Goodbye Forever

10

I did not go to school the next day. My mom was already gone for work as usual, so what was the point? I didn't walk to the bridge, though, either. I turned on the computer that mostly my mom used and clicked on a new tab on the internet. I selected "sign in" and carefully typed out Lindsay's email. Immediately, it took me to the password page. As long as she hadn't changed it within the year where we didn't talk much, it was still the same password.

 Nervously, I typed the password out. I was shaking, not wanting the password to be wrong. It would have felt as if I was caught in the act. I pressed "Next" and I was in. I breathed a sigh of relief as I clicked on her email. Most of everything seemed normal, except that she had sent her suicide notes from the email. Then, I came across an email from her father. "From: Zachary Wilson," the tag read. Lindsay had read the email, but not replied.

Selecting the email, I read it carefully. "Dear Lindsay. I am writing to tell you that my prison rehabilitation program has been successfully completed. You shouldn't have told on me. I am on my way back to visit you, your mom, and your brother. Hopefully, you can forgive me. I didn't do anything wrong, since you are mine, after all. From, your father, Zachary."

 The whole feeling of the email was off. It seemed almost creepy, like he was warning her. I don't remember her ever seeing her father though. I read the date on the email: October 12th. This was four days before Lindsay's death. Was this email the reason? Sure, she'd changed before that, but maybe hearing that her dad was on his way was her breaking point. But why was he in prison?

 Although it was lunch time, I didn't eat. Instead I researched reasons for someone to go to one of the centers where her father had ended up for about as long as he did. If my calculations were correct, he was in the prison for about eight years. Of course, he could have been let out on good behaviour. Nothing told me exactly why, though.

 I continued my searches for a while longer, then made my way to Lindsay's house. At this point in time today, Lindsay's mom would be at work, and her little brother at school. I had to get into her bedroom.

 I made it to her house just after 1 o'clock, so I had about two and a half hours before they came back. I snuck around to the back of their house by walking through the bushes on the side of the yard. Her bedroom window was the one at the end of the house in the back, on the first floor. I ran to the window and tried to pry it open, but I knew that it wouldn't happen that easily.

 So, I settled for using the spare key under the potted plant to get into the garage from behind their house. It hadn't been moved. Once I was inside, I walked down the hall to Lindsay's bedroom. I hadn't been inside her room for more than a year, so I hesitated a little before placing my hand on the doorknob and slowly turning it.

I had almost expected for it to be locked, or emptied of her belongings, but it looked as if she was just at school for the day. The white walls covered in music posters, the glitzed-up guitar sitting in its stand, the pile of blankets on her bed, her stuffed animals that never seemed too childish for her to keep out, and the pictures of her with her family, and with me. The only difference was that her laptop normally covered in stickers was gone, probably for investigation.

I noticed the room getting blurry, but it was only my own tears. I closed her bedroom door behind me. I didn't want to disrupt anything, but I sat carefully at the edge of her bed. I had thought that her style had changed, when she started to only wear black clothes and dark makeup. I had imagined her posters to be taken down in sadness, the pictures of me in anger. I had imagined that she would have tucked away her stuffed animals and stopped playing guitar. But it was all there; she hadn't changed. Something else did.