A/N: Because I am insanely awesome, I have updated this story this week rather than sometime far from now, which I was planning on doing, since I was procrastinating. We are nearing the end of this tale, my friends. only a few more chapters to go.
Sally: Thanks much. Dinner was awesome btw lol
LyG4ever: Gracias for your reviews. You are probably my most steady reviewer.
Everyone else..thank you so much for your reviews. They really mean the world to me.
Disclaimer: same old
Since the Halloween fiasco, I did my best to avoid both Miranda and Eric and keep up with my school work, all the while trying to return to the child I had once been. I hardly noticed as the seasons changed, as the 'For Sale' sign in front of the Gordon's house was replaced with a 'Sold' plaque, the red paint glittering in the sun. I barely noticed that Miranda had hardly been coming to school, or that my mother had strung stockings in front of the fireplace.
I had been living a dream for three months.
Three days a week I was also being forced to sit on a squeaky vinyl couch in group therapy. After my mother had found my beer stained clothes after the Halloween incident, she was convinced that I was drinking to drown my sorrows, so I got off the bus in town and was interrogated by a mousy man with a gray sweater. I passed through it all in a dreamlike state, not caring, not talking.
Somehow, one evening around six fifteen, I found myself at the Gordon's front door. It had rained that day, and frozen droplets of water clung to everything, casting a Winter Wonderland effect over downtown Hillridge. Shivering in my blue peacoat, I rang the doorbell, hearing the chimes echo in the spacious house. I stood awkwardly in the porchlight, ashamed that I hadn't been to see the Gordon's in so long. The door was flung open and Roberta Gordon appeared, her dark hair striking against her red sweater, and a smile on her face.
"Lizzie!" she exclaimed ecstatically, "Come in sweetie. I haven't seen you in so long."
The front hall was littered with half packed boxes, most of the Gordon's familiar relics had disappeared into bubble wrap and tissue paper. A small tree rested on the Persian rug, two stockings hung in front of the fireplace.
"You all are really going aren't you?" I asked quietly, laying my mittens on the coffee table and hanging my coat and scarf up on a peg.
"Yeah. It's just been way too hard, Lizzie." Roberta said, moving into the kitchen. I could hear china being moved around, hot water hissing from a kettle.
She returned a moment later, holding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of Christmas cookies in her hands. I smiled and blew on my drink, listening to the tinkling Christmas carols coming from a stereo.
"I understand." I said quietly. A silence fell between us.
"Howard isn't here." She said brightly, but I'll tell him you came by, Liz. You were always David's favorite girlfriend, honey. I know he loved you a lot, if that's any consolation. It was a terrible thing that happened Lizzie. And to think that they never caught who did it."
I brushed my bangs out of my eyes and shrugged as I bit into a Santa Claus. "Thanks. I miss him all the time, you know. I really really loved him, Mrs. Gordon. I hope he knew."
"Lizzie…I know that this may seem weird, but we haven't dismantled David's room yet. We aren't going to keep very much, so if you want you can pick things you want to keep. "
Roberta held out a white garbage that I took with shaking fingers. "Are you sure? I don't want to take anything that you want to keep."
"Lizzie, it would all just go into storage. I don't think I could put my child away in a box like that, you know?"
I nodded and walked shakily up the stairs, the bag brushing against my sneakers as I walked into the unlit upstairs quarters. My breathing became rapid as I neared the familiar door, a Cassie Steele poster taped on the white wood. Come on McGuire, open the frickin door I snapped at myself, my fingers frozen on the doorknob.
The door swung silently open revealing his room shadowed by the growing darkness of a winter evening. I turned on the light, filling the darkness with pale yellow, and gasped, falling onto the floor. The room was exactly the way it had been when I'd last seen him: the bed slightly rumpled, jeans tossed carelessly on the floor. A Pink Floyd poster was tacked to the wall, his desk littered with old papers, as well as a photograph of us at a carnival, taken three days before I left for camp. We were both staring into the camera, his arm around me, my hair blowing in the wind. We're outlined in a halo of gold, a kiss captured at the perfect moment. I smiled and pocketed the photo, running my hands through my hair.
The room smelled faintly musty, combining with the faint odor of Gordo's cologne and other boy smells. I walked around the square room, running my hands over his books and photos, picking up little things here and there. A copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, marked with copious notes, a small bottle of cologne, a program for the Film Festival that he had won with his film 'The Gordo Files', his film about middle school, and his scrapbook. Reaching under his bed, my hands closed around a wooden box that I opened with curiosity. My mouth dropped open when I saw what lay inside. All of Gordo's tapes, years and years of filming us, were all together in one box. Here was 'When Good Girls Go Bad: The Lizzie McGuire story;, and our seventh grade wilderness adventure. Here was Miranda's voice recital, and a Cassie Steele concert we'd gone to. Here were the IMVAS, as well as dozens more that I hadn't seen. Picking up the box and placing it gently in the bag, I closed the door gently behind me and walked downstairs.
"That's all?" Roberta asked me when I made my way into the living room, the rolled up bag in my arms.
"It's the things that remind me most of him." I said simply, tugging my coat around my shoulders. "I should get going if I want to catch the bus."
"Oh, Lizzie, I'll drive you. You shouldn't be walking this late anyways." Roberta said briskly, pulling a scarf over her sweater.
"Let's go!" she called lightly, grabbing her car keys from a blue ceramic dish by the door. I smiled as I remembered that this was one of Gordo's art projects, and I thought back to my eight year old self, blonde hair in pigtails, getting sprayed by a splash of blue paint as Gordo whipped around, paintbrush in hand.
The mini cooper was already warm by the time I got out onto the driveway, clutching my bag.
"Thank you so much Lizzie." Mrs. Gordon said as she pulled out of the driveway, "I can't tell you how much this means to me."
The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, Mrs. Gordon watching the road as I watched the various carolers and lights flashing on rooftops. Christmas was Gordo's favorite holiday. And he often came by the house early to whisk me away for ice skating or hot chocolate before my parents were even awake.
Soon enough we arrived at my house, my mother already waiting in the driveway. Matt was shooting hoops in the basket near the garage, 50 Cent blaring from his boombox. White and green Christmas lights dripped down from the roof and robotic reindeer were grazing in the front lawn.
"Elizabeth Brooke McGuire!" she yelled as I got out of the car, her hands on her hips. "You were supposed to be home two hours ago!"
"Sorry mom." I muttered, lugging my things out of the trunk, Roberta stepped out of the car and my mother lapsed into pleasant conversation about Matt and her flowers. I slipped into my room in the dark and sat on my bed, fingering the box of tapes and DVDs, listening to an old Backstreet Boys CD. Around nine, the doorbell rang and could hear the tinny voices of little kids singing various carolers.
"Have a very merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year…" they wished me.
I might. I just might.
