❝To love another person is to see the face of god.❞

-Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

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Memories have a way of sticking with you in a strange way that nothing else can. Algebra formulas, the order of mitosis, your grocery list... those can all escape you in time, even when you need them most. But life memories are the glue of all remembrance; they stick to your bones like a fly to a trap, for better or for worse, always there to recall even if you don't want to remember.

These mental double-bladed swords are especially bad when you go back to where they happened. If you ever find yourself in front of a grave for your dead boyfriend, be aware that it won't take that much time before you're caught up in past springtimes...

It was April 2nd, 2009, and my 4th grade was on the way to our annual field trip. The year before, we had learned how to snowboard; that year, the ocean of funds had receded and our destination ended up being the New England Maple Museum in Pittsford, Vermont, which was really just a giant gift shop full of every maple commodity you could dream up.

I was sitting alone, my friends spread out around me. We had planned to divide evenly - Will and Trevor, Veronica and I, and Macy and one of her cheer friends. But when Macy's friend had gone home sick at the last minute, I found my partner leaving me for her.

I knew the guys were sitting in front of me, but I didn't want to be a bother. So I just sat there and traced the lines in the seat back with my eyes, though it was hard to concentrate with the Black-Eyed Peas playing loudly on the bus radio in the background.

Suddenly, a head popped up above the seat, one with bright hazel eyes and messy brown hair. It was Will, grinning boldly. Both of his top canine teeth were missing, courtesy of us being 9 and young and growing children.

"Lila, there you are! I've been looking around the bus everywhere for you." He cocked his head. "Whatcha listening to?"

Without taking my earbuds out, I lifted up my blue iPod Nano and showed him the smiling face of Miley Cyrus on the cover of the OST for Hannah Montana: The Movie.

Will made a face, and said, "No offense, Lila, but Hoedown Throwdown is way better than The Climb."

I stuck out my tongue at him and was about to retort a reply when the bus driver yelled from the front, "Nyquist, take a seat!"

Momentarily, Will glanced at Trevor, then scrambled out of his seat to land beside me. As he did, my song came to an end and the naive guitar of Taylor Swift's Crazier came on, but I quickly paused it in order to talk to my friend.

"I thought you said you were sitting with V?" he asked, nodding to the girls, who had ended up 5 rows ahead.

"Macy's partner went home. Veronica went to go sit with her."

"You should've told me!" he exclaimed. "I would've left Trevor for you. He's just studying for the gym test coming up, anyway."

"Oh. Okay."

I tugged out my old white earbuds and stuffed them, along with my iPod, in my paper lunch bag. Technically, we weren't allowed to bring electronics with us on the field trip, but the teachers were having too much trouble attempting to prevent Pokemon battles in the aisle to notice my quiet listening to music.

Will shifted so he was facing me, his legs crossed underneath him. He smelled like fresh linen and maple syrup and pine needles, like the soul of Ashdown itself had poured into him. This close, I could see the way his hair curled up at the end in the early spring humidity.

"Are you excited to go to the maple place?"

I was going to answer him, but then my eyes strayed to something outside the window across the aisle. We were passing The Eternal Garden cemetery, its brick wall shining copper in the sunlight. A few truant teenagers were walking along the sidewalk next to it, running sticks against the wrought iron gate, which I could only imagine made a sort of lonesome melody.

Will turned his head to follow my gaze; when we met each other's eyes again, we were both frowning.

"That's where they were gonna put Papa," I mused sadly. "But his brother made him be buried back in Santiago de Cuba, with the rest of his family. Or at least, that's what my mom said."

"You're his family too, though. That's not fair."

Sighing, I looked back at the seat in front of me and frustratedly kicked the spot where Will was sitting before. The supple, cracked leather gave way underneath the downward fall of my foot. "I know it's not. That's literally what I told my mom. But I barely knew him, I guess. You and Veronica are more my family than he is. Or maybe just you, now."

"Huh." Will's frown deepened, and he glanced in the direction of Veronica and Macy, who were too busy trading Silly Bandz to see anything going on around them, before saying, "Well in that case, do you wanna be partners when we get to the museum?"

"What about Trevor? I thought, now with football and all, he's like, your best friend."

"Trevor's friends with literally everyone. He can find someone else." Will grinned toothily, which made me smile myself. "I wanna go with you. You're my best friend."

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It's been 4 months since my best friend in the world died.

As always, today serves as a sore reminder for a still-hurting wound, an anniversary I will never escape. Coming back from my memories, I stand in front of Will's grave, sorrow filling my heart, and gently set this month's roses on his plot before they can fall out of my quivering hands. The grass in front of his stone grew over by July, but now, with the coming juggernaut of October, it's finally fading to a scraggly brown.

