Lisa should have known that it was too good to be true. Sideshow Bob never stayed good for long, and she never kept a like-minded friend for long; they all either abandoned her, died on her, or simply disappeared from her life. Mr. Bergstrom, Allison, Bleeding Gums, Juliet, Isabel, and now Bob. Not even the full course vegetarian meal that her mother cooked just for her could lift her spirits, and the idea of Bob being a part of Springfield's drinking water, along with who knew what else, was far from a comforting thought. Lisa didn't even want to think about Walt Whitman poems. Recent events aside, she couldn't help but remember reading from "Leaves of Grass" to Bluella de Whale right before she died. Lisa felt cold and sad just thinking about this...but that might have been the wind blowing through her window as she entered her room, and she was sure that she hadn't left it open.
Her bleary eyes trailed over to her bed, where "Leaves of Grass" was sitting on her pillow.
"Huh?" Lisa was sure that it was still in her backpack, but double-checked and found that no, it really wasn't there. And, upon opening the book, she saw that this was her copy-her name was on the cover page, right where she'd written it. Looking down, Lisa saw a piece of paper on the floor and picked it up, realizing that it was a note:
Lisa, you forgot this at my office the other day.
I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say, other than that I'm glad that I got to use that family membership for the museum.
Au revoir, Bob.
PS: I was also serious about writing that autobiography.
Fresh tears streamed quietly down the eight-year-old's face, remembering the last time she had received a note when feeling alone. At least Bob would be back.