Looking For Alaska: Epilogue

        I got into the car with almost no clue what the hell I was doing. I didn't up and leave without telling anyon, I'd left a note for my parents. It took hours to get there, including one stop for some white flowers. After what felt like the longest car journey in the world, I was there. I was in Vine Station, Alabama: the city where Alaska Young was buried. I hadn't been there in years and I wasn't exactly sure why I was there now. A few days before, I had just felt this urge to see her. As I approached her grave, all the memories came flooding back into my mind I'd pushed them away for years. Memories of Culver Creek and the Colonel and of Lara and Takumi and of Alaska. I thought back to the night I'd kissed her. I remembered her words: "To be continued?" but it never would continue. Then, when I was about three steps away from her grave, questions came into my mind. Questions I would never get the answers to.  What really happened? Did she kill herself? Was it really an accident? I'd acknowledged the fact that I would never get the answers. I had, at least until now, made my peace with that.

        Those last three steps to her grave were the hardest ones I had ever walked. When I was finally there, I set the flowers on her grave and sat down. I sat there for a long while just staring at her gravestone. Not only did all those memories come back, but the pain too. And then, I did something that I thought was sort of weird, I started talking to her.

        "Hello Alaska," I said. I paused for a bit and said, "How do you like the flowers? They're the white ones, like you used to give your mom," I paused again. It was almost like I was expecting an answer or something. Of course I didn't one, but I kept talking anyway.

        "I'm sorry I haven't come to see you in a while," I let out a sigh. "To be honest, Alaska, I don't know what the hell I'm doing right now.  It's just I've had this urge to come visit you so here I am." I sat there in silence for a long time. I didn't know what else to do.

        "Well," I said, standing up. "I guess this is goodbye," I turned to leave, but turned back around. "Oh, and Alaska," I began,  tears welling up in my eyes. "I-I hope that, wherever you are, you're happy and that you've found the Great Perhaps." That was it. I started to sob. The little pang of sadness was magnified.

        "Alaska, I love you," I whispered. "Present tense." And I did. Even after nearly four years I still did love her. Present tense.