They Say She Died on Impact
Kita rode the bus with me. We picked her up last at the corner of 53rd and Prospect. She was there on time every day. When her daddy went to jail for driving while black and “resisting arrest,” she was there. When her windows got shot out in a drive by, she was there. When her mother left her to care for her two younger siblings while she was admitted into Research Psychiatric, she was there. She’d sit down and eat a honey bun and toss the wrapper out the window when the bus pulled up to school. She wore her brother’s “RIP Dennis” shirt every Friday because even four years after, she still missed her oldest brother and Fridays were his favorite day of the week.
The first day she missed the bus, nobody knew. We all looked around at her stop. Mrs. Green, our driver, even waited fifteen minutes for her to come out. She took long drags on a cheap grape Swisher Sweet while the bus sat in almost complete silence. Carlos broke it when he asked Mrs. Green for a drag. She passed the swisher over and he breathed it in, released, and smoke curled delicately out of his nose. “We’re gonna be late for first period,” he said real quiet. Mrs. Green pulled away from the stop as slow as she could and we all looked around, down her street, eyes squinting to try and see her. We drove around the block once.
By first period, people were passing around phones with Facebook pulled up. Kita’s brother never came to school more than once a week, but he was friends with most of the upperclassmen and we all got his status update. “Damn, no shit as hard as losing a baby sister. Second member of my family to go too young.” We all hoped that it was a joke. Sometimes you’d get those, and then the person would show up on Monday after having a cold or something and we’d all say we knew it all along. This didn’t feel like that. We were quiet all during math and nobody even shot one marble at Ms. Kelly’s ass.
At lunch, Kita was all anyone was talking about. I sat at my table with Derek, Devaughn, Hope, and Cindy. Lunch was a variation of the usual slop, but it had a little bit of fake cheddar cheese in it, so people weren’t as quick to start a food fight. The lunch room was a low murmur, almost like we were paying our respects though if Kita were here, she’d stand up at the table on the opposite side of the room and scream “What the hell ya’ll so quiet for?” We were making the security guards nervous. One kept touching his Taser. He was new and we’d given him a lot of shit over the past three weeks. The two veterans were standing straight at the door and Tommy Boy, we called him that because he looked like the fat guy from the movie, was leaning from one foot to the other, restless. He looked like he was ready for a fight.
By the end of the day, the whole school knew and teachers were starting to catch on, asking us to show them our phones, confirm the rumors. I let Mr. Keeton see mine during lab.
“She was a good student,” he said, running fingers through a gray beard. “Always got her work in on time. I was reading over a scholarship application for her.” I could see Kita’s name on the letter of recommendation on his desk..
The second day, the bus was silent. Nobody was on their phones, earphones weren’t littering bass in the back seats. We all just looked out the windows. Mrs. Green waited only five minutes at Kita’s stop before driving away. She had put a sign on the bus, right next to the route number that said “RIP Kita, bus 17 loves you.”
When we pulled up to school, the counsellor, Mr. B, stepped on the bus and had Mrs. Green shut the door behind him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am sure that you have heard by now that Markita Wilson passed away late Tuesday night. Police say it was a hit and run and they are investigating. She died on impact and did not suffer. Those of you who knew Markita are welcome to come visit me in my office to talk. I’m available anytime during the day except from noon to one when I take my lunch break.” He bowed his head and left. We all just sat for a moment, and the busses behind us started honking for us to move forward. Mrs. Green drove us around the block for ten minutes and let us off just as first period was about to start.
That day was tough. Derrick said that Mr. B went to all of Kita’s classes and gave the same speech. Ms. Kelly had Kita in her second period, and she was a mess all of first. “Just read or do whatever,” she said, putting her head in her hand. Her mascara was already running. Mr. Keeton cried when he tried to lecture us on cell reproduction. “Life’s just too short,” he said. His desk was clear and the paper with Kita’s name was gone. We had an assembly during last period where anyone who knew Kita could come up and say a few words. Kita’s best friend, Shayla stood up on the stage.
