I felt odd, walking up the marble stairs of my overly elaborate friend's home. I looked around to see that I was surrounded on all sides by well kept flowers, and tediously neat shrubs. The lawn, was cut every day. That's what Melisa had told me. She always said, "God forbid my parents ever let it grow and inch out of place," she would smile and laugh, "They might give something exciting a chance to grow."

Looking around at this beautiful, organized house I thought to myself how different she was from her parents, and it hurt just to say it. The word, was, hit my tongue like acid and I cringed. It was so hard to face reality. I had never faced losing someone who meant something to me. I had never faced loosing that part of me before. And now, looking back, I realized what a big part of me she really was.

Melisa. Sweet, Kind, loving little Melisa had never meant so much to me until she was finally gone. I thought back on her, beautiful in a way, and adorable in every other. With her, long black hair that drifted down and cascaded past her thin frail shoulders. High cheek bones that were constantly shaded a light rosy pink color, and eyes that though periwinkle in the sunlight turned deep violet under the florescent lights of our school.

It hurt to stand there and come to the realization that I would never stare into those eyes again.

I reached up my arm and it felt unsure, and unsteady. It made me wonder if I had neglected to take enough medicine, or if nerves were simply over taking me. I curled my fingers, and pounded on the large wooden door with all my might, and wondered if it was enough for them to even hear.

I was met by a woman, tall and dark headed, poised and confident, staring blankly at me with eyes full of curiosity. "May I help you dear?" she spoke, but I didn't listen. I was lost in her face. I saw Melisa's eyes, almond shaped and still deep periwinkle staring at me. I saw her high cheek bones, and though slightly faded from age and grief, I even saw Melisa's rosy cheeks upon her mother.

There was an awkward moment of silence before I even spoke to this taller, more confident, more mature version of my Melisa. "May I come in?" I spoke, and she released her arms and looked at me suspiciously, but probably assumed it wasn't worth the fight. She nodded and motioned me inside with long graceful arms.

I looked at her again. Is this what Melisa would've looked like? Would she have inherited this grace? Would she grow into this confidence? What would she have been like if it wasn't for…I stopped myself. Otherwise, I might have begun to cry.

She cleared her throat, "I don't mean to sound rude" she spoke, with perfect diction, "But, may I ask what brings you to my home on such a fine day as this?" I sighed, and looked down at my feet as if to find the right words to say there. I didn't quite find them. So, I avoided tact. "I was in the crash with your daughter," she straightened but never lost the blank look on her face.

"I watched her die..." I knew it was cruel to say, but, this woman I was looking at was a brick wall. I needed to see something come out of her. Though, I'm not sure exactly what. She looked upset, and angry, but not at me. It was hard to explain. It was an inner anger I couldn't identify for the longest time. And then she started crying, and I knew what it was. It was guilt.

"I should have picked her up that day from school, why didn't I just cancel that meeting? Why did she even get in the car with that damn boy! Everyone knows he comes from a family of drunks." She rambled like this for the longest time, and every word brought me either anger or sadness. It was sad to see a grieving mother, who had lost her live with her daughters, and frustrating to hear her blame Corey, who had tried with everything he had to save all of us, and only killed his self in the process.

But, I held my tongue and kept my poker face until she was finished. I would have my chance to speak soon enough.

"Please, dearest, tell me, what were my baby's last few moments like? No one ever told me. None of the children ever want to talk about it, and everyone else thinks it would be bad for me to hear. They suppose that hearing will only hurt me." Her eyes were pleading. And I was glad. No one ever wanted me to talk about the crash. They thought It would hurt me too. But, talking, was all I ever wanted.

So, I told her. "we were walking out of the school. Corey had just gotten his permit, and he was just so excited about it" I started, "Melisa had just called you and you were busy, so she left a couple of messages, and she thought it was so funny. I remember her saying 'that's just like my mom. Going to a meeting and forgetting her phone' and we laughed for a minute. We found Corey and all our other friends.

"Turns out most of them were either in need of a ride, or, just wanting some place to go before they had to go home. So Corey said he would give us all a lift to the bowling alley and we could hang out there until curfew. Me, Melisa, Tom, Ron, and Jellico all thought it was a good idea.

