4/20 Blaze-It.

After Hannah Barnett killed herself, my school smoked weed in her honor. After the funeral. And it wasn't really for her. It was April 20th and people had priorities set over some theater geek throwing herself off the catwalk.

My Insta was flooded with black boys killing themselves. Not the same way Hannah did. They were hotboxing. Hashtag, "4/20 Blaze-It. Girls in my classes with awful, crimson weaves that didn't match their skin color getting fucked up and loving it.

I asked myself where their parents were. Where Hannah's parents were. Why no one cared enough to honor her memory, even if few of us knew who she was. She was some thick-glasses white girl with shaggy blonde hair and hella acne. She liked watching anime and cosplaying when coming to school sometimes. She was an embarrassment to my school. A freak. An enigma. Even I have to admit that I didn't like associating with her.

We had science together, though. And we had to work on a project about Boyle's Law. And she had such a contagious smile. One that was genuine when I threw shade over at our teacher for being petty about our presentation time. One that was forced when I glanced down and saw the scars slipping out from under the sleeve of her sweater.

I saw her parents on TV. On the news. Neither were crying, but they stood in front of the closed down school and answered each of the reporter's questions.

I don't want to think that they didn't care about Hannah. But watching kids high themselves on weed and posting it on Instagram so shamelessly, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.

©SelfTitled, 2017