“Kita was my best friend. When my daddy died, it was the same year she lost her brother. We wore black everyday freshman year and we wrote poems about them. I still have our old notebooks at my house.
“She was on the dance team with me sophomore year because we thought that it would make us popular. Halfway through, we quit and we’d stay after school hiding out in the auditorium. We’d make up our own dances on the stage when nobody but the janitor was around to see.
“Last year---last year I wanted to drop out and Kita told me that if I did, she’d hate me forever. She told me that I had to finish high school at least. I’d break my mama’s heart if I didn’t. I was failing three classes and she helped me pass them all by the end of the year. I wouldn’t be graduating if it weren’t for her.”
“Kita was gonna go to college. She was gonna be the first person in her family to go. Her mama cried when she got her acceptance to Mizzou along with scholarships. She wanted me to follow her, but I told her to go without me. She went on without me.” Shayla looked up to the stage lights like she was praying.
Kita’s brother Marcus came to school on Friday. He didn’t ride the bus, but he showed up halfway through second period with the devil in his eye. He smelled like weed and alcohol when he sat next to me in history. I wanted to reach over and hug him, but I knew he didn’t want my sympathy. I didn’t know Kita very well, I didn’t have the right to share his grief and comfort him. His neck muscles were tense and he was holding the desk so hard his knuckles were turning white.
At lunch, it was like he exploded. “Why’s everyone so quiet in here?” He sounded just like Kita would’ve. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You all sad or somethin’? Sad won’t get you anything. Kita’s dead and ya’ll wanna sit here and cry like that’s gonna bring her back. Fuck that! Fuck you! We need to be angry. What the hell kinda world is this where a kid like her can die and it don’t even make the news? We gotta fight this bullshit!”
Tommy Boy yanked Marcus off the table and the new guard helped. Marcus threw a couple punches and the new guy sprayed his can of mace in Marcus’s face. He howled and fought harder, tears streaming, spewing cuss words. He spat at Tommy Boy who cuffed him and yanked him out in the hall. When I left to go to fifth period, Marcus was sitting out by the office crying hard into Tommy Boy’s shoulder. Tommy held him close and patted his back. I don’t know whether Marcus got suspended or not, but he wasn’t at school for another two weeks after.
In last period, some of Kita’s friends were huddled around together in art class. Our teacher was reading some romance novel. He turned the pages slowly. I smelled sweet marijuana in the air briefly before it was swept out of the open window.
“For Kita,” one of the girls in the circle said, lifting her blunt.
“For Kita,” we echoed.
When school let out, there was dancing in the halls. People played different songs on iPods, Androids, portable speakers as loud as they would go. People clustered in groups of five or six, grinding against lockers, stomping on the floor. It lasted for half an hour and the buses all waited for us. When we left, when we turned off the music, the whole school went silent.
On the bus home, Mrs. Green asked if they were gonna find who did it.
“I doubt they’re even looking,” Carlos said, forehead against the pane of glass. I always thought he had a thing for Kita. He took her to homecoming but nothing ever came of it.
“What do you mean?”
“Who really cares? Who cares when some kid from around here dies? You wouldn’t, if you didn’t know her.”
“It’ll get better.” Mrs. Green’s voice was cracking.
“Yeah, it will cause Monday nobody is even gonna say shit about it. Kita didn’t even get to live another week with us. She was dead when the last bell rang.”
“What the fuck?” Mrs. Green pulled over in traffic. She asked us again. “What the fuck?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked out the window.
After I got dropped off at my stop, I went by the gas station near my house and picked up a honey bun. I ate it on the front porch and felt the warm sunlight heat up the back of my neck. I breathed in, out, tossed the wrapper in the air when the wind started blowing.
HANNAH KLUDY is a senior creative writing major at Northwest Missouri State University. Her work has been published in The Northwest Missourian, Medium Weight Forks, and will appear in the upcoming issue of The Sucarnochee Review.