Almost all of my classes were ordinary and boring. Almost. Some had been boring than others, while most could just be easy and boring. People flick paper balls at the teacher when they weren't looking, and most chucked notes to one another, even if they were seated on opposite sides of the room. The classrooms look identical to each other, aside from the oak desks, dusty windows, rusty doors, and the four beige colored walls. They all had slogans and inspirational quotes plastered up on walls in the most bizarre fashions, every single one faded so badly that you probably could not figure out the original color.
One of the classes even has paper cranes attached to the ceiling fan, so it looks like the brightly neon colored origami birds are synchronize sky diving for an eternity. The teachers themselves have no personality what-so-ever, and were pretty much clones of each other, whether they were so ancient you would think that they could cough and keel over, or the rare young teacher that didn't seem young at heart. The older the teachers got, the more horrible the fashion sense; dressed in plaid shirts or skirts that looked as if someone had vomited crayons on a piece of fabric and gave it to an old colorblind woman.
I dreaded coming to this high school, for its lack of fun, which I think is a word the staff here had no idea existed, and its abundance in lackluster. The routine is so worn-out, almost nothing could brighten up our depressingly lifeless school…well, there was one exception to that statement. His name was Aleks, the only human being on this Earth who could lighten these dark corridors and cheer up even the most depressed student. He was an exchange student from Russia, who spoke English as if he had been his entire life. His words rolled off the tongue like silk and his voice could make a cat jealous of his purr.
He had a unique smell, the scent of freshly cut pine trees mixed with cherry Twizzlers. Anyone could identify his smell in mere seconds, whether it be a male or female. For example, Aleks accidently left his gym shirt in the locker room two weeks ago, and one of the guys picked it up, asking the whole room for the owner. He took one whiff of it, and immediately knew it was Aleks' property. He returned it, earning a Twizzler in return.
That was the thing about Aleks; he had a knack for Twizzlers. He told us that when he first moved to America, he had no idea what sort of candy or food was popular. He was about thirteen when he travelled here, explaining that he wanted a better education so he could teach his girlfriend back home in Russia. So one day, Aleks was at the candy shop with a couple of friends when one of his buddies offered one of the Twizzlers. "Since red is my favorite color," he said, twirling a Twizzler in his hand, "I immediately grabbed one and bit into it. It was the best thing I have ever tasted, and have had an addiction to them ever since."
Another fact about Aleks is that his father owns a lumberyard, where Aleks frequently goes to help and earn some extra cash. His biceps and abs are nicely toned from lifting a heavy ax, and dragging cumbersome logs of wood. This was one of the reasons he always smelled of pine trees, and not because of some cheap cologne. The other explanation was that whenever Aleks had free time, and wasn't playing soccer or hanging out with friends, he spent his time in the woods outlining his backyard. His parents knew that he would be fine in the woods, and besides, Aleks said it reminded him of Russia when he was little and would watch his father work, occasionally helping by carrying wood.
Now, think of the softest velvet you have ever touched, remember the feel of the fabric under your touch as you rubbed your fingertips across it, relishing in its comfort. Aleks' hair was at least ten times as soft. He claimed to use standard shampoo and conditioner, but everyone else said otherwise. If anyone could rock a bedhead, it was Aleks. The smell of crisp pine needles was almost intoxicating, and just standing next to him made my knees weak. His hair hung almost perfectly above his eyelashes, but not so as to cover his eyes.
Oh my goodness his eyes. It was like a darkly colored insect had gotten itself trapped in hardened sap, and then was placed in his sockets. They were creamy caramel irises infused with chocolate laced with dark licorice, usually filled with glee and curiosity. Teachers would stop for a moment and gaze at his eyes; Students gawked at him, not out of shock, but of jealousy. Why can't my eyes be like his? Why do I have plain brown eyes?
Aleks never wore anything extraordinary or flashy, usually plain ol' blue jeans with a random graphic t-shirt, but he just wore that look perfectly. He says his girlfriend prefers him as a simple guy, never flaunting or bragging about his skills. Needless to say, he is very modest, even when he scored the winning goal for the soccer team, the same team that had not won a game in the last twenty years. On that note, he also led the team to the championships, and won the gold medal.