We wanted Emma to come too, but, she had some big test, I don't even remember what it was called, but she had to stay at the library." I thought about Emma, and her heart condition. If she had been in the wreck, she would have had a heart attack.

She would've died.

I cringed at this thought, but continued my story. "

I looked up at the door in front of me, and the scenery was quite different. It was painted with bright blue and yellow paint, which was beginning to peel and reveal that it had been originally crimson. The siding would have been white, had it not been covered in a layer of dirt and grime, and the yard was thoroughly covered with the toys of young children, carelessly thrown about among the muck.

It was a small house and way over capacity. I looked through the windows to see three little curly blonde haired girls, and three little dark haired boys, all skipping merrily around the legs of a man wearing holed jeans, and a wife beater. It was Corey's dad.

Looking at him, and looking at his home, one might have thought him a bad father. The kind you see in books, and on television shows that lets his children dance in filth, and only give them attention in heated anger. But, that was not him, at all. He was a kind man, a gentle giant of sorts.

Though his house on the outside was horrific enough to be condemned, the inside was kept as meticulously as a single man with six kids could keep it. And, despite the occasional forgotten soda pop can, there was nothing inside out of place.

The walls were decorated with beautiful and realistic paintings of every imaginable shape and color. Half of them were the work of the father, the other half, the work of Corey himself. The walls were white, except for the children's bedroom which, upon the persistent begging of six young toddlers, was painted half lilac on the girl's side and half navy blue on the boy's side.

I walked up to the door, and placed my hand on it to feel its warmth. Not only from the sunlight outside, but the generous love that lived inside. And, without hesitation, I did as I had always done before. I pushed it open.

At first I wasn't even noticed. The seven of them were lost in their momentary joy. The first one to even acknowledge me was Katie, Corey's bouncy little sister, and the one who loved me most. She looked up at just the right time to see me open the door, and without releasing her grip from her father, she shouted for me. "Hiya, Aduuum!" she screamed, and I involuntarily laughed at her inability to pronounce vowels. It was good to know that some things never change.

I saw the father's startled eyes look up quickly and catch mine, as he slowly began to shed the tiny arms wrapped carefully and intricately around him. One by one he sat the children on their tiny legs, and let them all gather around me using their tiny gossamer soft fingers to verify the reality of my sudden presence. It had, after all, been over a year since my last visit.

The father just sat there on the couch, arms resting on his legs, face towards the floor. I knew how hard this was for him; to see my face was painful. When Corey had been alive, I would visit every day, and the three of us would just sit, and talk, and watch television. We would talk about school, and I would gradually let my head slip down to Corey's chest; and then the both of us would listen to his father recount how perfect we looked together.

Our golden blonde hair, our sapphire blue eyes, and our checks which dimpled when we smiled and laughed made us look, according to him, like we had been made to find each other one day. And every time we would hear him say this we would agree, and let our checks dimple up in our laughter.

I saw him shift his weight and begin to stand, so I hurried over to him. I didn't want to make him move a muscle for me; I didn't want him to think that he owed something to me. Especially, not after all he had to live through, while I just slept in peace…

"I'm sorry for not warning you I was coming." I started ranting as I pushed him back toward the couch, and sat myself on the love seat, "I started to call but, then, when the phone was ringing, I just couldn't think of what I should say." "Stop," he said in a tired, sober, aged voice. "I've known you were coming Adium," he looked at me with tired eyes, reflecting his tired spirit. "Since the day I heard you survived the crash, I knew you were coming…"

He stopped for a moment, looking at pictures of happier times displayed proudly on the mantle, and for the first time, I got to really see him. He was still a beautiful person, as I had always remembered him being. He looked, so much like Corey. He shared his sapphire eyes, and his dimpled cheeks. And he even had the same large smile when he laughed.

But, time and grief had aged him over the course of a year what takes most people ten. Under his blue eyes were little creasing lines and black bags displaying his lack of sleep. I wondered, how many sleepless nights he spent crying, till they had appeared…

It seemed like all of him was melancholy, even his half grin, even his loud laugh. He pushed his shaggy ebony hair away from his eyes, only to reveal to me for a moment, that it was graying underneath. He looked at me, with this, obviously fake smile. And said, in the saddest, saddest voice that I had ever heard..."How have things been?"