Work Text
Dear Evan Hansen,
It turns out today wasn't an amazing day after all. This isn't going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because... Why would it be? Oh, I know. Because there's Zoe. Who I don't know and who doesn't know me. But maybe if I did. Maybe if I could just talk to her then, maybe... maybe... nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different. I wish that I was a part of... something.
I wish that anything I said...mattered, to anyone. I mean, face it: would anyone even notice if I
disappeared tomorrow?
Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend,
Me.
I stare at the letter in shock. My lip quivers slightly, my eye twitches, and I have seemed to stop breathing. My mind is racing with a million thoughts per second, trying to think about why the Murphy family had just handed over this letter to me. I knew who it was from. But, why hadn't he just sent an email, like normal?
"C-Connor... He um..." Cynthia Murphy held back a choking sound. Larry rubbed her arm silently, as if to try and ground her. Zoe Murphy was nowhere to be seen. "He-"
"Cynthia, you don-"
"I need to, Larry!" The fragile woman had raised her voice a significant amount, making me jump slightly in my spot. I looked up, and saw a mourning mother. She seemed... broken.
I studied the letter in my shaking hands. This was most definitely written like Connor. The greeting, how he mentioned Zoe, how he ended it, everything. It was exactly like all those hundreds and hundreds of emails they had exchanged, so why was it here? How did it get into the hands of his parents? He used to joke around and say the only way his family ever would have gotten his emails, is if he were dead.
Wait. He can't be --
I look up, trying my best to contain the overwhelming panic in my head. I put the letter out of my view, tucking it tightly between my leg and my forearm.
The woman sniffled, straightened her back as best she could, then looked me in the eye. "Connor... killed himself. This - That letter was found on his body." Her voice shook worse and worse with every word, and she was visibly trembling, trying her best to keep herself together.
The room seemed colder, time seemed to have stopped. My normal brain functions had stopped. I was... at a loss of words. I stood there, frozen in my spot. Nothing to say. What should I say?
Cynthia continued shakily, "The letter, it's... It's addressed to you." She hugged herself tightly, sniffling harshly once more. "Were you two... friends?"
Silence.
Too much silence.
I read over the letter again and again, seemingly starting to panic, in my mind at least. On the outside, I remained perfectly calm, minus the sweating hands and the shaking.
"Were you friends?!" Cynthia seemed desperate to know.
Larry tried his best to calm her down. "Cynthia! Please, he just found out that his friend died! I think you should calm dow-"
"Connor and I weren't friends!" The words came out hurried and panicked. I panicked. I can't take screaming. I can't take sorrow. I just can't do anything. I don't know why I denied being his friend. If anything, he was my closest, best, and only friend I've ever had. Why would I lie?
"You, Hansen, are a compulsive liar. And, oh my God, if that's not the best thing, ever!" His voice echoed in my head, it seemed to be taunting me.
"But w-wait! Why was the letter addressed to you? Why would he write his suicide note to a kid he doesn't even know?! Evan, please tell me, please, please, please, tell me why!" Cynthia seemed to have lost her ground. Tears were streaming off her face as her hoarse voice spoke through the sobs. She looked desperate, confused, agitated, depressed, and guilty, all at once.
"I-I don't know!" I threw my hands in the air for emphasis, taking a step back. Then, words came up again, just nowhere near to the right ones. "I barely know Connor! I sat next to him in Chemistry once, and we talked maybe twice!"
Cynthia only sobbed more, seeming to be slipping into insanity. She was trembling, her breath was heavy, and the tears flowed for her eyes like waterfalls. She crumpled into herself on the floor, muttering things no one could quite hear.
I took a step out of the room, then walked back to class quickly. I sat back at my desk, a blank face. Things went numb for a while. I didn't really know what to think.
Why did I lie?
Was it grief? Guilt? Denial? I don't exactly know, but what I do know is that I've made a giant mistake that I can't quite fix.
---
It's been a few days since the suicide. I haven't been feeling better, and I know that the Murphy's definitely haven't felt any better. Zoe Murphy hadn't shown up at school, Cynthia, I heard, was now at the hospital, and Larry... Larry, no one really knew how he was holding up.
I was sitting on my bed, trying to come up with a way to distract myself from the happenings of the world, when my phone pinged. I figured it was my mother, but It wasn't.
Instead, it was a Facebook notification of how I'd been tagged, along with 700-something other random people, on a post. I opened my phone, and went onto Facebook. The post was a picture of Connor's face. An old photo of him, and he was smiling. The caption read:
Connor Murphy will forever be missed. even though no one really knew him, he was still there. I got the wonderful chance to meet, and at least become acquaintances with him before he... died. He was funny, smart, and could actually be fairly nice at times. Although I didn't get to know him as much as Jared Kleinman, he was still a blessing to all of us. Rest In Peace, Connor Murphy. You will not be forgotten.
Alana Beck had posted this. And it said that Jared Kleinman knew him better. Who the hell was Jared?
I clicked on the mentioned person, which brought me to another Facebook page, this time filled with pictures of a shorter, brown-haired boy, who had glasses and a cast on his arm.
I looked closer at the picture of him with his cast, and gasped.
Written on the cast, was. no doubtedly, Connor's name, in his handwriting.