"Don't ever take a fence down until you know why it was put up." -Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Fourteen

I may as well have been punched in the gut right then and there. His words hang in the air between us as I stare at him, slowly accepting what he said as much as my mind is fighting against it. Fear begins bubbling deep in my stomach, morphing into anxiety as it rises to my chest, and finally begins to graduate to anger as it bursts out of me. My fingers clench into my palms, nearly breaking the soft skin.

Jesse doesn't move. Honestly, I think we've both held our breath. I finally find my voice, swallowed moments ago by shock.

"How?"

I don't need to clarify. Somehow, Jesse figured out why I moved here. Maybe it's been obvious this whole time. But he knows that my parents are gone.

Jesse doesn't look away from me, unfazed by the daggers I'm throwing into every inch of his body with my glare aside from the softening of his face.

"Last weekend in my driveway. For whatever reason, we both decided to open up. And I listened to the way you talked about loss."

I hold onto my lie for as long as I can. "I told you. I read some poetry and-"

"You kept saying 'we,'" he says, catching me in the lie with the shake of his head.

My shoulders tense. "What?"

"When we experience loss, we lose a part of ourselves, we need healing. I knew then that you had lost someone, too," his eyes soften once again, "Figuring out who wasn't that hard."

My heart takes another bullet of anger and shock through it, making my whole body flinch into stiffness.

It only took me three weeks to slip up. And to him of all people. I curse myself over and over again in my head. My anger persists, moving towards my own stupid brain, but I reroute it as I stare into Jesse's sympathetic expression.

I don't need his sympathy. This was meant to be kept a secret. I know what happens when people find out you've lost someone... you can no longer just be you. That's what makes healing so hard; when the people around you refuse to move on, how can they expect you to?

I finally break away from his gaze, choosing instead to stare at the floor. "You had no right to bring me here."

He furrows his brow, "I was trying to help you."

"Help me?" My eyes snap up. "You don't even know me!"

Annoyance darts across his face and he squares his shoulders defensively. "Clearly I know you better than you thought."

"Oh, that's right," I spit sarcastically. "My 'thing'. I like poetry. You like history and putting your nose in other people's business!"

"Me?" Jesse scoffs as he steps closer to me. "You're the one who randomly showed up on my driveway to pick up broken glass."

"Yeah, because that's the same as you dragging me to a support group to reveal that you know my parents are dead!"

Jesse shows no reaction aside from the subtle flinch of his body, but he doesn't back off. "How would you have suggested I bring it up?"

My lip curls in anger. "You shouldn't have brought it up at all because you shouldn't know in the first place!"

Before he can find another excuse to argue with me, I spin on my heel and go back down the hallway. Now the scent of the crayons and old food just mixes in with my sudden headache and jumbled thoughts, making this hallway feel even smaller and more insufferable. I break into a small jog, rushing down the steps and bursting through the front doors into the chill, fall night air.

The change in temperature stings my skin but helps me breathe normally and I soak it in. I bury my face in my hands and try to sort through this logically, but my mind is spinning.

Am I that readable? Such an open book that saying a handful of sentences about loss can clue anyone in to the fact I experienced it with my own parents? What's more: that I somehow seem broken enough for a guy I only just met to bring me to a support group. I'm supposed to live as if I have it all together and I can't help but feel like this moment proves that, to others, it seems I'm doing the opposite.

Seconds later, the doors burst open again and I spin to see Jesse. His brows are furrowed as he looks at me, scowl pulled down into a frown.

I divert my gaze and continue walking towards my car. "Don't you have a support group to attend?" I ask rhetorically over my shoulder.

"Have you mended it?"

"What?" I snap, irritated.

"The missing piece."

My feet still. I turn my body just enough to see him standing by the entrance, under the glow of the bright streetlight. The stupid blue ring around his gray eyes is on display and I let out a huff, choosing not to even respond.

"Look, you can be angry all you want," he begins, putting his hands into his jean pockets, "I get it. But you made it clear the other night that you haven't found a way to heal. I know what that's like, and you somehow managed to fit the feeling into words. I figured you could give the support group a try."

My anger flickers away for a small moment, but it comes back stronger and I shake my head.

"So I can sit in a circle and tell you and other classmates about how my parents died while we hold hands and cry together?"

He takes a step closer, out of the glow of the streetlight, and shakes his head. "There's no one else from school, just teens from neighboring counties. I wouldn't have brought you here if there were."

