Lights Will Guide You Home

Claire

On Saturday night, Michael was free to go. I drove him to Braveheart, trying to make small talk on the way. He had opened up to me after the night he had confided but on the ride back, he was oddly quiet.

"Hey, Mikey? Is anything wrong?" I asked as I parked my car.

He didn't say anything; he simply got out of the car.

It was quite a cold night. I looked down at Michael, making sure his jacket was zipped up. The sleeves were rolled up so they wouldn't get in the way of the dressing on his arms. "You can tell me, you know," I said after a while, running my hand through his unruly brown curls.

"What if they don't like me?" He looked up at me. "What if they don't want to be my friends? What if they don't like me anymore? What if they think I'm a coward?" his lips trembled, his eyes threatening to fill with tears.

"Michael," I said, turning him to face me. The light from a nearby lamp illuminated his distressed face. I looked into those big green eyes. "No one is going to judge you for what you did. They'll understand, don't worry."

"Have you told them what I did?" he asked in a small voice.

"No...but..." I looked down at his arms. It wouldn't be hard to figure out.

"It's not that hard to guess, is it," he realized, following my gaze.

I knelt down on the grassy path. "It doesn't matter. They understand what it's like to be sad, Michael. And I'm sure they'll understand you too. You just be yourself and everyone will love you." I smiled at him and instinctively kissed his cheek. I often felt a funny motherly feeling around children but somehow, with Michael, the connection was stronger.

He smiled at me, and for the first time I noticed a tiny dimple in his left cheek.

I knew he'd be happy with all of them.

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