Twenty-four hours dedicated to the memory of someone who wasn’t dead. We went to visit her favourite horse. A small group of us were sitting in a circle around the animal in her family’s stable, shuffling our asses over loose hay, hoping that the dirt on the ground wouldn’t touch the identical pairs of Levi’s high-waisted jeans we wore tucked into combat boots with pull loops at the backs. We were asking each other where she had gone and when she would come back. 

The Wiseman girl had always been on my side. When we were kids, she’d steal Pokémon cards for me. One time we took them to the neighbouring school to sell the holographic ones for money so I could buy a birthday gift for my mom. I remember the Wiseman girl yelling at random kids to come over and look at the ...