One afternoon at lunch, Aleks told our group of friends about his girlfriend, a young pretty girl with long, dark locks with chocolate eyes. Aleks told us he loved her more than anything, and when he graduated he would ask her to marry him. His eyes would lighten up when he talked about her, staring into space as if she were sitting with us. We were sophomores then, seniors when it happened. The whole school had turned bleak and dark again, just like it had before he came into our lives.
Why? Two weeks before school let out, a former classmate stormed into the school, and shot random people for no reason in a drunken rage. Bullets ricocheted left and right, shattering windows and grazing flesh. People around me panicked and scrambled for the doors, urgently trying to escape. I had been pinned down behind an overturned table when the shooter loomed over me, cocking the gun, when Aleks jumped to protect me and took a bullet to the chest.
All of a sudden the police kicked through the doors, commanding the gunman that he was surrounded and to drop the gun. He was apprehended shortly after, but Aleks had already paid the price. The last words he ever said to me have never left me since, his chest blossoming with red as he breathed his final words, "Tell Anastasia that I love her." He died in my arms, confiding his final goodbye to me. I will admit it; I didn't cry, I sobbed. Hard. I could barely comprehend why this wonderful guy would sacrifice his life for mine. He was absolutely perfect, armed with a laugh that would spread like the flu, and a smile that could light up the whole country if it could. Someone had come up behind me, a teen by the name of Dylan, and pulled me to my feet. Hands and arms covered in Aleks' blood, and cheeks wet with tears, I sobbed pitifully into Dylan's shirt. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt his tears drip into the roots of my hair as we held each other. It was a painful day for all of us as we wept for Aleks.
The day of his funeral, Anastasia flew over from Russia so she could say goodbye. Through a sea of black suit and dresses alike, one by one, each and every one of us placed a single red rose in commemoration of Aleks; he had once told us about his fondness for red roses. I had seen pictures of Anastasia from Aleks when he had been alive, and she was quite stunning. But now, with her disheveled hair tied in a low ponytail, eyes puffy and red from crying, constantly shaking, she looked…broken. She must have gotten at least one hundred people come up to her and give their condolences, and twice as many hugs, along with Aleks' parents. I spotted her walking towards me, a tiny black umbrella resting on her shoulder, white gloved hands gripping the handle tightly. It seemed she could have blown away with the wind had it been any stronger.
She turned to me, out of all those around us, and handed me a necklace. It was Aleks', some sort of carving he made himself from a hunk of a pine tree he had sawed down with his father in the lumberyard. It was a rough carving, tied together with leather Aleks had cut himself, in the shape of a crude circle. In the middle there was an inscription in Russian. When I asked about it, Ana told me it meant "All it takes is one person to change your life forever," I felt my eyes water and my breast tighten with gratitude.
I asked her "Why give this to me?" Ana gave a small smile, the first I had seen from her all day, and replied "Aleks always talked about you. He said you were a great friend." She paused for a second, and wrapped her hand around my fist that clenched the necklace, "He also said that you reminded him of me, and if he had never dated me, he would have asked you." Unable to form a word of thanks, I hugged her, giving her the response she needed. We all needed comfort on the bleak day, and as it rained down on us, I thought to myself, 'Are you crying somewhere up there Aleks?'
My thoughts were interrupted by my nephew pulling on my skirt. "Can I ride on the horsey again?" he asked excitedly, jumping up and down. I pulled him on my knee, bouncing him up and down. As he giggled, I fingered the necklace. I've worn it ever since Ana gave it to me. I think I'll buy some more red roses and visit his grave again.
EPILOUGE
When I arrived at Aleks' grave, I noticed that there had been fresh roses laid there, meaning that I wasn't the only one visiting his grave. I die a bit more inside when I lay the roses down as best as I can with my slightly swollen belly. I hear a honk behind me, knowing it's my husband, Dylan from high school, the teen that comforted me after Aleks had been killed, signaling for me to hurry. I teared up again, relishing in the memories of Aleks. A tiny smile formed on my mouth when I read his headstone for the thousandth time;
"You never know who will walk into your life, but there is always one who can change it forever."-Aleks Morzaltiv