I study him for a second. "Why?"

"Because for some reason, you don't want anyone to know,"

"And you still thought it was okay for you to know?" I ask incredulously.

"It's not like I sat there and asked you to tell me." Jesse bites back, gray eyes flickering with a mix of anger and guilt.

My eyes burn with anger I shake my head. "I didn't tell you!"

"I know that."

"Yet you went all Sherlock Holmes on me and tried to figure it out!"

He furrows his brow. "The context clues weren't that difficult to piece together. You suddenly moved in with extended family and no one really knows why, and you rarely talk about your parents."

I stay silent.

Jesse continues, "But I am still trying to figure out why you aren't telling anyone."

"So, what?" I ask with a humorless laugh, tilting my chin towards the building. "You thought you could bring me to this support group to get more context?"

"I brought you to this support group to let you open up and talk about it," he says, his tone somewhat softer but still with a sharp edge. "I didn't think it mattered that I'm here since I already figured it out."

"Are you being serious right now?" I ask, almost wanting to pinch myself to see if this is just some nightmare. "You thought I wouldn't mind? And you thought telling me at the support group was the best way to break the news?"

He looks regretful now. His scowl is deep, tugging his lips down and he lets out a quick breath of air. "In hindsight, I probably could have mentioned it a different way. But you're here now, so why not come join?"

"Remember when you told me Shay had no business talking about your dad or trying to 'help' you?" I state coldly. "Same thing applies here."

He sharply looks down to the pavement, as if my words slapped him in the face. I don't know if he's angry or regretful, but I don't really care.

A car drives by on the road behind me, the heavy engine sounding far too similar to the SUV my parents drove. I squeeze my eyes shut as a stupid flashback tiptoes into my mind, revealing flashes of my parents laughing in the car as they teased me for never wanting to drive.

I hear a horn somewhere in the distance and I have a tough time figuring out if it's real or part of my memories, but it cuts right through the sound of my parents' laughter and turns it to screams.

My knees suddenly feel weak and I bring my hands up to my head, willing the thoughts away. My chest tightens in an instant and I struggle to catch my breath, trying to open my eyes before the image I've fought back for 8 months forces its way through.

I saw my dads mangled body. I saw my mom. I even saw pieces of myself through the shattered glass. But I haven't had to relive that for eight months. I refuse to start now.

I haven't had to talk about the crash. I've been able to avoid reliving that night. That's why no one can know. That's why no one was supposed to know.

"Laura?" Jesse says, and I wretch my eyes open. He pulls his hands from his pockets and takes a step closer, reaching out a cautious hand as worry flickers across his face. "Are you okay?"

For the moment, the flashback leaves my mind.

"I'm fine," I say, shoving a hand in his direction to keep him distant. "I need to go."

I spin away and march to Aunt June's car, nearly ripping the handle off as I open the door. From the corner of my eye, I see Jesse tug a hand through his hair as he watches me. He holds it there, staring at me before he shakes his head.

"Laura, hold on-"

"No!" I yell, throwing the door shut and stepping back towards him. "Just because you thought it was okay to tell me about Shay and your dad, doesn't mean I'm okay sharing the worst event of my life with you!"

His face flinches. "I was just trying to help."

"I don't need help!" I yell as I step closer. "What I need is for no one to know."

He doesn't step back. He watches me, brow furrowed with a frown etching into his skin. "Why?"

I laugh. I actually laugh. Not because I'm amused, but because I can't believe this is actually happening.

"Because if no one knows then no one asks questions," my voice begins to rise and my words begin to rush out before my brain can process them. "If they don't ask questions, I don't have to talk about it. And if I don't talk about it, I can act like it never even happened!"

And just like that, my truth comes out. I've avoided talking about the crash with everyone. It's true that I don't want to be viewed differently by my classmates. But more than that, I'm afraid.

I'm afraid to talk about it because I'm afraid to relive the worst moments. I'm afraid to see their bodies smashing against the car as we tumbled down the cliff. I'm afraid to hear their gut-wrenching screams. I'm afraid of the final image I'll ever have of my dad. I'm afraid of the last words I'll ever hear from my mom.

It's so much easier to try and pretend it didn't happen when no one around you knows.

I stand there with my breaths coming out in a horrible, offbeat rhythm with my heart as my thoughts begin to surface.

Jesse doesn't know what to say.

