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 time just sort of flew by. We would flirt all the time, and we almost kissed, but we were interrupted. So we went back to work. I was working to repaint the haunted house’s maze. That was not easy. I did not know the way around it, so it made the job harder and longer. That summer I think I covered myself in black paint. All of our hard work paid off, for we had a great season and raised a lot of money for the Make-a-wish foundation.
After that, Billy and I hardly spoke. A few months roll by and I decide to call him. We started to hang out again. It was if we didn’t lose any time at all. We tried the dating thing, but we decided that being friends was better for us. We would go to the mall just so we could eat at the Japanese place. Their chicken teriyaki was to die for. The taste was so amazing. It was never too hot, and it had just the right amount of flavor. Our friendship was perfect, for a while.
We got into an argument right the start of November. The funny thing is I don’t even remember what the argument was about. We didn’t talk to each other for a week. He called me but neither of us apologized. I only wish I had.
Fast forward a week. The whole school day I was wondering about what Lauren said to me. I kept wondering, “Is Billy really dead?” I could not concentrate on anything else. It was if my mind had erased everything except that thought. Sixth period rolled up, and it was time for Psychology. We weren’t doing anything in that class either, so I asked my teacher if I could use his computer to see if there was an obituary for Billy. I kept thinking to myself, “I won’t find an obituary. Billy isn’t dead. Lauren is just full of it.” My fingers were trembling when I was typing the website name to our local paper. A cold sweat had consumed my body by the time the website popped up. I clicked on the death notices. I saw all I needed to see, “BILLY BERGMAN, 18, DIED NOVEMBER 18.” I froze there. I could stop staring at the screen. My blood ran cold. This just couldn’t be. Billy, my best friend, couldn’t be dead. My friend Chelsie must have seen my skin turn pale because she rushed up to me. The tears started to come. It was like Niagara Falls. I just couldn’t stop crying. Billy just could not be dead. We were just arguing a week before that. I never even got to say “I am sorry” or ‘goody bye”. How could, Billy my best friend, be dead?
I felt like a heavy boulder was upon my shoulders. Every so often I would burst into tears. The dam would just let go, and my tears would flood my face. That night I talked to my friend Zach and he told me everything that happened. Billy died of a drug overdose. I didn’t even know he was into drugs. Zach also told me that he tried calling me the day that Billy died. I remember that day. I was tired and trying to take a nap, so I ignored the call. My emotions ran rampant. I felt like a selfish person because I ignored the call. Maybe if I would have, I could have at least gone to the funeral. I just couldn’t believe that Billy, my best friend, was dead.
The next day 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.
