After We've Said Goodbye, chapter 1
By Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com
Disclaimer: Just the plot is mine.
A/N: This is kind of a continuation of, um, all the stories I've posted on here. I hadn't originally planned it to be like that, but the way I started it, it just kind of worked out that way. So, I'd recommend reading my other stories first, if you want to have a better background on what happened. In order, they go: 1- It's Not Always Rainbows & Butterflies, and 2- Bright Lights. Enjoy!
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Ahh, college life. Parent-free, step-brother-free, college life. Ask any normal college student what they do on any given night of the week, and the answers are endless and seemingly worry free: clubs, bars, parties, and the infamous keggers. Carousing on the town, ignoring your parents' encouragements on move-in day to 'keep up with your work,' and to 'remember, studies first, fun later.' Forget high school, college was supposed to be the best four years of your life.
Right. Which is why you can find me in my dorm room, swiffering the floor.
Exciting, huh?
Don't get me wrong; I actually do have a social life. I have met plenty of people since starting here at NoCal (yes, the same school Sleepy attends, only I live on campus) in the spring semester.
That's right. Spring semester. I took half the year off after graduation (which, might I add, is a whole other story I'd prefer not to indulge in. Let's just say that public speeches, not my thing to begin with, tend to get somewhat, um, "altered" spontaneously when I, class president, am interrupted during said speech, and that these alterations are typically not of the complimentary sort toward the ignorant jerks who chose to interrupt) and told my mom and Andy that I wanted to "save up" before starting such an expensive endeavor as college.
Really, though, I didn't want to leave just yet. Not like I'd be able to focus, anyway.
Not with Jesse disappearing the way he did.
You'd think I wouldn't be able to wait to get out of that house, right? I mean, why would I want to spend another second in that place, that room, with all the memories of what we used to have?
Well, simple: I didn't believe it. The fact that he was gone, I mean. I still expected to wake up each morning and find him sitting there on the window seat, greeting me with the occasional "Good morning, Querida" as he tended to do so often in those final days. It was almost as if he -knew- that his time was coming, because pretty much every time I was in my room, so was he, even though technically he lived in the rectory. He always seemed to be there whenever I stepped through the door. Not that I minded. Quite the contrary.
But yeah, I took the fall semester off, to "earn some cash" back at Pebble Beach, when in reality all I wanted to do was curl up and die. At least then, I'd get to see Jesse again.
I, however, am not quite that suicidal, nor do I give up that easily. I mean, I loved him, and as far as I knew (although he never flat came out and said it), he loved me, so why shouldn't there be some way where we'd be together again? There had to be, right?
Wrong.
At least, my splendid notion has failed me for these past six months. I haven't seen him since a few weeks after graduation. I mean, I knew that when I went off to college, I wouldn't see Jesse as much, but. . . well, to *never* see him again? That was just too much to deal with. . .
So anyway, such has been the story of my life since that fateful day last July. Although I still had Jesse's miniature and his handkerchief (which, of course, no one but me and Father Dominic, and Paul I guess, if you want to be technical, could see), obviously it wasn't enough. And besides, it's not like I could carry around his picture and be like, Hey, look, this is my dead boyfriend. Quite a looker, isn't he?
Honestly. People might talk if they knew I carried around the portrait of some guy who was murdered over one hundred fifty years ago, who to any logical mind, I had never even met. Well, that and the fact that I shouldn't even *have* the picture to begin with, it being a historical artifact and all. Obviously so, I had to keep the miniature hidden.
So, stashed in my bottom drawer, underneath my Math History and Computer Science textbooks (since clearly no one would want to look there), and between the pages of my Spanish-that's right, Spanish-notebook, I kept the only existing replica of the love of my life. Pathetic, isn't it? I can't even tell you how much I wanted to burst out in tears when we went over terms of endearment in my introductory Spanish class, and of course, the word 'querida' was on the list. I came pretty darn close to it. To tears, I mean. It wasn't pretty.
On top of my desk, which was underneath my bunk-style bed to save room, was a lamp, my computer, and a turquoise betta fish that my mom bought me to 'keep me company.' A nice gesture, I guess. Aside from having to clean it's 2-gallon tank every month, it was kind of nice to have around. I hung handfuls of pictures from the bars holding my bed up, so when I sat at my desk they'd dangle overhead. It was really nice, actually, to just sit there and look at pictures of me with Adam, and Cee Cee, and Gina, and my Mom and step-dad, and even my step-brothers. There was a picture of me and my dad, too, taken about a month or so before he died when I was six. And then there were prom pictures.
Prom. Jesse had come to my prom. Not that there were pictures of him there, or anything, but he was there. Completely unexpectedly. He didn't even tell Father Dom, and he saved me from the nuisance that was in the form of Paul Slater, bringing me down this elegantly decorated path that the Ecology Club had organized. And he kissed me.
And, he told me that he would never leave, that he was here in the living world because he was supposed to be with me. Hah.
I had believed him then, too. How stupid of me.
