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Nothing Can Bring You Peace But Yourself.

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Nothing can bring you peace but yourself." "Yourself,"Ð'... I am

thinking about the time when my best friend died, and when I stopped

being myself and my life started going to hell.

It happened maybe two or three years ago. The day is very clear

in my memory. The weather was cold and nasty. The monotonous rain

made everything outside look gray. I was at home, waiting for my

girlfriend to arrive. I was sitting on the couch drinking hot tea and

feeling warm and cozy. My cat was there too, I remember. We were

watching a Mexican soap opera, and I think the cat was enjoying it,

but I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on. All I cared

about was that my girlfriend was finally coming home and that we

would be able to see each other again. She had left only four weeks

earlier, but I missed her greatly. We had been friends since the

first grade. In the beginning we were the worst enemies; we just

hated each other. Oh, how we fought! One time she accused me of

taking her marker, even though I did not know what marker she was

talking about. I remember her mother came to school and everyone

was mad at me and was convinced that I was guilty. Later she found

her marker. It seems she had put it in a wrong box. This turned out

to be the first, but not the last, accident that would occur. What

didn't we argue about? After a while, hmmm, five years, we became

the best friends ever. We were perfectly compatible with each other.

We began spending all of our time together. We were vital to each

other. I came to know each and every detail about her as she did

about me. My life was intertwined with her life and her life was

intertwined with mine. It was the most enduring friendship of my


I looked at the clock above my head. Four fifty. She was supposed

to arrive at three o'clock. I felt uncomfortable; some weird feeling

crawled around my heart. I did not understand it. I waited and waited.

It was dark already and I was afraid of being in solitude. I couldn't

stand it anymore. Five o'clock.

The phone rang and it startled me. Who might it be? I wasn't

expecting a phone call from anyone. I got up from the couch and

picked up the phone. "Who is this"-said the voice flatly. I answered

him and asked how I could help him. I didn't know anything yet, but

my spine felt cold and I had an irrational feeling of fear. "I am

Detective James," said the man, "and I have to tell you thatÐ'..." He

told me she was dead. A car wreck. He wanted me to come to the




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