SOUL

time made you bolder, children get older

October 1st, 2014

It had been six years since Adamma's death, but the ache of it still lingered in the hallways of the hearts of Leo and Mary. Senior year was in full swing, and for Leo, life had taken a path that, on the surface, seemed perfect. He was the star football player, the one everyone admired. With his impressive build, charming smile, and athletic capabilities, he had risen to the top of the social ladder. He was the most popular boy in school, the one people gravitated toward, and his weekends were filled with parties, girls, and endless praise.

But beneath the surface, Leo felt a hollowness he couldn't shake.

After Adamma had passed, football had become his escape. He threw himself into it with relentless dedication, practicing until his muscles screamed, pushing his body to the limit. The field became a sanctuary, a place where he could block out everything else. The grief, the regret, the confusion. The loss of his mother had shattered him, but he didn't let anyone see that. Instead, he locked in on the one thing that gave him a sense of control, and in doing so, he rose to the top of his game.

On the weekends, Leo partied with his new set of friends—Greg, his best friend, and the rest of the popular crowd. They were always around, always ready to have a good time, always willing to lift him up as their golden boy. The girls came and went, each one pretty and popular, but none of them ever made him feel anything real. They adored him, but he knew, deep down, that none of them really understood him. None of them saw the parts of him that mattered.

He spent his days navigating the perfect façade of his life, but no matter how many touchdowns he scored, how many parties he attended, or how many girls fawned over him, there was always something missing. A part of him that felt lost.

And then, there was Marigold.

She was still there, always hovering on the periphery of his life. The once quiet, strange girl had grown into someone even more mysterious, even more untouchable. She didn't talk to anyone, really. She was a loner, content in her solitude, and most people didn't bother her anymore. Though she was still made fun of behind her back, no one dared say anything to her face—not after Leo had overheard two girls gossiping about her one day in the hallway. He had warned them, a cold edge to his voice, not to speak about her like that again. Word spread quickly after that, and from then on, people left her alone.

Marigold had changed, though not in the way people expected. While Leo had become the epitome of popularity, she had grown quieter, more introspective. She spent her weekends visiting her grandmother, who lived in a small, quiet town called Bend, Oregon. Her grandmother had the same gifts as her—the visions, the connection to the spirit world. It was with her that Marigold had begun to understand that her abilities weren't something to be feared. They were a gift.

Over the years, Marigold had learned to embrace her sensitivity to spirits. The more she grew, the more she understood that the ghosts she saw weren't there to torment her but to seek peace. She had learned to help them, guiding them when she could. It was a quiet, often lonely existence, but it was hers, and she had come to accept it. She didn't need the approval of others. She had her own path to follow.

Leo and Marigold rarely spoke anymore. The bond they had shared in their childhood had been fractured by time, by loss, by grief. After Adamma's death, both of them had reeled from the impact, trying to figure out how to move on. Leo had regretted the harsh words he'd said to her at the funeral, blaming her for something that wasn't her fault. It had taken him months to muster the courage to apologize, and when he finally did, it had been brief, awkward, and filled with the weight of all the things he couldn't say. But Marigold had taken it well, as she always did, offering him a comforting hug in return, as if to tell him that she didn't hold it against him.

That was the last time they truly spoke.

Now, they passed each other in the hallways, sometimes exchanging small, fleeting smiles, but never much more than that. It wasn't that Leo didn't care about her anymore—he did. He thought about her more often than he cared to admit. But being around her brought back too many memories. Memories of his mother, of the past, of the pain he had buried beneath football and popularity. It was easier to keep his distance, to let the silence between them grow.

Marigold, for her part, understood. She didn't blame Leo for pulling away. They had both been through so much, and she knew that everyone grieves differently. She had found solace in her gifts, in her connection to the spirit world. Leo had found solace on the football field. Their paths had diverged, and though it saddened her at times, she accepted it. She was content with her quiet life, with the knowledge that, even if they weren't as close as they once were, there was still a thread that connected them.

Leo often found himself glancing at her from across the school yard, especially on the days when the weight of everything pressed a little too heavily on his shoulders. He'd see her sitting alone under a tree, her red hair bright against the green of the grass, a book in her lap or her eyes closed as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. It was those moments when he felt the pang of regret the most. He missed her. He missed the simplicity of their friendship, before everything had become so complicated.

But then he'd shake it off, throw himself back into practice, back into the noise of his life, and try to forget about the things that haunted him.

Marigold had felt the shift in him after his mother's death, but she never pushed. She never tried to reconnect, knowing that Leo had his own way of dealing with things. She could feel his presence whenever they passed each other in the halls, the heaviness of his grief still lingering around him like a shadow. She wondered if he had found peace with it, or if, like her, he was still searching for a way to move forward.

Though they didn't speak, there was a mutual understanding between them. They both carried the same pain, the same loss, and in their own ways, they had learned to live with it.

But even as they moved through the hallways of their senior year, each day pulling them further apart, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that something was unfinished between them.