Hey! I came across this file on my computer and after reading through it, decided it was in need of a make over; the plot is still the same, I just feel that I could tweak a few things here, there, and everywhere to make the story flow a little better. I owe thank yous to all the fantabulous people I have met on this site; your words of encouragement and sometimes oddness mean everything to me!

Speaking of which, I kinda wanna dedicate this rewrite to Iwait4theRain; she was my loyal reviewer of this story and since then, we have formed a wonderful friendship. GO HAPPY HIPPIE HOME HELPERS! And I also must thank CouchPotato94 for listening to my endless talks (more like rants) about WSS and how beautiful Matt Cavenaugh is. But come on, you know our friendship wouldn't be nearly as exciting if I didn't know what WSS was...and if all else fails, BLAME STAGE CREW! xD

I hope the excerpt from the Wordsworth poem sets the mood for the story; it's one of my favorites. And If I owned West Side Story, do you really think I'd be here?

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass,
Of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

~William Wordsworth

Maria turned on the light to the hall closet and gazed at the dust covered boxes. When she found the box she was searching for, she blew dust from the lid and removed a well-loved photo album from inside. The cover was hanging on by only a few threads, due to being opened and closed repeatedly. Maria opened it up on her way downstairs, and smiled at the message written on the inside cover: Christmas, 1957 We've seen a lot and are still here; lets make things always be that way. Love, Tony. She'd come to love his uneven handwriting; it was a simple thing that reminded her of what all had happened in six, short years.

Maria sat down on the couch and began flipping through the pages. The photographs towards the beginning were rather old, many of them not even a part of the new life Maria had paved for herself. No, these pictures showed a life that was untouched by America and the city; they were pictures of a life untouched by death.

"What's that?"

Maria looked up and saw her daughter, Maribel, standing in the doorway. Her eyes shone with the curiosity of a child, but held a shade of mature understanding; for as Maribel constantly pointed out, she was not a baby and could do things for herself.

"Just some old pictures. Where is Rose?"

"Upstairs; she's coloring." Maribel stepped forward and rested her arms on the back of the couch. She peered at the old photographs; many were of people she'd never met. "Is Daddy in there? You said you knew him when you were younger."

"No," Maria began, "these pictures were taken before I met Daddy. But some of the pictures all the way in the back are of Daddy."

Maria motioned for Maribel to come closer. The child excitedly ran around the couch and settled herself in Maria's lap. Maribel looked at the pages with her always anxious six-year-old-eyes and smiled when she saw a recognizable face.

"Mommy it's you! But I don't know who that is."

She was pointing at Anita. A melancholy smile swept across Maria's face as she thought about her dear friend; it had been six whole years since she'd seen her. The only connection she had to her was the picture in front of her; and a letter that Anita had sent a few years ago, but paper and ink only last so long.

"That is, that is an old friend of mine," Maria replied.

"Oh. Where is she now?" Maribel inquired, her eyes pleading for an answer. Maria should of known better then to of answered Maribel that way; she always wanted to know more. Whether the question was simple like, "Why is the sky blue?" or harder questions like, "Why does America have to fight in that far away country?"; she was a child who liked to know the facts. But this...this was one fact Maria was not willing to share with her daughter.

"She, she… Maribel, how about you go upstairs and see if your sister is staying out of things. I have to get dinner started."

Maribel gazed at her mother, sensing that there was another reason why she had suddenly lost interest in the pictures. Maria watched Maribel skip off upstairs before returning to the photo album. The page Maribel had stopped on contained one of the few pictures Maria had from her short-lived life in Manhattan. It was one of her and Anita, happily seated on a park bench and sporting genuine smiles. One of them had taken the time to write the date on the back, and Maria saw it was taken a week before something–or rather someone, was taken from their lives as well.

Maria's time in the city was almost like a dream; it was so short-lived, that many mundane aspects of that time were forgotten. Some things, however, could never be forgotten. Her first dance, falling in love, and having to say goodbye; those were all things Maria would never forget about. And Anita; Maria would never forget about her; thoughts of her friend had been on her mind more than ever, and Maria blamed it on a fast-approaching square on the calender.

Not that this was the first time that day brought waves of mixed emotions. The first year after, Maria recalled, was hard; she wouldn't deny that. It had been bittersweet, to know that it had been a year since she and Tony found each other, but also to know that day was when her brother departed from this world. But after the first year, that calender square was like all the others. Which was why Maria found it a bit unsettling that for some reason, those swirled emotions were coming back. Maria heard the back door open up and in no time Tony was standing in the living room.

"Hey," he said as he took a seat next to Maria. Upon seeing the photo album in her hands, his face took on a shade of nostalgia. "You still have that thing?"

"Of course I do; why would I not?"

"I don't know; I gave it to you so long ago, I thought that maybe you forgot about it."

"Oh Tony! It was only six years ago!"

"I know, but," Tony paused as he laid eyes on the picture of Maria and Anita. The last time he'd seen Anita was...a long time ago; but even time couldn't erase what exactly happened when he and Anita met for a final time.

Tony remembered everything so painfully well: He'd been pacing back and forth in the cellar at Doc's, waiting until Maria got there so they could shed themselves of the city. He was growing a bit restless in waiting, so when he heard screams from upstairs, he was a bit startled. The first thing that had run through his mind as he bolted up the stairs was that the rest of Jets were bothering Maria in the worst ways they knew how; had Tony been shocked when he discovered he was only partly correct.

He also recalled the quick conversation that he and Anita had. She made him promise never to tell Maria what had taken place; Anita had said something about not wanting to hurt Maria, but Tony figured it was because Anita didn't want Maria to worry about how she would be once Maria was gone. And even though Anita didn't say it out loud, Tony could get a feeling that Anita had said, "I forgive you," in the short conversation they had.

"Tony?" Maria asked worriedly. Tony snapped out of his thoughts, remembering what he was about to tell Maria.

"Oh sorry; like I was saying, a lot happened in these six years."

"Yes, and all those things are in here," Maria said as she held up the photo album. And she was right; that photo album contained the happiness of the present, the memories of the past, the blank pages of the future, and all the years in between.