Like a child, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, then stand. Today, I can actually read the epitaph carved into the granite - there's no endless, ever-flowing tears to block my vision. But my eyes have barely reached the end of "William" by the moment the flashbacks start again. This time, the scene before the crash plays in front of my eyes, except now, it's accompanied by the things I've experienced all September. The searing pity in my my sister's eyes, the dead and un-regretful words of Veronica, the way Mr. Summers looks at me like I'm a specimen to be studied, a profound example of what bereavement can do.

When my memories of days gone by fade back to visions of red and orange sugar maples and crumbling brick walls, just the smallest breeze of warmth blows through the cemetery. I want to believe it's Will sending happiness from heaven, but it's gone so quickly that I think I just imagined it.

I know that there's nothing left for me to do here, now that I've taken my monthly moment of silence and given the groundskeeper a new bouquet to clean up, but I don't want to leave, not yet. I can't bring myself to go so quickly, especially with the knowledge that I'll be going home to an empty house. Mama's always got the evening shift on Fridays, and Kat's spending the night with her soccer team on a bonding sleep-over. After I leave, I'll probably stop at the Fox, order out a single serving of chicken pot pie, proceed to scald my tongue on said chicken pot pie because I lack any sort of patience, and then spend the rest of the night pretending to watch a documentary about space while really thinking about how much better everything was with Will.

Were Veronica and I destined to have one final fallout like that, or would we be friends again if Will were here to unite us? Would Macy and Trevor be happy again if Trevor didn't feel such a pressure to avenge his teammate? Would I actually, maybe, be thinking about the future, spurred by the knowledge that Will would always be at my side no matter what failure I trudged through?

I can't tell if my friend group was meant to fall apart or only died that way without Will, and I also can't tell if it'll ever build itself up again. The only silver lining to this whole situation is my born-again friendship with Kat, but even that's not enough to sustain any real contentment.

Without thinking, I force myself to turn away from Will's grave, holding in any final tears, and quickly leave the graveyard. I have to bend my head down against the wind and keep my arms against my sides, but that does nothing to stop the cold air from crawling up into my boyfriend's football jacket and making it bloom around me.

Soon, I'm back on the sidewalk, facing the brick Greek Revival facade of Ashdown City Hall almost directly across the street. It's around 3:10, and despite the cold, some people are out walking around, going in and out of the various buildings around me. This is what pulls me fully back to the real world, although I can't say I like seeing the world move on so fluidly around me.

As if fate - or perhaps the Fates themselves - is tired of my complaining, my thoughts are interrupted with the arrival of a cold wind and a heavy breath. Within an instant, Mor is sitting a few feet down on the garden wall, his cape rustling like the leaves in the breeze. My heart skips a beat, but I quickly steady myself and go to face him.

"Hello, Mor."

"Hello, Lila," he says strangely, like he's carefully watching what he says. "Feeling all right?"

"Not exactly." I cross my arms. "It's, uh, kind of a rough day for me, y'know?" I put more sadness in those phrases than I intended to, but Mor is unmoved.

Not wanting to show any human sign of empathy, he simply pulls out my list, scans over it, and says, "Are you, by any chance, feeling up to going to a lantern festival with your most awkward relations?"

I frown. Awkward relations? Well, Veronica takes the cake for that, followed most likely by Trevor, and perhaps Macy after him, despite our rekindled peace.

I remember when I wrote the thing about the lantern festival - I was 13, and that day our Thai exchange student, Anurak, told us all about Loi Krathong, a Siamese festival of lights and lanterns. I was fascinated by the concept of the night sky being so bright, and to an extent some part of me still is.

"Who does that include?" I ask hesitantly.

"Let's see. Macy, Veronica, and - does that say Twor?" He squints to decipher my horrible handwriting, and with an amused hum, says, "No, that says Trevor. You just had terrible prose at the time you wrote this."

Ah, yes, the Holy Trinity of Ex-Friends, the people who Will and I spent almost our entire childhoods around. The thought of going anywhere with Veronica and Trevor, especially together, makes me sick, even with the reminder that Will would want me to make up with them. I know I was just complaining about how lonely and sullen I would be tonight, but when I said I wanted something to do, I didn't mean this. What I want, I can't quite get - not yet, at least.

"I'd rather not," I mutter, "But I know you won't take no for an answer."

"You know me well, then."

"How would we even get to this lantern festival? I really don't want to have to introduce them to you and tell them that whole lie," as soon as I say this, I quickly add, "No offense, or anything. I just know that the minute you start talking about angels and heaven, Trevor will walk away and Veronica will call us both crazy."

Mor snorts. "Fair enough. If you'd rather not go foreign, then you can always go somewhere closer, within driving distance. I can give you the tickets and leave you on your own within an instant."

He reaches into his coat again, and this time he reveals four white and gold tickets. Though he's trying to play it off as his usual devil-may-care mood, I can see in the way he moves - stiffly, almost robotically, like he's practiced this before - that he's still uncomfortable around me. Or mad. Or both.

I remember what I told myself the night of Australia - Make up with Mor. I realize now that he hates being compared to a human, and though I don't know why, I tuck that information away and set my mind to to stop this rehearsed way of interaction. He may be the Grim Reaper, but maybe... maybe we can get along.

