Chapter 1
It has never ceased to amaze me how the most well thought out plans can change in an instant. You work so hard trying to map out your life. Everything must be perfect. You have to live out the American Dream. You have to have the perfect husband and children, the big house and the overpriced, gas-guzzling SUV.
For me, that was hardly the American dream, but to each their own, I guess. All the time you’d spent planning seems to have stopped reality from hitting. You had been far too busy to think about the things that could possibly throw a wrench into those plans. You simply could not be bothered to think about the what-ifs. Why? Because nothing bad could happen to you? You’re indestructible, right?
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but nobody is safe. You can plan things out until the hypothetical cows come home. You are not immune to life; none of us are. Like it or not, things happen that are beyond our control. I know this will send the control freaks into fits of rage.
Let me just use myself as an example. Like you, I had planned out my life. I knew what I wanted. I knew the path I wanted to take. Like many, I never stopped to think about what could happen if my life were to take a sudden turn. When my life did take that sharp turn, I was not ready. I would be lying through my teeth if I said I was prepared for the unexpected.
If I’ve taken anything away from my recent experience, it would be that life works in ways that we will never begin to understand. When things happen, we need to suck it up, pick up the pieces, and somehow find the strength to move forward.
Life: Is there anything in the world more complicated than life? If you say women, please find the nearest exit: You are not welcome here.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Maybe “complicated” is an understatement. I’m not even sure there is a word to describe it. If you find a word that better describes life, let me know. I’d love to hear it. But, for argument’s sake, let’s just go with “complicated.” If it wasn’t, would we even be having this conversation? Probably not.
I’m sure you’re wondering what my point is. Well, my point is that we need to quit mapping out our lives. It’s useless. All we do is set ourselves up for disappointment. Besides, isn’t it much more exciting to see how life unfolds all on its very own?
Okay, I shouldn’t talk. Look what happened to me.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that life is unpredictable. It can be unpredictable in good ways and bad ways. Enjoy it, because it can disappear before you realize it.
One more thing before I depart -- ha-ha, get it? No? Oh, trust me, you will.
Let me regain my composure here. Okay, I’m ready.
Once you come to terms with your fate, it will be easier to begin picking up the pieces. I know what you’re thinking; How the hell do you begin to pick up the pieces after the one thing you can’t get back has been taken from you?
Well, for starters, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get over it and move on. You are beginning a new chapter. If you want to get off to a good start, wipe that slate clean. I know you’re hurting now, but you’ll survive. Okay, maybe “survive” is not the best word in this case. I am so sorry. If you want to slap me go ahead, I deserve it. No? Thanks what a relief. I haven’t been slapped in the face since that time I accidently let it slip that my sister -- all right. That is a story for another day.
I’m sure by now you’re wondering about my story. How did Savannah, a young and talented designer, come to meet such an untimely demise? Well, do you have a couple days to spare? No. Well I’ll just have to shave it down a little then. I’ll spare you the not-so-savory parts. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor here.
Now where to begin? How about with the part where I was murdered by my best friend? Yes, you read that correctly. I was murdered by my best friend. Why, you may ask, would my supposed best friend kill me? At the moment, jealousy seems to be the main motive. I’ll get back to you when I figure it out myself. Seeing as how I have the rest of eternity, I can take all the time I need.
I’m going to get a little deep and serious now, so if you don’t like deep stuff, now is your cue to go to the bathroom, respond to a text message, check your Facebook, Instagram etc.
Of all the people in my life, Emma is the last person I would have expected to hurt me the way she did. It’s funny how those closest to you are the ones most capable of inflicting the worst pain imaginable. It’s one thing when it’s a stranger who hurts you, but for it to be someone you love, it’s so much worse. You’ve trusted this person. They said they would always be there for you. They said they would always have you’re back. They even said they would take a bullet for you. It’s funny how this all seems to go out the window the moment they stop seeing you as a friend and start viewing you as the enemy. Instead of taking the bullet for you, they are the one pulling the trigger.
It’s hard for me to accept that Emma, my best friend, is a murderer. She doesn’t possess any of the qualities of a murderer. I’m not sure “qualities” is the right word to use when talking about a murderer. Traits is probably a better word. Anyway, I never found Emma to have the guts, no pun intended, to kill anything. She couldn’t even kill a bug. She had to trap it in a cup and set it free outside. Do you think Charles Manson ever did that? No. He probably killed any bug he saw in his house. The point I’m getting at is that Emma is not the killing type. So she really took me by surprise that night in Paris.
Emma certainly caught me off guard with the whole jealousy thing. She never brought it up until right before what I refer to as ‘my own personal doomsday’. I don’t know how long it had been brewing inside her, but it must have reached its boiling point. When she brought it up to me, I was floored. How do you respond? With “I’m sorry”? I mean, I can’t help it if I’m living the life she always dreamed of. I didn’t choose my life. It was all by fate.
So Emma decided to punish me for it. She felt that by getting rid of me, she could steal my life and be happy. I know what you’re thinking; How could Emma kill me and then take on my identity? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s not as farfetched as you may think.
Emma and I look alike. I mean we really looked alike, Separated-at-birth alike. Many people thought we were twins. All throughout grade school and high school we had to make sure people were able to tell us apart. Far too often we were mistaken for one another. In second grade, we decided to wear accessories so people could tell us apart. Since we wore uniforms at school, dressing differently was not on option, but we were given free reign to accessorize to our hearts’ content.
This went on through high school. I always wore the crazy accessories like big earrings, several necklaces at once, brightly colored flowers in my hair, glittery headbands, stacks of bracelets going up my arms, and my black Chuck Taylors. I also dyed my hair. Unfortunately, no crazy colors allowed. In high school, I even snuck in some band hoodies when the teachers were not looking.
Emma stuck with daintier accessories in muted colors. She favored feather earrings, long necklaces, wooden cuff bracelets, gauzy cardigans, delicate beaded bracelets and thin headbands. She had a very Boho style. And, boy, did she rock it. She was always the height of music festival style.
Sorry, I got off topic again. You might as well get used to it, because -- trust me -- it will happen again.
Anyways, I guess you could say our accessories matched our personalities. I was the loud one; Emma was the quiet one. We certainly balanced each other out. That’s for sure.
High school is when things really changed. I wouldn’t say the changes were good or bad. They were just the typical changes one experiences at the time of ones life. You start to become your own person, or at least you should. One of the changes that occurred for me was that I became -- wait for it -- popular. Yeah, I know, who would have thought someone like me would become popular? It happened not long after Emma and I first started at our fancy-pants prep school.
