❝The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.❞

-Marcus Tullius Cicero

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I see 6 more bands perform small sets of music before my day at Warped ends. Erika drags me to each of them, and though I hardly know a few of them, I savor every song, every beat, every strum of the guitar. In between shows we get soda and talk about our hobbies; she likes poetry and writing and the city, and has close to no knowledge of musical theater, which makes me frown.

By the time it finally starts to rain, we've wound up under a canopy near the exit, and Erika is texting her mom frustratedly. "My mom wants me to come find her. It's s'posed to really storm, and if there's extreme weather, they'll have to shut down. She wants to get out and and start driving back to Ashdown before the traffic gets bad."

"Understandable."

"I know you said you're homeschooled, but I'll see you in back in town, right?" She says as she pockets her phone, giving me a hopeful look. "I live in Country Squire, the development out behind the General Store."

"Uh," my mind goes blank. "Yeah, I know where Country Squire is. I, um, I may see you around town or something."

"Well," Erika says with an ignorant smile, "I waitress at The Fox on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays - dinner shift. You should stop by and say hi, and we can complain together about the stupid old people music they play over the speakers there."

She's talking about the diner off of Route 7, The Fox's Den, one of the most enduring icons of Ashdown's small town Americana. It was Will and I's true destination the night of the crash, and I've been back a few times since with my mother and my sister, but I've never seen any evidence about Erika still working there. An idea forms in my mind, but for now, I just say, "Sure. Right. Next time I'll go there, I'll ask about you."

It's not a complete lie, because now I would like to go there and ask about her. Still, I feel guilty, like Erika's going to wait for me and I'll never come. But what can I do? I can't exactly confess I'm time traveling. We all saw how that went over with Kat, and she's my sister - someone who actually knows and (slightly) trusts me.

"Great!" Erika exclaims. Her phone, a tiny, purple Motorola Razr that matches her hair, buzzes within her jeans pocket. "That's probably my mom again. Gotta go. One last hug?"

It's a question, but she doesn't wait for an answer. She just embraces me, and I hug back, though I can sense the stiffness in my muscles. When we separate, she says, "Okay! Thanks for hanging out with me today, it was so much fun, I honestly don't know what I would've done if I had to go around by myself! Make sure you come by The Fox! Bye!" As she's saying this, she starts backing away, before finally waving, ducking her head, and running out into the rainy crowd.

Without her, I feel cold, naked, alone, exposed to the elements despite being covered by a tent. Outside, the rain's pitter-patter on the concrete blends perfectly with the talking of people and the slapping of footfalls. Thunders rumbles again in the distance, and a voice behind me says, "You're going to break her heart, Lila."

I revolve and see Mor, standing amongst the rest of the people packed like hydrophobic sardines in the tent. Nobody's staring at him strangely, but I suppose most people here have seen much odder outfits. As for Mor, his gaze is settled on me, halfway between patronizing and something unrecognizable.

"I know," I surrender sadly, "But what else was I going to do?"

Mor shrugs, "Nothing, I suppose. Break her heart in the moment or let it break over time, either way, it's one more broken heart in the world."

"And people say I'm dramatic..." I cross my arms, partially to feign irritation and partially because I feel so uncomfortable. "How long have you been here? Behind me?"

"I've been keeping an eye on you all day," he explains, his voice as purposely grave as possible. "I wouldn't want you to be mugged or kidnapped before you can even get halfway to Heaven."

"Wow, thanks." Like my voice, my throat is dry. Now that Erika is gone, I'm starting to wonder what exactly I'm doing here. My heart is becoming guarded, my mind self-conscious of what everyone here thinks of me. Probably that I'm some totally lame poser, or whatever slang they used in 2005.

"Now, are you satisfied with your adventures in the world of-" Mor crinkles his nose and gestures to the people around us, "This?"

"Yeah." My voice is strengthened with a note of finality.

"All right," he says, then, with a knowing look: "Is there somewhere else you would like to go before I take you back to your depressing, shadowy corner of the stadium lot?"

"Yeah," I repeat.

"All right."

Without another a word, I take his hand, and just like that, 2005 is dead.

✕✕✕

But 2017 is alive, as alive as it can be given everything that's happened so far. We're standing in the cracked parking lot of The Fox, the red log-cabin styled restaurant a few meters ahead of us. Night has come once again, and there's not many cars scattering the lot, but I expect it to be full practically the minute the game ends.

Inside the building, yellow lights are shining bright. The New Haven River is back behind the property, and though it's too far away for me to hear the gurgle of water over rock, I can practically feel its presence. A long wind howls, making the shadowed red and gold leaves on the nearby sugar maples rustle.

"I'll wait out here for you," Mor says simply, "I wouldn't want you walking back in the dark in your current... state of mind."

I ignore whatever that's supposed to mean and immediately set off towards the restaurant with only an, "Okay."

Within only a few moments, I'm pushing open the cool glass doors and entering the cozy lukewarmth of The Fox's Den. In here, the walls are panelled with wood, the floor is covered in faded red carpet, and the lights cast a dim glow that reminds me of a film from the 70s. Like Erika mentioned, an old soft rock song I barely know is playing softly over the speakers. A few people are dispersed around, but somehow, the restaurant still seems lonely.

