Don't you remember?

September 19th : We don't talk about the past.

My eyes flick back and forth as the cars rush by. Red and gold leaves swirl in the fall wind. The clouds are the kind of calming gray color that hangs in the sky making everything with color seem almost magical. The air is crisp. Autumn. I take a deep breath. Just one more week I think to myself. I can do this. I run across the street as fast as my legs will take me and down the paved suburban sidewalk. The winds are strong today and everything is swaying in a melody of colors. It's hard not to appreciate its beauty, but I keep my eyes on the ground. The school is just over the hill. Students rush past me trying to reach the gates before the first bell. They're talking and laughing as they do any other day. If only I could join them. Once I could, but that was a long time ago. I reach the doors of the school just as the first bell rings, and I run to my first-period class. The halls echo with every tap of my shoes, and it creates a sort of ring through the vacant halls. The walls are adorned with what seems like hundreds of Fall Festival posters. It must be a small town thing to take every opportunity possible to throw an outrageous festival. They set up the entire affair in the town square filling every part of town with food vendors and probably dangerous carnival rides. The air smells like candy apples for weeks after. That is, until the Halloween carnival; a completely different event.

The class begins as it always does, but today I pay no attention to the teacher lecturing on about the history of Great Britain. Today I stare endlessly out the windows. The trees are turning to fire day by day. Soon they will be burned out and barren until spring returns. My long Auburn hair falls over my shoulders in tendrils of red and brown. I'm no longer sad or angry. I used to be, but now I feel numb. It comes in waves. When I'm alone, and when I am doing something that I enjoy. When I stare at the night sky. All the sounds around me blur into nothingness.

"Lyra, tell me something about Ireland's history."Says the teacher cutting through my pristine dream world.

"J-James Connolly lead the Easter Uprising in an attempt to free his people. To own everything from the plow to the stars."I mumble

"Yes, he did. Where did you know that quote from?"He asks trying to continue the painful conversation.

"I read it in a book a long time ago.."I choke out playing with my sweater sleeves nervously. He does not press on and continues in his lecture. The bell finally rings and the scraping of chairs on the old hardwood floors makes me cringe.

"Remember class, the start of the Autumn Festival is tomorrow."Announces the teacher cheerfully. It is not a cheerful event. Not anymore. I swing my backpack over my shoulder and go out into the crowded halls. The smell of cheap perfume and old paint fills the air. The deafening noise of people hurts my head. I stay close to the wall trying to stay out of people's way. People are so wrapped up in their own lives. They all have their own storyline, but in a town like this, the strands of their lives are almost all identical. Most of them will graduate, get married, have a few kids, and attend church every Sunday where father Jacobs will recite the same services. Their children will follow the same line and the cycle will repeat till the end of their days. Like mice running on a wheel until they no longer can, so their children take the same role. Over and over till the end of time. I don't want to end up like them. I want to escape. Find a house by the sea and live my days out of this hell.

"It's been five years..."I hear a familiar voice mutter. A disgustingly familiar voice."She still hasn't gotten over him yet." I stop cold. An unbearable rage floods through my veins. I feel heat rush to my cheeks and tears swell in my eyes. How dare she. How could she? I remember when she cried for hours on end. I remember her face at the funeral. I remember the pain in her eyes. I remember her sitting by the hospital bed at three in the morning trying to hold back tears. Then she changed. Who she once was is dead now. Our old selves died with him. Tears fall down my freckle-specked cheeks. I feel eyes burning through my skin. I know what they are thinking. They are taking pity on me. They think I'm some broken pathetic thing. Maybe they're right. Maybe I deserve to be thrown in a psych ward.

I reach the doorway into my class staring into the doorway, but in the last moment I turn and run as fast as my legs will take me. I can't take this. Not today.