"control what you can; confront what you can't."

***

The air felt thicker that night. Warmer, too. A lot warmer. It was strange, considering how windy and cold the previous week had been with all the gloominess and moody rain. I remembered that so vividly, more than anything. Little did I know that everything would never be the way it was again. And it all started with that strange change in weather.

     Midnight had just gone by. I was in the living room catching up on some homework with soft music playing in the background. From outside the window, the sound of car engine met my ears. It sounded like a growl, louder and louder. There's a glimpse of a bright light. Yellow. My eyes are fixed on the curtain. The sound of engine stopped right on the sidewalk in front of my house. I pause the music to listen. The yellow light flickers and then it stops. The brightness disappears.

     My phone vibrated and a name pops up. 

DYLAN: Are you awake?

DYLAN: I'm outside.

     The porch was dark with the lights being turned off from hours ago. Yet, the streetlight on the side of the driveway was bright enough for me to take a look from the peephole on the door. Sure enough, Dylan's car was parked out and he was inside it; the light of his phone screen illuminated his face. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed.

     I opened the door and stood by the frame. Dylan lifted his head up, looked at me for a second before getting out from the driver's seat. He closed the door ever so gently and jumped at the sound of it. When he walked toward me, I noticed his puffy red eyes and tear stained cheeks. It wasn't the Dylan I knew. He seemed unrecognisable without his laid-back smile and attitude. Something was wrong.

     We sat in the kitchen, face to face with each other. He didn't say much, but when he did, the words were careful. It was calculated. Everything was given, yet I felt like everything was taken, too. He told me about the phone call his dad received from West's uncle. Uncle Ty, we used to call him that time he visited for summer break years ago. I couldn't remember his face, though. Only the name rang a bell in my head. When I recalled that day we met him for the first time, Dylan caught the expression on my face. He knew exactly what I was thinking and he's thinking it as well. We're on the same page. He paused midway his story to give me a smile. It never reached his eyes. There was no light behind them. Only sadness.

     He told me about the news and was patient enough not to yell at me or storm out every time I shushed him. Eventually, I shut him out. I stopped looking at him. I stopped saying anything. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I listened to Dylan. My body was soon frozen, and I stayed in place. It took everything in me not to scream or run or even slap him in the face. I didn't think that was possible but looking back at it—it was. I wanted nothing more than for him to take back what he had said. And he could've easily fought, too, or left. The door was right there. But, he didn't.

     West. Death.

     I never thought I'd hear a sentence with those two words together. It was like poison. And that night, after Dylan hugged me for the longest time and I told him to go home, I replayed the sentence in my head over and over again until it could make some kind of sense. It didn't, no matter how hard I tried. So, I went to bed convincing myself that I'd been dreaming.

***

"You think that's what this is?" Xander says, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts and ending my trip down memory lane.

     Dylan nods. "Isn't it weird that they never gave us any more details? It was a car crash, and that's it? I mean, what happened—and—and where—"

     "No," Xander stands up, shaking his head. "No, I don't think so."

     There's a look of panic on Ocean's face and Dylan leaps to his feet, too. I stay still.

     "What the hell, man?" Dylan exclaims. "I was just stating what everyone here's thinki—"

     "His death is not a goddamn puzzle."

     "I never said—"

     "You were thinking of it! And you said it yourself—it was a car crash and that's it."

     Silence.

     "There's nothing more, alright? And why no details? Well, I don't know," he shifts in his spot, "ever heard of privacy? Look, I'm done here. I don't need this. It was a harmless goodbye note with a few harmless extra things."

     "It's fucking suspicious, Xander!" Dylan fights back. "And don't tell me otherwise because we all know it is!"

     "Drop it, Dyl," Xander says. His voice is low and stern. "And say it is true—you really think he'd want us to solve it? For fuck's sake, we're just a bunch of high schoolers!"

     "Yeah, well there's this thing called trust—"

     I tense up. Ocean looks at me. We should stop this. Right now. We should go home. We should've never come here. It's ridiculously early and last night's weight is still hanging on my shoulders. Maybe we were never meant to find those letters. Maybe we were. Perhaps there really is something more, the way Dylan believes. But on the other hand, Xander has a point, too. I pick at the grass by my shoes. I want to block the yelling, the same way I wanted to block the news when I heard it that night. But, how?

     "—Maybe you ought to learn about it."

     He doesn't mean that. I know he doesn't. It's a mistake and I know, because as soon as the words left his mouth, he took a step back as if taken by surprise. Xander stays dangerously still, eyes on the ground. He's trying to play it cool. They both are. But what's done is done. And I've learnt that words can be the scariest thing in this world.

     "You know what, Dyl?" Xander looks up. His eyes are fixed on Dylan's. I'm wrong. Silence is the scariest thing in this world. Because with words comes explanation, even when it's vague. You get to guess. There's a bit more hint. Room for context. Silence does not have it. It leaves you wondering with no directions. And that, my friends, is the first step to going mad.

     "I don't think I will," he says, keeping his gaze. Dylan doesn't flinch.

     And just like that—he walks away.

***

The papers laid flat on the grass are moved slightly by the wind. I want to touch them but it feels like a sin. Instead, I look at the words once more.

     One sentence. Just one. Powerful enough to send chills down my spine. Like that night, I can't seem to make sense of them no matter how hard I try. Like that night, I eventually stop trying.