The Bulletin Board

          Gusts of sadness blew through the cold, crisp air of late November. The whirls hit me like bricks, but I them let go and continued walking through the parking lot. Nothing affected me anymore. I had put up a wall to keep the despair at bay.

Most of my days consisted of long walks through the neighborhood by myself. It was better that way, though. There was only one person I wanted to be around, and since that wasn't happening anytime soon, I preferred to be alone.

I reached deep into the pocket of my jeans to grab the folded paper I always carried, but a strong burst of wind suddenly stole the paper as I pulled it out. The paper was swept away in the wind along with the memories folded inside. Panicked, I dashed forward, stumbling on the leaves and debris collecting in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse. I scrambled after the paper, circling my tracks like a dog chasing its tail. The paper was making a fool of me, but I couldn't just let the memory slip away. Moments later, the wind stopped blowing and the paper swooped low. I snatched it up before the wind started up again and smoothed out the wrinkles.

          Unfolding the paper, I was reassured to that see that it hadn't been destroyed. Folded inside, there was still a photograph of my best-friend and I. The photo had worn from being handled so much, but the smile on Emmett's face was still as wide as the sky. We were always goofing around when we hung out.

My hand trembled and the photograph fell to the ground. I picked it up again just as the street lights flicked on. For safekeeping, I gently folded it back up. This memory was mine to keep. Then I continued my walk towards home.
      
          I exited the parking lot and made my way into the littered neighborhood. Graffiti was sprawled on the cold cement walls of buildings and empty spray cans were carelessly tossed onto the ground. Rows of pale colored, two story houses were lined together closely. Some of these homes had been tagged by the local neighborhood gangs. My mom didn't like the idea of me being out, especially when I was a kid. She use to bug me about it, but lately she hadn't bothered.

          Walking down the street, I lowered my head and stared at the ground. Soon, I would be passing a pale yellow house full of sorrow. The bushes lining the front porch would be brown and decayed. The shutters of the house would be closed, keeping the sadness locked inside. Except for what had managed to escape and haunt me every day. This feeling stuck with me like a hungry leech draining me of the happiness I had left. I watched my feet move for about five minutes before looking up again. This way, I wouldn't have to see his cheerless house. My home would be coming up soon.

          I took a left onto my street and slowly walked up the steps to my house. The blue paint on the door was chipping, and the mat in front of the door was crooked. I straightened the mat before opening the door. The living room was empty and the lights were off. I slowly closed the door behind me, hoping my mother wouldn't hear. Suddenly, the sound of dropping pots and pans came from the kitchen along with a startled yell from my mother.

          "Andy, is that you? Honey, where have you been? I've been worried sick about you," she called out across the the house.

My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I walked past the living room. "I told you I was going out," I muttered resentfully as I made my way down the hallway.

          "You can't just leave when you want to! I know I've been more lenient since. . . you know. But all this needs to stop. It's been months, Andy. I think—"

          "I don't want to hear it! He was my best-friend, Mom. I can't just act like it never happened." I walked into my room and angrily slammed the door. The walls of my room shook, and the book that was laying on the edge of my desk fell off. I grabbed the book and placed it back onto the desk where it wouldn't be able to fall off of again.

           I pulled my arms free of my gray North Face coat and threw it onto the bed. Taking a seat next to the coat, I looked around my room. My mom was big on taking photos, so plenty of photographs decorated the walls. Some small, some big. The majority of the photos were of Emmett and I. My mother had arranged a collage of them on the bulletin board that was next to my desk. Every single bit was filled with pictures of us smiling, all except for a small rectangle right in the middle. Instead of being on the bulletin board, the photo was in my pocket. The very last photo I had of Emmett and I.

           The unwanted thoughts I was scared of started to pour in. There wouldn't be anymore photos of the two of us. We wouldn't get a chance to take anymore. Emmett was gone, and I still was not over it. My mom and his family were all worried sick about me, but I couldn't help it.

There were all these things about Emmett he never told me himself. He was always so happy when I was with him. Why hadn't I known? I thought we had told each other everything. Yet, I had overheard his mom talking at the funeral about Emmett's diagnosis of depression. Then I realized that depression isn't just being sad all the time. Maybe Emmett had been faking his happiness for the sake of our friendship. And although I never had the courage to ask her, I still wonder why Emmett's mom didn't do anything more. If she knew, why did she not get him help? If he'd gotten help, he could still be here with me.

           I pushed away the bad thoughts as I heard my mom call me for dinner. Then for the first time in a while, I walked out of my room and joined her. She had patiently placed plates out for me each night, but I had always refused. Tonight would be different because I was hit with the realization that Emmett had left me with more than just memories. He had taught me what could happen if you don't trust someone enough to let out some of the things you bottle up.

           That night, my mom and I reconnected. We spoke about what I had been keeping to myself for so long. When we were done, I went back to my room, grabbed the photograph from my pocket, and sat down on my bed. Looking at the picture, I could tell he was probably happier wherever he was now. He would always be my best-friend.

           I got off my bed and walked over to the bulletin board. Eyeing the empty space, I picked up the red pin that didn't have anything to hold on to. Instead, I let it hold onto Emmett and I. I stood back and smiled, brushing off the pain of the past. Emmett would always have a place in my heart, but he was gone from this Earth and I was finally coming back.