Seasons - Winter winds

Chapter 15

He was leaning against the wall, looking at Mrs. Lewis. The woman had gathered some teenagers in the school choir room. She stood beside the piano and glanced at them.

"I know many of you didn't want to be here," she said, noticing some diverted gazes. "I also know that some of your parents think it's too early... I won't lie." She took a deep breath and paused for a moment. "Maybe they're right, maybe it's too soon."

Some looks returned to her, and she grabbed an empty chair, sitting down.

"I won't tell you that the pain will eventually go away... I won't say that the anger will fade... I know you've heard that from everyone." She tried to make eye contact with each of them. "I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I understand what each of you is feeling. I'm not... presumptuous to that extent. I won't... I won't force you to talk or sing..." she paused and took a deep breath. "But I need to say that unfortunately, what you're feeling isn't the worst moment of grief."

"Is there something worse than this?" One of the boys asked. Mitch looked at him, a boy around 17, with tan skin and dark eyes. "Can it be worse than this?"

"Unfortunately, it can be," she took a deep breath and let her shoulders slump. "There will be a moment, after all of this has passed. The moment when you think you're getting better, when maybe you can talk about what happened. And... maybe because something really good happened or simply because your mind plays a trick on you and you forget... for a moment... for a tiny second... and you want to call the person you lost, you want to tell them something... laugh with them..." she stopped and took a deep breath. "Then you remember, and it hurts in a way you didn't expect. It takes your breath away and leaves you stunned. At that moment, I want you to remember something..." she pointed to the door. "That door will always be open, even after you finish school. My door is always open."

Mitch saw the boy who had asked leaning forward and taking a deep breath. Similar reactions spread throughout the room, and Mitch shifted uncomfortably.

"The theater will be rebuilt; we've received some donations for that. I want to do something, and I'm asking for your permission, just as I'll ask the families..." she saw some glances return to her. "Do you allow us to do some kind of tribute to them in the theater?"

"Why do you need our permission?" Mitch saw a blonde girl in the middle of the second row ask.

"Because it's your suffering too."

"Is it? Well..." the boy who had spoken stood up. "My suffering is his father's fault." He pointed at Mitch. "Because his damn father pulled me, and her hand slipped out of mine. So who do I have to ask permission to beat the crap out of his son?"

Mitch didn't move; Mrs. Lewis just took a deep breath.

"Owen..."

The boy just shook his head and stormed out of the room furiously. Mrs. Lewis turned to look at Mitch.

"I'll talk to him," he said, and the woman stood up. "Don't worry."

Mitch left without waiting for a response, following the man down the hall. Lockers lined up on both sides; he didn't call out to him, just followed him.

He saw the boy stop and punch the nearest locker, letting out a scream. Mitch slowed down, watching the boy lean his forehead against the locker, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry," he said, watching the boy pant. "I'm sorry for your loss."

The boy punched the locker hard again, but Mitch didn't flinch. They locked eyes; the boy was breathing heavily.

"I loved her," the boy said tensely. "I loved her."

"I know. I'm sorry you lost her," Mitch approached slowly.