Goodbye Forever

8

When I got back home and to my bedroom, I searched through my old journals until I found one that I had written in during second grade. This was the year that her dad had left. Something changed between us that year, only we acted as if it didn't and eventually had almost forgotten.

I found a page labelled, "Lindsays Birthday, May 19, 2009." I started to read.

"Today I walked to Lindsays house after school with her. She is turning 8. We are having a sleepover. Her dad came into the room while we were playing Barbie. She was crying when she came back. For her birthday I gave her a new Barbie for her family. It was a baby..."

The entry continued for a while and a picture was drawn on the bottom of the page featuring Lindsay and I, saying, "BFFs". I blinked back tears before turning to a different page.

I thought back to when her dad left. She had missed a few days of school, but it was the end of the schoolyear anyways, so a lot of people were missing. I hadn't thought much of it, but I'm sure that her father leaving had hurt her.

This entry was labelled, "Last Day of Grade 2, June 26, 2009."

I had mentioned how Lindsay had missed a few days but came the last day. I had missed her a lot and her dad had gone. Back then, I didn't understand that he actually was gone, not on a trip. My new theory was, what if her dad had done something to lead to her death? There was always the possibility.

The next morning, I got dressed and ate breakfast with my mom before it was time for my dad to come pick me up. I was beyond nervous. I didn't really feel safe around him anymore; in my eyes, he wasn't a father any longer.

He pulled up in the same large truck as he had the last time I'd seen him. He still had the same messy brown hair and worn out facial expressions. I watched him walk up to the house through the peephole, then opened the door when he rang the doorbell. Since it was November, I was wearing a thick sweater. It was cold outside.

"Hi, Brookie," he said as I stepped outside with him. The pet name had been one he used for as long as I could remember. I didn't like it anymore, but also didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Hey," I replied.

"What have you been up to this past year?" he asked.

"Not much," I responded. I was trying to make it hard for him and I could tell he was getting annoyed with my basic answers. I used to talk up a storm when I was with him.

"How's your last year of high school been going?"

"Okay," I said, "I'm taking Biology."

One thing about my father was that he always adored Biology. That and trucks. He could talk about either for hours without stopping.

"Really? That's amazing, Brookie!" I heard him keep talking about other topics related to Biology and I just nodded, pretending to listen. I was taking Biology, but the truth was, I hadn't even gone to one of the classes since Lindsay's death.

My dad took us to a restaurant for lunch.

"May I take your order?" the waitress asked, stepping up to our table.

"Sure, I will have the bacon cheeseburger special," my dad ordered. Just thinking about the grease and calories that I used to love made me feel sick.

"I'll have the Caesar salad," I said.

The waitress left and my dad and I sat awkwardly.

"So, what's up with Lindsay?" he asked.

At first, I wasn't sure if I heard him right, so I looked at him questioningly. Then it registered.

"You don't know?" I questioned him, close to tears.

He shook his head, but then something seemed to dawn on him. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Brookie!" he apologized quickly.

"It's fine," I replied. "Can I go use the bathroom?"

He nodded, and I left the table, tears burning my eyes, keeping my head down to avoid stares. I think he did know, just maybe it didn't register to him that the Lindsay who died was my best friend. Or maybe he didn't know and was pretending to remember for my sake. Either way, I was now upset with my father.

We ate once I got back to the table. After his mistake, we talked about meaningless topics that weren't of significant interest to either one of us. Then, he brought me back home.

"I'll come again soon, Brooke," my father said.

"Yeah," I responded and walked back into the house.

Before I could receive interrogation from my mom, I ran back down to my bedroom and sat on my bed. It was November, Lindsay had been gone for almost a month; October 16. How was I still not over her? Everyone else had moved on. Why couldn't I?