Jenny,

In middle school, when I first met you, you were kind and thoughtful. You talked to me when I was the super awkward sixth grader on the first day of school. You helped me learn the ropes of school that you somehow learned from your brother. I was too shy to ever inform you of the crush I held from the day I met you.

The day I learned you had taken your first puff of pot, a part of me died. That single puff created the demise of your life as I knew it, and the demise of my crush on you. From pot you went on to other drugs, harder drugs; however, I did nothing to stop what I thought was wrong. I heard stories through the grapevine that you passed out after mixing horse tranquilizers and alcohol, and had to get your stomach pumped in the ER. Why would anyone, especially you, start fooling around with drugs? You came from a good and loving family.

By the time eighth grade rolled around, you were no longer that girl I had met the first day of school. You were almost a junkie, or the closest I have come to seeing one. In the summer, I learned that you had been sent to rehab.

How did this happen?

I feel guilty because I watched your decline, your downward spiral. It was clear to everyone, yet no one did anything until it was too late. I’m sorry for my neglect. I wish that you had never taken that puff of pot. I wish things had been different. I wish we were friends, I wish I knew how your life is, and I wish I knew where you are now.

Andrew, age 17