The Lunchbox

Connor

Every day, Conner looked forward to lunch.

He sat alone in the cafeteria, as always.

Making lunches with his mother used to be one of favorite things to do with her. Every evening, before bed, they would go through cookbooks and recipe blogs. Elaborate lunches.  Sometimes elaborate, sometimes simple.

He makes them alone now. He’d try to remember what she’d say, the sound of her voice, her laugh. This was where she stayed alive, where he was the safest.

His mother would pack him a note in his lunchbox before school every morning. Usually something encouraging.

During lunch, he’d always take out her note. Sometimes it would say, ‘Good luck!’ Other times it would be a reminder to take out the trash when he got home. But they were special. It was their thing. That important thing that he needed, or the day just wouldn’t feel the same.

Evan would always sit across from him, with the lunch Connor made for him. That was the other important thing. Evan’s parents weren’t bad parents, but they usually forgot to make him lunch. And even when they remembered, they didn’t do it the way Evan liked. Like how the soft stuff couldn’t touch the crunchy stuff. It was important. Connor knew it was important.

That’s why he made it like that for him every day. Evan was his best friend. He’d do anything for him.

Evan had been different lately. Quieter. Sadder. He barely spoke anymore, and when Connor tried to catch his eye, Evan wouldn't even look his way. Connor didn't know what had changed. It was as if Evan just shut him out one day.

He’d hear Evan’s stomach growl throughout the day, though he’d try to hide it. Evan would try to pretend that it didn’t bother him that he was the only one without a lunch.

When he made Evan's lunch that day, he left a note just like his mother would do for him.  

‘Please don’t be sad.’

But Evan wasn’t at lunch that day. He looked everywhere but couldn’t find him. When Connor came back to the classroom, the lunchbox he packed for Evan was sitting on his desk.

When he opened it, all the contents were untouched, uneaten, and a note folded neatly on top.

‘You’re sick,’ the note read.

Evan sat facing forward the entire class, not looking back at him.

Connor wasn’t going to give up and tried the next day. It was once again returned, uneaten. He unfolded the note.

‘Don’t you have anything better to do?’

His mother always told him he was stubborn. He made another lunch. Evan only looked sadder each day.

He entered the cafeteria. The rest of the class was there, but not Evan.

Connor sat at the wall and looked at the note from his mother. She always used to put one in his lunchbox, even when he got to sixth grade. She said it was to remind him she was always there with him.

He traced over his mother’s messy scrawl. Now this was all that was left of her.

Micah Gallagher walked over. He stared at Connor for long time before he grabbed his mother’s note.

He tried to scream but nothing came out. That was his mother’s! He needed that.

It was important.

It was…

Evan appeared behind Micah.

"What is wrong with you?"

Before Micah could react, Evan grabbed him and drove a fist into his face. Micah stumbled backward and hit the floor, clutching his bleeding nose.

He scrambled to his feet and hurled his book bag at Evan, but it sailed past him.

The cafeteria erupted in chaos. Before either of them could make another move, a teacher rushed in, grabbing them both and dragging them out of the room.

Micah

They’d both been suspended for three days. Micah for what he did, and Evan for fighting. As part of his punishment Micah had to write a letter of apology to Connor’s grandmother and another to the school. He had to read it out loud to an assembly.

He wanted the earth to swallow him whole. The whole class had been laughing at him. He was never going to live that down. It was going to follow him all the way to high school.

Why was this his life?

Things weren’t any better at home, with his parents screaming at each other.

He tried avoiding everyone’s eyes as he entered the cafeteria. All the girls in his class shot him dirty looks. He peered over at Evan, who sat all the way at the end of the table, right by Connor’s memorial, glaring at his lunchbox.

Connor’s school picture hung up on the wall, surrounded by cards and messages.

‘We love you, Connor.’

‘You’ll be missed, Connor.’

He let out an annoyed snort. What had he been thinking? Why had he done it in front of everyone? He could have chosen any other time.

Micah grabbed the seat across from the other boy. Evan looked up and scowled.

“Go save your apology. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I guess I’m a social pariah now. And my parents are getting divorced,” Micah offered.

“That’s rough, but I still don’t want to talk to you.”

Micah sighed, preparing to get laughed at, or yelled at, or maybe a combination of both. “Your friend is haunting you.”

“What?”

“That’s why I tore up the note. I thought if I tore up his anchor, he’d leave. But I made the mistake of thinking it was a passive haunting.”

“A passive—what are you talking about?”

Micah groaned. He was terrible at explaining this stuff, and most of the time no one ever believed him. “Connor made you that lunch, didn’t he?”

“How-how did you know that?”

“Look. There are passive hauntings and active hauntings. Passive hauntings are when ghosts are just around. They don’t do anything. Your friend is an active haunting. It’s when they interact with the living world. He’s touching things, making things, changing things. I’ve heard of active hauntings, but I’ve never seen one in real life.”

Evan searched Micah’s face for a few moments. “I’m not sure if you’re making this up, but only Connor would make my lunch like this. The crusts cut off my sandwiches, the crunchy foods not touching the soft. He’s the only one who’d make it this way. And it would show up every day in my bookbag, this exact lunch. The last lunch he ever made me. I thought I was going crazy.”

“I know how you feel. The first time I saw one of them, I thought I had cracked.” He’d been just five years old, telling everyone at Grandma’s funeral that she was still there.

Evan’s fingers tightened around the lunchbox. “Where is he?”

Micah pointed to the spot next to him, where Connor sat. Connor looked rough. The dead usually appear the same as they die, and Connor was missing chunks of himself. But he couldn’t relay Evan. Micah heard they had to have a closed casket. “Right there. Watching you.”

Evan pursed his lips. “I’m sorry I punched you.”

“It’s okay. It was dumb, and it didn’t work. But now that I know it’s an active haunting, it’s up to you to get him to leave.”

Evan dragged his eyes away from Connor’s spot. “Why does he need to leave? Can I speak to him?”

Micah shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. The dead don't really speak to the living. He needs to be with his mother. They died together, didn't they? That's why I tore up the note. He was so drawn to it, I thought it was what kept him here. But now I understand. It wasn't the note. It was you."

Evan sat motionless, eyes fixed on Connor’s spot, as trying to find some evidence he was there. He drew in a long breath. “What do I need to do?”

“What do you think he wants you to do? Your friend is making you lunch from beyond the grave. I think it’s pretty obvious.”

“He wants me to eat lunch? How’s he even making this? Where’s he getting the food?”

Micah shrugged. “I don’t really understand the logistics of it. The dead defy all logic. But Connor’s only going to be at peace if you are. I think he just needs to see you’ll be okay without him.”

Evan took a hesitant bite. Then another. And another. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he swallowed.

"Damn," he whispered, his voice breaking. "It tastes exactly the same." He shut his eyes, a sob catching in his throat. "I miss him so much."

“He looks happier,” Micah noted as he watched Connor’s injuries disappearing until he became whole.

“Is he gone?”

He watched as Connor faded away slowly. “Yeah. He’s gone.”

The silence lingered between the two as Evan wiped away tears.

Micah tried to think of something to say, and finally settled on, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know him. He seemed great.”

“He was the best.”