Silence. That's all you could hear. Where there was once such commotion and idiocy, there is nothing. The silence was deafening, chilling. What world did they live in where a place of supposed sanctuary was far more deadly then a battle of war? It's a sickening feeling, knowing that it could be you. How is one ever supposed to find peace again?
The days continue, the adults forget, but they can't. Their tears are never ending and they accept no comfort because they understand something their comforters do not. They understand that they are to blame, they should have seen after all. How many times had they heard him speak of drugs and never said a word? While their comforters look for understanding, they don't, because they know. They know that no matter how many times they scrub their skin that his blood will still stain.
Weeks pass by, but they have still not forgotten. Still they leave his seat unoccupied and his locker untouched. There is no glory in what they did. The hallways stay quiet, everyone's eyes searching the crowd to catch a glimpse of him, standing by the back with his foot in the door and a cigarette dangling from his lips. They can't look at each other, knowing they will see eyes that mirror their own, filled with guilt and sadness.
Weeks turn to months, but it's not summer that occupies their minds. They're graduating soon and they won't let the future forget him, they can't, not if they ever want peace. They mount a small memorial made of marble with his name written across it, but still it is not enough, never enough. He is still dead. He will never graduate.
Months become years, and that day never leaves their minds. It's frozen like a picture that never fades, just like their memories of 9/11. They have children now and each day they send them off is another day they can't wait to end. They're afraid for their children, because even though adults have forgotten him they have not.
They're strong and forceful with their children, each of them. Over and over from the beginning of infancy they tell their children about the horrors of drugs. Their children scream and yell how it isn't a big deal, everyone is doing it. The adolescence slam their doors and crank up their radios and tv's, unknowingly drowning the sound of their father or mother's sobs.
Rachel's children hate her, drugs are cool.
Quinn's son understands that drugs are bad but not why his mother gets so angry when she busts him.
Sam and Mercede's twin boys never dared touch the stuff, shuddering at the consequenses if they did.
Finn doesn't get married, but he rules over Blaine and Kurt's three daughters every bit as much as their two fathers.
They know, they all know.
In Memory of Dean 1/3/13
I didn't know him, but he walked my school's halls, shared my classes, competed in my sports teams. We don't know what killed him, but if what the police say is true, he didn't have to die.