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© 2004 by Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com
By Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com
Disclaimer: Just the plot is mine.
A/N: This is kind of a continuation of, um, all the stories I've posted on here. I hadn't originally planned it to be like that, but the way I started it, it just kind of worked out that way. So, I'd recommend reading my other stories first, if you want to have a better background on what happened. In order, they go: 1- It's Not Always Rainbows & Butterflies, and 2- Bright Lights. Enjoy!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ahh, college life. Parent-free, step-brother-free, college life. Ask any normal college student what they do on any given night of the week, and the answers are endless and seemingly worry free: clubs, bars, parties, and the infamous keggers. Carousing on the town, ignoring your parents' encouragements on move-in day to 'keep up with your work,' and to 'remember, studies first, fun later.' Forget high school, college was supposed to be the best four years of your life.
Right. Which is why you can find me in my dorm room, swiffering the floor.
Exciting, huh?
Don't get me wrong; I actually do have a social life. I have met plenty of people since starting here at NoCal (yes, the same school Sleepy attends, only I live on campus) in the spring semester.
That's right. Spring semester. I took half the year off after graduation (which, might I add, is a whole other story I'd prefer not to indulge in. Let's just say that public speeches, not my thing to begin with, tend to get somewhat, um, "altered" spontaneously when I, class president, am interrupted during said speech, and that these alterations are typically not of the complimentary sort toward the ignorant jerks who chose to interrupt) and told my mom and Andy that I wanted to "save up" before starting such an expensive endeavor as college.
Really, though, I didn't want to leave just yet. Not like I'd be able to focus, anyway.
Not with Jesse disappearing the way he did.
You'd think I wouldn't be able to wait to get out of that house, right? I mean, why would I want to spend another second in that place, that room, with all the memories of what we used to have?
Well, simple: I didn't believe it. The fact that he was gone, I mean. I still expected to wake up each morning and find him sitting there on the window seat, greeting me with the occasional "Good morning, Querida" as he tended to do so often in those final days. It was almost as if he -knew- that his time was coming, because pretty much every time I was in my room, so was he, even though technically he lived in the rectory. He always seemed to be there whenever I stepped through the door. Not that I minded. Quite the contrary.
But yeah, I took the fall semester off, to "earn some cash" back at Pebble Beach, when in reality all I wanted to do was curl up and die. At least then, I'd get to see Jesse again.
I, however, am not quite that suicidal, nor do I give up that easily. I mean, I loved him, and as far as I knew (although he never flat came out and said it), he loved me, so why shouldn't there be some way where we'd be together again? There had to be, right?
Wrong.
At least, my splendid notion has failed me for these past six months. I haven't seen him since a few weeks after graduation. I mean, I knew that when I went off to college, I wouldn't see Jesse as much, but. . . well, to *never* see him again? That was just too much to deal with. . .
So anyway, such has been the story of my life since that fateful day last July. Although I still had Jesse's miniature and his handkerchief (which, of course, no one but me and Father Dominic, and Paul I guess, if you want to be technical, could see), obviously it wasn't enough. And besides, it's not like I could carry around his picture and be like, Hey, look, this is my dead boyfriend. Quite a looker, isn't he?
Honestly. People might talk if they knew I carried around the portrait of some guy who was murdered over one hundred fifty years ago, who to any logical mind, I had never even met. Well, that and the fact that I shouldn't even *have* the picture to begin with, it being a historical artifact and all. Obviously so, I had to keep the miniature hidden.
So, stashed in my bottom drawer, underneath my Math History and Computer Science textbooks (since clearly no one would want to look there), and between the pages of my Spanish-that's right, Spanish-notebook, I kept the only existing replica of the love of my life. Pathetic, isn't it? I can't even tell you how much I wanted to burst out in tears when we went over terms of endearment in my introductory Spanish class, and of course, the word 'querida' was on the list. I came pretty darn close to it. To tears, I mean. It wasn't pretty.
On top of my desk, which was underneath my bunk-style bed to save room, was a lamp, my computer, and a turquoise betta fish that my mom bought me to 'keep me company.' A nice gesture, I guess. Aside from having to clean it's 2-gallon tank every month, it was kind of nice to have around. I hung handfuls of pictures from the bars holding my bed up, so when I sat at my desk they'd dangle overhead. It was really nice, actually, to just sit there and look at pictures of me with Adam, and Cee Cee, and Gina, and my Mom and step-dad, and even my step-brothers. There was a picture of me and my dad, too, taken about a month or so before he died when I was six. And then there were prom pictures.
Prom. Jesse had come to my prom. Not that there were pictures of him there, or anything, but he was there. Completely unexpectedly. He didn't even tell Father Dom, and he saved me from the nuisance that was in the form of Paul Slater, bringing me down this elegantly decorated path that the Ecology Club had organized. And he kissed me.
And, he told me that he would never leave, that he was here in the living world because he was supposed to be with me. Hah.
I had believed him then, too. How stupid of me.
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© 2004 by Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com