Prologue
It had taken Lizzie six months to finally embrace the fact that he was gone from this earth, dead. Now, as she walked down the dark, cold hallway of her high school, tears pricked her eyes at the thought of him. Fingering the tiny gold cross around her neck, her mind flooded with sweet reminiscence of him. His gentle voice. His warm eyes. His bright smile. His total nature and being. Could it be that she'd loved him? Yes, she thought, at least for a moment she had found true love in him. But he was gone now. And she was here.
What had prompted such a "good girl" to break into the school after hours? An unacquainted on-looker may have suspected insanity. However, she knew the reason. Her heart was aching, she missed him so badly. She had to take action, or she'd die from the misery. She took a shaky breath and drew a crumpled yellow post-it note from her pocket. The note, splattered with her tears, read his locker number: 356.
She found his locker. Of course she'd found his locker, she knew it by heart. She'd visited it millions of times, but this time was different. He wasn't there. Underneath the locker number was his locker combination, etched in scraggly handwriting. The final number was smudged from her tears. She dropped to her knees and fiddled with the lock for a minute. It wouldn't budge. Her hand shaking with anticipation, she tried again, this time inserting a different final number. The locker wouldn't open. She let out a cry of frustration and tried once more. Nothing.
She sank down to the floor, laid her head against the cool metal locker, and began to sob. She was yearning to be with him once more with such an intensity that she felt she might burst She wanted to hold him. Her rational side told her that she couldn't do that now, and she never would be able to. But she, in all her fervor, believed with all her heart that being in the presence of his belongings just might bring him back to life. And with that thought, she was determined to get the locker open. She wiped her tears with her rough jean jacket sleeve, got to her knees, and attempted the locker combination one last time. After one more exasperated sob, the locker door sprang open.
A shriek of ecstasy escaped her lips. Excitedly, she threw the locker door open the full way and then.... hesitated. Was she ready to go through with this? To think about the one thing that had been causing her so much pain for these last torturous months? After all the visits to the guidance counselor and the therapist? After all the forgetting she had tried to do in the past six months? No, she wasn't ready. But, deep down in her heart, she knew she had to do this. For herself.
With sad, moist eyes, she peered into the locker. And, at looking into his locker, she felt as if she was looking into his heart. His pictures, his posters of favorite bands, his own personal belongings. Gulping back the pain, she let her eyes run over all his possessions, taking in each and every last detail. His schoolbooks, his jacket, even his lunch were all sitting in the same position they'd been left in on that fatal day. No one had come to clean out his locker, it hurt too much. Gingerly, she pulled his old, beat up jacket off the hook. She held the jacket close to her and took in his scent, still present on the jacket. The scent of his cologne intermingled with his house triggered so many memories in her brain. For a second she almost smiled.
Her heart felt a pang. Oh, how she missed him! Her eyes came to a picture of the two of them, beaming from ear to ear, putting bunny ears on each others' heads. She couldn't endure this painful process of remembering any longer. Grief caused her knees to buckle beneath her. Lying on the freezing linoleum tiled floor, she buried her face into his jacket--the last shred of him she had left to cling to-and began to weep, alone in the darkness.
It had taken Lizzie six months to finally embrace the fact that he was gone from this earth, dead. Now, as she walked down the dark, cold hallway of her high school, tears pricked her eyes at the thought of him. Fingering the tiny gold cross around her neck, her mind flooded with sweet reminiscence of him. His gentle voice. His warm eyes. His bright smile. His total nature and being. Could it be that she'd loved him? Yes, she thought, at least for a moment she had found true love in him. But he was gone now. And she was here.
What had prompted such a "good girl" to break into the school after hours? An unacquainted on-looker may have suspected insanity. However, she knew the reason. Her heart was aching, she missed him so badly. She had to take action, or she'd die from the misery. She took a shaky breath and drew a crumpled yellow post-it note from her pocket. The note, splattered with her tears, read his locker number: 356.
She found his locker. Of course she'd found his locker, she knew it by heart. She'd visited it millions of times, but this time was different. He wasn't there. Underneath the locker number was his locker combination, etched in scraggly handwriting. The final number was smudged from her tears. She dropped to her knees and fiddled with the lock for a minute. It wouldn't budge. Her hand shaking with anticipation, she tried again, this time inserting a different final number. The locker wouldn't open. She let out a cry of frustration and tried once more. Nothing.
She sank down to the floor, laid her head against the cool metal locker, and began to sob. She was yearning to be with him once more with such an intensity that she felt she might burst She wanted to hold him. Her rational side told her that she couldn't do that now, and she never would be able to. But she, in all her fervor, believed with all her heart that being in the presence of his belongings just might bring him back to life. And with that thought, she was determined to get the locker open. She wiped her tears with her rough jean jacket sleeve, got to her knees, and attempted the locker combination one last time. After one more exasperated sob, the locker door sprang open.
A shriek of ecstasy escaped her lips. Excitedly, she threw the locker door open the full way and then.... hesitated. Was she ready to go through with this? To think about the one thing that had been causing her so much pain for these last torturous months? After all the visits to the guidance counselor and the therapist? After all the forgetting she had tried to do in the past six months? No, she wasn't ready. But, deep down in her heart, she knew she had to do this. For herself.
With sad, moist eyes, she peered into the locker. And, at looking into his locker, she felt as if she was looking into his heart. His pictures, his posters of favorite bands, his own personal belongings. Gulping back the pain, she let her eyes run over all his possessions, taking in each and every last detail. His schoolbooks, his jacket, even his lunch were all sitting in the same position they'd been left in on that fatal day. No one had come to clean out his locker, it hurt too much. Gingerly, she pulled his old, beat up jacket off the hook. She held the jacket close to her and took in his scent, still present on the jacket. The scent of his cologne intermingled with his house triggered so many memories in her brain. For a second she almost smiled.
Her heart felt a pang. Oh, how she missed him! Her eyes came to a picture of the two of them, beaming from ear to ear, putting bunny ears on each others' heads. She couldn't endure this painful process of remembering any longer. Grief caused her knees to buckle beneath her. Lying on the freezing linoleum tiled floor, she buried her face into his jacket--the last shred of him she had left to cling to-and began to weep, alone in the darkness.