The middle of Nowhere

I think the death hit her hard.
But why not, how not? Death hits anyone hard. But the impact on her seems to be unimaginable, unthinkable in my mind. The sheer pain from it all is something that I just can't fathom.
Somehow she's made it through.
Don't know how.
I have nightmares, we all do, about the past. But hers... a cold wet night, in the middle of no where, walking away from the still-warm wrecked car, just a scratch down her leg, a bit shaken up, but walking out alone. Her boyfriend is still in the car, cold in the passenger seat, gone.
The sheer weight of the fact that it was all because of her. Unimaginable. What darkness she must have felt.
Days later:
I remember her starring blankly at the ground during the memorial, not in touch with the world, starring at Nowhere, in the middle of it. Nothing. What was happening behind those beautiful brown eyes that were dry with shock?
Months later:
Two pass, exactly. Walking, a cold gray day she surfaces again. I hadn't seen or heard from her, no one had.
"How are you?" I say, like nothings happened, with a smile on my face, like nothing's changed.
"Well."
And she stares at me, her brown eyes dark.
"I just got back from China," She says.
"China?"
"The middle of Nowhere," She wants to say.
"I've heard of it," I'd say.
"To think," She would say. "To think and wander."
How far she must have wandered, wondering. The guilt following her, preying on her.
"I just got back from China," She says.
And we say our goodbyes and walk away.
But how hard it must be.
Her heaven is to get lost in the middle of Nowhere.
Nowhere is a hard place to find. I'll say I know.
But how hard it must be, to think that Nowhere is not far and you'll get to it someday.
And no she's running again.
"To Africa," She says. "Got to get away."
"Had to happen," I want to say.
"No it didn't."