Keepsakes

My curls flew around my face as the fan on my desk blew warm summer air around my room. I fished them away with my hand and looked at the auburn brown hair that you always loved. I'd just as soon chop it off but it made you smile and play with it. I tucked it behind my ear and bent down to pick up the book we'd read last summer in the weeks between sending our letters.

The pages were soft on the edges and the cover had been beaten up to the point that I could barely make out the title. I had carried it everywhere with me even though we promised each other to not read ahead. I didn't care for reading or Shakespeare much but you practically begged me. My mom even thought I was obsessed with it and threw me a themed birthday after we finished it. You said you laughed for days after I told you.

I placed it in the box next to your copy, on top of the pictures and keepsakes that you said reminded you of me. It had taken me a while to open the paper-wrapped parcel. Almost a week of nothing but tears, tissues, and sobs into my pillow. I hadn't cleaned up all the crumpled Kleenex that spilled out from the wastebasket.

I looked away and scanned the room, looking for my pieces of you. Hanging from the doorknob of my closet was the lanyard from Summer Camp four years ago. We didn't know we'd stay in touch for so long after that week. You were so in your element there. The crafts, the trees, the water. There wasn't any part of it you didn't love. A far cry from me being forced to go by my parents. I was at home in the suburbs and dreaming of the city. I couldn't tell my right from my left out there but you showed me. That lanyard was definitely going in the box. The tie-dye contrasting with the brown.

Maybe all our letters? You didn't put yours in, but I was the one who wanted a pen-pal. I loved the feel of getting something deliberate and thoughtful instead of a text or email. I opened the sewing tin under my bed where I kept them. Seeing the envelopes look up at me with my name written in the fanciest handwriting you could muster threatened to bring back the tears.

I picked one up at random and started to read. You had been bullied. You were a band geek and tomboy, never wearing makeup unless I was there to help. The popular girls were making your life hell. You asked how I did it. How I could be one of them but not suck as a person. I remember writing back that I had you.

There was a strip of photo booth pictures in there amongst the letters. Both of us face-painted at the county fair where you lived. You had insisted so much and once the curtain was closed, you kissed me for the first time. The pictures were forgotten until the booth told us it was printing. I touched my lips and could almost taste the cotton candy again.

Those are going in there, for sure. I needed something from last year when you visited me in the 'Big City'. We did all the touristy things and I loved them because I was with you. And I would make you blush by giving you a kiss whenever I could. Here, people accepted you, not caring that two young girls were on a date. Lost in the sea of people all living their own lives. But no. None of those souvenirs reminded me of you. We had missed June because of school, but the stores hadn't sold all their rainbow-colored stuff yet. I opened my dresser and found it. A small, stuffed rainbow heart. It had been held in the paws of a perfect little teddy bear, sitting in the discount bin of a shop downtown. We bought it together and carefully cut the stitching to separate the two. I didn't realize how scared you were when you told me I should look after the heart.

The tears broke free this time and I clutched the heart to my own. Why? Why did they have to find out? Why did they have to hurt you?

When I couldn't cry anymore, I placed the heart in the paper box. I also grabbed the bus tickets that I had already bought for this summer. I was going to you again. It was only a few weeks away from now. But that was before my world shattered. I had gotten your box the morning of the day I found out. It had been on the steps as I left. My mom pulled me out of school early and told me what you had done.

I screamed. I cried. I called your phone and a man's voice told me this was all my fault for corrupting you.

You told me why in your letter. Told me I shouldn't worry. You told me it wasn't painful, you had come close to it before. And we would see each other again someday.

I didn't want to wait for someday. I missed you.

I closed the box, wiping tears off the brown paper before they could soak in. I set it on the bed and went to the bathroom. I didn't look in the mirror. Didn't need to. My dad shaves every morning and his razor was always fresh and sharp. A new blade was in it so I twisted the handle and got it out. I heard muffled voices but they didn't make sense.

Back in my bedroom, I sat on my covers. The blade was slick and nipped at my fingers. I held it tighter and pressed it to the skin of my wrist. Red blood started to well up around the metal and I pressed deeper. I let go and laid down next to the box. All of our lives were in there, everything we meant to the other. I watched it lose focus and I could hear someone calling my name. Was it you?

"I'm coming."