"Will you... will you come with me?" I ask hesitantly, like an acne-prone boy asking the cool girl he likes out on a date. "I don't want to be alone with the three of them. I might be left behind." I don't add the silent end to that sentence: Like I've been so many times before.

Mor narrows his black hole eyes. "I thought you didn't want them to meet me."

"You may be something like a death god," I say, trying to add some charm to my words, "But you don't have to tell them that. What they don't know... won't kill them."

The untimely metaphor makes the reaper bark a laugh. "Lila, Lila," he sing-songs, "I'm here to collect your soul, not be your friend."

My heart sinks into my stomach. With all his defensiveness, I knew this was coming, but I thought that maybe for once he'd let his guard down. Even if it was just to get the job done.

"Right. Sure." Without another word, I reach up and rip the tickets from the grasp of his leather gloves. "I'll have lots of life-satisfying fun going to a thing with some of my least favorite people on the anniversary of my boyfriend's death. Thanks for being so good at your job."

I don't even mean to sound like I'm guilting him, but these words make Mor go still. He scowls deeply, jumping down nimbly from the wall and making the leaves at the curb go flying. Like the varsity jacket on me, his cape billows around him.

"If you really want me to go," he says with tight lips, "I'll go. But only if it will help you be more cooperative. I can't just go around 'hanging out' with my charges. It'll make me go...  soft."

What he means is that it'll make him more human. Just like me, and almost everyone I know, he's not ready to be so vulnerable. I share that hesitance - it's why I've blocked everyone out since the crash, and I'm willing to bet it also plays a part in why Veronica's so rude and why Kat never came to me with her troubles.

Why are people so convinced showing emotion is a sign of weakness? I don't think I'll ever know the answer to that question.

"Fine," I finally compromise. "Act as rude and dark and deathly as you want. Just let me feel like I actually have someone to count on."

Mor looks away for a moment, but nods. "Lila, Lila," he repeats softly, almost so I can't hear it, but this time, there's no second part.

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Somehow, Mor is able to produce a 5th ticket for himself, and we set off to find the other 3 lucky ticket-holders. Macy is easy - she's standing on her front porch, trying and failing to get her cat to jump through a hula hoop.

We greet each other, and I tell her what I'm doing - and how it'll have to involve her, her boyfriend, and our mutual... frenemy.

As Bass lazily preens at the chocolate-colored fur on his stomach, my very quirky friend drops the plastic toy and eagerly agrees to come with us.

By now, Mor's cape and scythe have vanished. Where they go, I have no idea - they are there when I'm looking at him, and when I turn to speak to Macy, they disappear, winnowing away to whatever shadowy void Mor draws his power from.

Macy takes one look at Mor and says, "Are you going to tell Veronica and Trevor about-"

"No," Mor quickly answers.

"But you're coming with?"

"Yes," Mor quickly answers, but this time with less happiness about it. "Lila will have to lie about my identity, I suppose. Fitting action for her name."

"But you look like a... a, I don't know, a goth principal or something. They're going to think you're nuts," Macy splutters. She comes up to Mor, cocking her head like she's examining a painting in progress, then advises, "Get rid of the jacket. And the tie. And the waistcoat, god. And then maybe you can pull off a really dark hipster."

Mor glances at me, eyes darkening, but begins to do as Macy said. You're lucky I'm so committed to my career.

You're lucky I make your career exciting. Isn't this more interesting then going back home to-

Don't you dare say Hell, Lila.

I wasn't going to!

Yes, you were. I could tell. As Mor finally removes his tie, leaving only a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the elbows, he finishes, But I suppose it is interesting. You humans and your drama are slightly fascinating.

Dressed like this, I can finally see how skeletal the reaper really is. When he shifts a certain way, I can see the bump of his ribs through his shirt, like he's malnourished in the chest, although I know this is impossible for a species who doesn't eat.

Macy doesn't seem to notice, instead grinning and clapping her hands together. "Perfect! Now you look like... like, if the Grim Reaper had a stylish make-over or something."

Mor and I glance at each other and share a knowing smile. But it's ruined when Macy's ever-so mellifluous voice continues, "Now, let me go ask my mom if I can even go, and then we'll go find Veronica. This will be interesting!"

Interesting. That's definitely one way to put it.

Who knows. Maybe Veronica has some secret reason for being rude to me all these months, and for being so evasive all those years before. Maybe Trevor and I will actually bond, instead of nervously talking about Will like he's some sacred artifact. Who knows.

Whatever happens, at least I'll have another story to tell Will when all of this is at last over. At least I'll be making more memories.

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A/N: I'm trying desperately to make shorter chapters but it's not working out very well oops

Anyway I guess I'm updating in the middle of the week now lmao unless I mess up my schedule again?? Idk y'all I'm tired

Get some sleep, drink some water, positive vibes, stay awesome!!

xoxo, Athena

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