unless she is mad at me of course.
     I thought that must be what it was, she has just got to be mad at me. So, after school, I got in my car and drove a couple of streets over to her house. I knocked, and knocked even louder. Her car was in the driveway and I knew she wouldn’t ignore someone who was banging down her door. I pulled out my credit card and began to work at the lock. I got it open and bolted to her room while yelling:
     “Emma what did I—,” and I stopped.
     I stopped because there on the bed, she laid, surrounded by pills.
     “Emma?!?,” I shook her, “Emma, sweetheart, wake up!”
     Emma didn't wake up. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, even though I knew she was too far gone. I climbed into the bed next to her and scooped her up in my arms. I wiped the hair from her damp forehead and whispered quietly in her ear:
     “I love you, my dear Emma.”
     I slowly began to rock her cold body back and forth as I cried and recited the words, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You only know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away… please don’t take my sunshine away.”
     I sighed, and for a final time, before the paramedics arrived, I kissed her on the forehead and repeated, “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”