My closest friend was convicted

Trigger warning: death, murder, racism, bullying

It’s been a few years now. I have posted about this before, certainly in the trauma thread and probably here as well. I don’t want to make this the only thing in my life, but I don’t think anything has affected me more.

I met him when I was an 8th grader, he was in 7th. Initially, I found him a bit annoying, like a puppy that won’t stop pulling at your pant leg while you’re trying to work. We took an advanced studies class together, and each had a project and budget to work on throughout the class. He would constantly ask me questions about what I was doing and why. What made me finally warm up to him was the fact that I realized he was probably the only person who genuinely cared about what I was doing, and so I gave him more of my attention, even editing his book for him.

When we were each in high school, all my friends slowly found new cliques, moved away, or graduate before me. He was the only one who stayed by my side through it all. That was probably when I started to notice that people were constantly giving him a side eye, whispering behind his back, and on occasion throwing a slur his way. He was one of the few black kids in our town. It wasn’t made much better by the fact that his mom was an addict, only getting clean when his little sister was born. I know it made him feel like he was the rough draft for the kid she actually wanted.

I shouldn’t have had to be responsible for him. I was just a kid then. Even so, I chose to be. I answered his questions when teachers wouldn’t call on him. I took him to physical therapy when his mom was high at home. I gave him what advise I could.

Maybe that’s why, when he graduated, and when he told me he would be moving elsewhere with his girlfriend, I didn’t think anything was wrong. I was proud. I thought he had found the one, and he would be okay without me.

A year or so later, he came back, I bought them dinner for his birthday, and chatted with them. He was in the bathroom at one point, and she told me about how much they love their new place, and her job as a kindergarten teacher.

Two months later, I was sitting in my parents living room, and I saw the headline that he had been arrested for her murder. I did everything I could to deny it, until I saw his mugshot. I don’t know why, but that was when I knew.

I’ve been through a lot since then, spiraling through emotions and ways to cope, but what I landed on is this. He did something horrible, and I will never forgive him. Even so, I can’t act like he was the only person at fault. Countless people came forward saying “they always knew he was a monster”. They always knew? They looked at a twelve year old boy, and hated him immediately? How could I act like the constant overt racism he dealt with isn’t to blame in part? How can I say that I truly believe he deserved to be ostracized?

Even so, I am afraid. What If I am back to that initial denial again, trying to point the finger at anyone who isn’t me. I can’t say that there was nothing I could have done, or no way I could have known. It’s too unfair if he was unsavable. The world isn’t so cruel that it wont give people a chance. So, someone failed him. I can point to so many others who did, but I did too. I couldn’t save him. There wasn’t a way I could have saved him. I miss him so much.