MICHELLE
NOVEMBER 25TH, 2004

      INSTEAD OF SITTING AT THE TABLE WITH MY DAD FOR BREAKFAST, I found myself standing in the middle of the cemetery. Standing in front of the stone that read my best friend's name.

It was only my third time coming here. The first time was at her funeral—when they buried her—and the second time was when I came be to say goodbye before moving.

It was cold.

I hate the cold.

It was snowing too, and it wasn't the mushy and wet kind of snow, it was the soft and fluffy kind.

Chandler's favorite.

Anytime it snowed like this she would make me us go outside, no matter what we had been doing. She would drag me out of bed and force me to play outside with her.

"Michelle?"

Startled, I spun towards the woman's voice, though I wasn't surprised when my eyes landed Mrs. Wheeler. I suppose I should've known she would be coming here, after all it was her daughter.

"Mrs. Wheeler." don't cry. don't cry. don't cry. "Hi."

"What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Ireland, with your mother?" The woman asked, coming to stand beside me.

"I did. I just—" I cleared my throat, hoping to swallow down any sobs that were making their way up "I just came to visit my dad for the holiday."

"Ah." Mrs. wheeler nodded. "You having any fun over there?"

I felt myself shrug.

I didn't know what to say.

"Oh, yeah, just over there making friends left and right. Forgetting everything me and your daughter ever did."

"Any new friends?"

I shrugged again "a few."

"That's good."

It is? "It is?"

The woman turned back to look up at me, a wrinkle between her eyebrows.

Oh god, I hated how much she looked like Chandler.

Their height, their hair, their eyes, their face. Everything was the same, except or her nose. Chandler had her father's nose.

"Why wouldn't it be?" The woman asked. Her eyes digging into mine as if she could find out my deepest darkest secrets, which I didn't doubt. Mrs. Wheeler has known me since I was three, she knows exactly how to see through my lies.

For most of my life she was like a second mother because my actual mother was all the way in Ireland and I only saw her during the summer.

I sucked in a deep breath, scratching the tip of my nose, which was getting very cold.

"Umm." My head fell, hoping to avoid her drilling eyes "I think I've gotta go. My dad will want me back soon." I didn't even tell him I was coming here.

I turned on my heels and made my way back to the parking lot, but her voice stopped me "Michelle."

I turned back towards the woman, swallowing my tears. "Yeah." I hope my voice crack wasn't too obvious.

"I'm sorry she left you with such a burden."

You don't even know the half of it.

I wanted to go back to Tommen and see my friends.

I wanted to go back and see Gerard.

I shrugged for maybe the twentieth time in five minutes "Don't be." I mumbled "it's not that big of a deal." I knew that was a lie.

I'm guessing she knew it too.

Everybody knew it.

"You could've stopped it." Chandler had told me—no, yelled at me. "But you didn't."

And she was right.

I didn't.

AUTHOR TALKS!!
I'm not sure if I mentioned that Chandler was dead before, I mainly wrote this chapter just in case I didn't.

Keeping it vague.