The hostess stand is empty, but just as I breach the entrance, the manager, Elaine, walks out from the kitchen. She smiles when she sees me; I've been here enough times before for us to know each other at least somewhat. Unfortunately, I think I know more about her than she about me. For example, I know she's Trevor Jolie's grandma, that her son was friends with my dad in high school, and that she's been the manager of The Fox since the 80s. She most likely just knows me as her grandson's best friend's girlfriend.

"Lila!" She says, her dark skin glowing in the lamplight, "Good evening. You here by yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm not eating, though. I just-" I hesitate- "I just wanted to ask you something."

Elaine cocks her head, then tells me curiously, "All right, go ahead."

"In 2005, you had a waitress here. Her name was Erika. I just wanted to know if you remembered her - and if you know her last name."

It's a long shot, but in a town like Ashdown, everybody tends to know everybody, and if anybody's going to know the teenagers past and present, it's the manager of the Official Restaurant of the Ashdown High School Jackals.

"Oh yes!" Elaine's brown eyes widen and perk up. "Erika, yes, I remember her. She was a bit... gothic, when she first started, but by the time she graduated, she had become a very responsible and sweet young girl." She turns to a waitress I hadn't noticed before, who's sitting in a booth a few feet away and playing on her phone. It's Elaine's granddaughter, Trevor's older sister, Andie, looking pissed as she glances up from her phone.

"Alexandra," Elaine starts, "you remember when Erika worked here? I think you were about 11 or 12 when she left."

"Yep." Andie's voice is monotone. "Erika Jones. Really liked alternative music. Moved to the West Coast, attended USC, writes for Rolling Stone as a music journalist. I have her Instagram up if you wanna see."

Elaine beams. "I knew you would remember." To me, she says, "Alexandra knows everything about everybody. She has the memory of an elephant."

I give her a polite smile, although I don't really care about Andie Jolie's talent for gossip. I wander over to her booth and peer over her shoulder to see the page of @erikajones90. Pictures of the LA skyline and videos of concerts fill the screen of Andie's phone, but my eye goes straight to the latest selfie.

It seems Erika's hair is now pastel pink, long and wavy. She has to be in her mid twenties by now, but her sapphire eyes haven't changed.

She looks happy. I'm happy for her.

"Can I ask why you care, Lila?" Andie questions without looking at me. "How do you know Erika?"

"Um." I bite my lip. "It's a long story."

Andie seems okay with this answer, or perhaps she just doesn't care to dig further, which makes more sense.

From where she stands at the hostess stand, refiling menus, Elaine calls, "Do either of you two know how the football game is going?"

"They're losing." Andie turns off her phone. "35-7."

This is news to me. I don't quite know how to react; I just stand up straight, glancing down at my Ashdown football tee and feeling my heart thump deep beneath. Elaine clucks her tongue. "What a shame. I know how much Trevor was looking forward to that."

"Trev should know he has nothing to with it," Andie says. She looks around the restaurant, as if she's making sure no one is listening, then continues, "The new quarterback sucks."

The stable beat of my heart slows. Even though I know it's terrible to think, I'm almost happy the football team is failing.

Perhaps now they'll actually miss Will.

Maybe they do miss him, Lila, a part of me says. Everybody grieves differently.

Still, it seems like nobody misses him like I do, which is to be expected of course, but maybe they'll start to understand the hole in my heart.

Almost in unison, the three of us sigh. Elaine for her grandson, Andie for the fate of the football program, and me for my best friend. I know they'd be winning if he were here. I'm sure of it.

Suddenly, I remember something. I reach into my jeans pocket and find exactly what I was hoping against hope was there: the picture of Erika, MCR, and I. Somehow, it stayed with me through the years. I smile softly.

For a minute, I wish I was back in 2005. I wish I could be emotional and dramatic. But this is Ashdown, 2017, a world of judgemental teenagers and broken adults, of mighty football teams doomed to fall and young girls doomed to die.

I have to shoulder this on my own, for now. All I can do is follow Erika's advice to live what little is left of my life on my own terms - whatever those terms may be...

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I say a polite goodbye to Elaine. Mor takes me back to the stadium, but I don't stay to catch a glimpse of the beginning of the fall of the Jackals. Instead, I head straight back to O'Rourkes and drive tight knuckled over Route 7 to the outskirts.

As I reach 13 Cypress Lane, my sagging brick farmhouse alight in the path of the moon, the radio fizzles into static. After a moment, it slowly comes back on in crackling clarity, playing none other than Helena by My Chemical Romance.

What a cruel irony. I feel the urge to stay and listen, to sit in the driveway and push myself further down towards rock bottom, but then I dismiss it. Turning the radio off, I leave the car and start towards the once-lively house without another thought.

No more self-destructive behaviors today.

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A/N: This was originally part of the last chapter but I decided to split it up so it wasn't 7,000-something words. I have an issue with writing long chapters :/

Any-who, positive vibes!!

xoxo, Athena