Without catching my breath, I turn and get into the car. I hear Jesse calling my name but I ignore him, getting in and driving back down the road and to the Stallard's without even glancing at Jesse or the community center in the rear view mirror. I want to put as much distance between me and that moment as possible.

As I drive, though, I can't keep the memories back. It's like Jesse created a hole into the steel barrier keeping away the worst of my mind, and now the memories are flowing out so rapidly the hole has burst the entire gate wide open. All of my hard work to keep my memories stuffed away comes crashing down around me. I don't remember pulling into the driveway. I don't even remember the drive home.

Parked in the driveway, I stare straight ahead. The headlights against the stark white garage door begin to blur as tears well in my eyes. I blink and they come crashing down my cheeks and it's like I finally let everything crash down on me. Breaking me.

The accident did happen. I'm not just on some vacation away to visit the Stallard's, because there is no going home. I don't have my home.

My mind just keeps the two truths on repeat: I don't have my home. I don't have my parents.

My palms start to throb with pain and I realize I've been pounding them on the steering wheel, my body writhing as I try to catch my breath but choking on every sob. My vision blurs again as more tears escape. I continue to stare blankly ahead, shaking my head as the hopeless blanket thrown over me constricts my body even tighter.

They're gone, my mind whispers, reduced to their last moments in my memory.

My dad. Sprawled unevenly across the blood-stained snow.

My mom. Voice shrieking in fear as her body writhes, unable to escape the inferno breaking out all around her.

I'll never see my mom's beautiful smile again. Never hear my dads laughter again.

He'll never tell me how proud he is of me. She'll never praise me for my poetry.

He'll never be able to pull me into a bear hug when I make a good pool shot, engulfing me in his oaky scent. She'll never kiss my head as I fall asleep watching a movie cuddled into her side.

I hear the same scream from that night and will it out of my memory. It isn't until I rip my eyes open that I realize that scream isn't coming from my mind. It's pouring out of me, filling the suffocating air in the car and making my ears ring.

Seconds later, the door of the car is ripped open and I snap my watery vision to see familiar bright blue eyes staring at me. In that second, I see my mom and wonder if the past 8 months have been nothing but a dream. But my heart plummets down so deep when I realize it's not her. It can't be her.

It never will be her.

Aunt June reaches into the car for me, unbuckling the seatbelt and pulling me into her arms. For a fleeting moment, I let her familiar smell calm the pain in my heart, but it doesn't work for long. I continue to sob and scream, my whole body refusing to listen to me and just move.

"Tim, I can't get her!" Aunt June rushes out.

Then his large arms are around me. Carefully lifting my legs under my knees and pulling me gently out of the car with a hand wrapping around my back, heaving me up into a big belly and chest. I curl my fingers around the front of Uncle Tim's flannel, clenching the fabric tightly as he cradles me in his arms and begins to walk inside.

"I'm never going to get them back," I choke out, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I'm so sorry," he says softly.

I shake my head and bury the side of my face into his chest, unable to stop my entire body from shaking.

"They're gone," I keep repeating, catching on the words as my body tries to find a way to get air.

"I know, I know," he hushes, holding me a little tighter. "You're going to be okay."

I vaguely notice us walking inside, barely registering the familiar creak of the storm door as Aunt June holds it open for us. I hear footsteps skip down the stairs and hold my breath as I await Allen, wishing he would have stayed upstairs to avoid seeing me like this.

"Hey mom, do we still have any- Laura?" Allen rushes out, voice laced with concern. "What happened? Is she okay?"

I keep my face buried in Uncle Tim's flannel, heart sinking further and further until I fear it's completely dropped out of me. Aunt June speaks quietly to Allen, but I focus on my breathing as Uncle Tim carries me upstairs, resting me down on my bed with Aunt June on his heels. He shares a look with her before stepping out of the room, but I just lay on my bed and shut my eyes tight, still sobbing.

I feel the edge of my bed sink down as Aune June sits, reaching out her hand to smooth down my hair. The feeling helps calm my racing heart and I try to melt into her sympathy. She scoots herself closer, grabbing my shaking hand in hers and squeezing it with reassurance.

"It's going to be okay, Laura. You're going to be alright," she promises.

I try to hold back my sobs and nod, wanting to believe her. I hear her heartbroken sigh as she continues to stroke my hair soothingly, and she squeezes my hand again.

"Let it all out, sweetheart. You don't have to hold it in anymore."

So I do.

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Next update: next Friday!