What is the point if I cannot make something of her last gift to me? Her gift was not wrapped in a pretty bow and set under the tree for me to see on Christmas; it was not covered in balloons for me to see on my birthday. It came on a random Tuesday in July, and I know I do not deserve it. My mom once gave me a $100 gift card to my favorite steakhouse, just for existing. Just because she knew I was having a difficult day, and I did not feel like I had earned it. How am I supposed to feel when my best friend gives me her life, and it’s not even something I merited? I am not entitled to her entire life essence, her entire potential, ten times greater than my own. Just because we were on the same earthly plane, A shared moment in time, and a random man, A man we had never interacted with before, decided he was entitled to way more than I would ever dream of.

We were waiting for the bus to take us to the park so we could have a picnic. I had packed turkey-and-cheese sandwiches with way too much mustard and not enough cheese. She packed a perfectly ripe fruit tray with a small container of my favorite cream. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year, and she still knew my favorite brand of cream for strawberries, and I could not even make a decent sandwich for her. We arrived at the stop just moments after the bus left, and we were stranded for another hour. I was frustrated because I was hot and I just didn’t like it when things didn’t go exactly as planned, but she was perfectly fine with it. She told me about the burnt toast theory and how life sometimes throws obstacles in your way to keep you safe from danger you would have possibly encountered, and how, because of this, she truly believes everything happens for a reason. In the moment, her logic brought me comfort, but thinking back, it makes me shudder. What type of danger could life have possibly been protecting us from when the danger we encountered that day was strong enough to deprive my best friend of her life?

We used this time to catch up since we hadn’t seen each other in a while. She told me how much fun she was having in college and how excited she was to graduate and become a biologist. I didn’t know what to say because unbeknownst to her or anyone else, the only thing I was excited for was to be here no longer. I couldn’t exactly tell her that I planned this trip to say goodbye. She could never know that I had planned this outing because she was the person I loved most in this world and the last person I ever wanted to see. Instead, I told her I was considering going back to school to become a writer. Her eyes lit up, and she got so excited for me. As children, we always talked about our dreams: hers was to be a marine biologist and help clean the ocean, and mine was to tell stories that inspire the world. The difference between us is that she had that magical spark that turns dreams into reality, while my spark, along with all my dreams, had died long ago. No, I would never inspire the world with my words. How could I, if I couldn’t even inspire myself to believe this life was worth living?

When we turned 15, one day apart in June, she gave me my very first laptop. She told me she could see that very same spark in me that I could see in her. That flame that turns potential into self-actualization. At the time, I believed that her fire was just so bright she could see a little bit of it burning on me, but now I have started to learn that fire spreads, sparks can be made, and time is no match for a decent-sized flame. We had been talking for almost 30 minutes, about college and silly, unimportant little things, when her face suddenly dropped. She grabbed my hand and told me how much she loved me. She apologized for not reaching out more, and she said something I will never forget. She told me she could see the light inside me fading. We had only been hanging out for less than an hour, and she could already see through my deception. We hadn’t seen each other in 7 seasons. 1 summer, 2 springs, 2 falls, 2 winters, and 0 chance of her forgetting my tells when I am lying and losing her intuition. When people are friends for long enough, Lying becomes difficult because truth always comes through in ways that words could never show you. She broke down crying and started blaming herself for not being there, for not using her fire to keep my own fire warm. I told her that it was never her fault and that some fires just don’t want to stay lit.

At that moment, the man, with all the audacity in the world, approached us. He pulled out a knife and demanded that we come with him. I would have complied at once, but I had more than myself to protect now. We grabbed each other’s hands and tried to run, but we did not get far. I felt a sharp pain in my side. Nothing like solid steel to smolder a dying fire. I dropped her hand and screamed for her to run, but she refused. She tackled the man with zero hesitation. Zero consideration for her own fire, Zero thought about the oceans she had been put here to save. One, two, three stabs to the chest, and her flame was extinguished. Her inferno was diminished while my ember was somehow still hanging by a thread. I don’t remember what happened next. I woke up in the hospital alone. No get-well-soon cards or expensive gift shop teddy bears. I begged the doctors to tell me what happened to my best friend, and the answer hurt worse than the knife. She didn’t make it. After deciding he was worthy to extinguish the strongest flame I have ever known, the man cowered and ran off before being caught by an officer who witnessed the entire thing from inside a nearby building. Being told he was caught brought me a smidge of comfort, but nothing could make this better. Nothing was going to bring my best friend back to me, and I wanted so badly to join her.

I returned home from the hospital ready to return to a different, colder part of the building, the very same day. I had nothing else to live for. I got home that day and threw on my favorite dress. I was more afraid of being stuck eternally in a worn-out t-shirt and an ugly pair of jeans than I was of dying. I also laughed a bit inside at the idea of having a better ghost outfit than her and making fun of her for it. I ordered my favorite meal, the same steakhouse my late mother had so graciously paid for. She had been gone for over 5 years, and I still hadn’t touched that gift card. Before my mental health got so bad, I told myself I would only use it once I had earned it. I would need to do something worthy of a steak dinner. I would need to work for those potatoes, and I would need to change the world for some green beans. After I was done eating I decided it was time. I walked to the bathroom and slid down onto the tile. I opened the cabinet and pulled out every cleaner I could find. My best friend wanted to be a biologist, but that day I was going to die a chemist.

Before I could do any type of science at all, I heard the bus. Right on time, and something inside me broke. I thought back to the burnt toast theory and realized something. If I hadn’t gotten stuck at that bus stop, we would not have started talking about our futures, and I wouldn’t have been able to lie. We would have gotten to the park, eaten our soggy sandwiches, strawberries, and cream, and I would have been home before dark and gone before sunrise. I didn’t deserve this gift my friend gave me, but what kind of person would I be if I just threw it away? In that moment, as I watched the bus drive away through the window, I could still taste the steak and potatoes and realized I used that gift card for the exact reason my mother had intended it. She didn’t use her last $100 because she thought I was worthy of it. She did it because she knew I loved steak. She knew mashed potatoes brought me comfort and green beans helped me grow. She gave it to me because she loved me. My friend didn’t tackle that man because I was some great human about to save the sea turtles, but because she loved me and knew that even if I never met my full potential, I didn’t deserve to die. I didn’t need to earn my right to live; my lack of spark didn’t deprive me of my right to a steak dinner. Why should it deprive me of my right to live?

Well, as you can tell, I didn’t die that day. I decided I was worth living, fire or no fire. I asked for help, and even when it wasn’t easy, even when I was only living for myself, I fought. I fought, and I fought, and each year I fought, my fire grew a little stronger until one day I used that fire to tell a new tale. A tale of hope and a tale of steak dinners and soggy sandwiches. A tale of a friend who never got to see the ocean but lives inside me every time I go. It’s been five years since I lost my flint striker, I called a sister and I have been to the ocean hundreds of times since. I have written half a dozen books that millions around the world have read, and I have paid for 10 kids, 10 little sparks to go to school to study marine biology. My friend didn’t deserve to die, but I still deserve to live, and once a month, I sit down with my medium rare steak and potatoes with a side of green beans, in the prettiest dress in my closet, and know. There is nothing you have to do to deserve the love of those who choose to love you, but never let that love go to waste, and if you don’t have a fire inside, just wait. Someday you will miss a bus and realize that sometimes to make a fire, you need to feed the spark inside you, and sometimes you can’t do it alone.