Part of me wanted to scream, to see how far I could reach before the sun rises again. Gazing out the bedroom window, I wondered whether she was asleep or not. Obviously, I am talking about that minuscule square apartment, second floor. Was I innocent? "yes?", if I said this I would be lying to myself. I wasn't innocent entirely, but let's not judge me by the post-haste actions, for neglecting the journey.

I still pass by the streets, apartments, restaurants, and parks, all a part of this story. Somehow, my story is their story too, 'cause it was something that all the people around me knew. And, while these spots are no longer same, can still stop me dead in my tracks. I think to myself, "*what happened here*?" totally not practical, somewhat self-centered. I can't acknowledge that place, it moved on.

Without me.

When I was 17, my life changed forever.

I know there are people who wonder about me when I say this. They look at me strangely trying to fathom what could have happened back then, though I seldom bother to explain. Because I have lived here most of my life, I don't feel that I have to unless it's on my terms, that would take more time than most people are willing to give me. When I say this it feels kind of weird, but some part of me knew that there's always been a space for her in my heart. My story, yes the story which I can't summon up in two or three sentences, it can't be packaged into something shiny or neat and simple that people would immediately understand. Indeed in the road of years, the people living here knew us from the very beginning.

I am 47 years old, but this story will always remain in those places, as if it's stuck in that time. It feels quite strange when I remember them 'cause they come with sadness and joy. Sometimes, I chuckle about the things we used to do, and wish I could go back, but that isn't possible!! is it? Bringing them back to life feels good, but then the saddest part comes and all I could think is "*can I turn back time and make it alright*?" but then I get this feeling, if I did, what if, it took the joy too. So, all I do is accept, when they come.The memories are still vivid. Others are best left alone, fade over time. It is march 27, yes the day it all happened!! I came to this town again and again on this day every year just to take a glance.

"what about her? do she still remember? or it is just me waiting or wanting to see her...atleast as a 'friend!' "

As I continue to stare that minuscule square apartment, I can see myself getting younger and younger, the plants, trees, building everything started to change, this small town changed too.

I started walking down that street, with hands in my pocket, perfectly combed slightly brownish hair with my black eyes.

I am Landon. Landon Miller, 15 years old. This is my story, I promise not to leave anything out.

In 1974, Beaufort, one of the oldest town in North Carolina, was a place like many other small southern towns. It was a kind of place where people wave from their cars whenever they see someone on the street whether they know him or not. It was a kind of place where humidity rises so high that walking out to get a mail made a person feel as if he needed a shower, and kids walked around barefoot from April through October beneath oak trees draped in Spanish moss, and the air smelled of pine, salt, and sea, a scent unique to the Carolinas. Only three channels came in on the television, though television was never important to those of us who grew up there. Instead our lives were centered around the churches, of which there were eighteen within the town limits alone. They went with the names like Fellowship Hall, Christian church, and the church of forgiven people, and ofcourse, there were Baptist churches. When I was growing up, it was far and away the most popular denomination around, and there were Baptist churches practically on every corner of the town, though each considered itself superior than others. Well, you get the picture.

As I was walking, I zipped my jacket to half and looked at the overcasted sky, slightly gray in colour. It's been a week since my sophomore year started. Though it's the same as always, I am hanging out with my friends, and midnight talks in the graveyard. Does that sound weird? but what's wrong in hanging out in graveyard with my diaper friend? as for my parents, my mom don't stop me from doing it and as for dad he would be out of the town most of the time. He wasn't there for me growing up. I hate to say that because nowadays people claim that sort of stuff even if their parents was around and use it to excuse their behavior. "*My dad...he didn't love me...that's why I became a stripper and performed on that dirty show*...." I am not using it to excuse the person I've become, I am simply saying it as a fact. My father was gone ten months of the year, living out of the town in Washington, apartment three miles away. My mother didn't go with him 'cause they wanted me to grow up "*the same way they had*" . Ofcourse, my father's father took him to fishing, hunting, taught him several other things, showed up for birthday parties, all that small stuff. My father, on the other hand, was a stranger, someone I barely knew at all. For the first 4 to 5 years of my life I thought all the father's live somewhere else. It was until Eric hunter, my best friend or so called diaper friend asked me in kindergarten who was that man who showed up in my house late night before I realized something wasn't quite right about the situation.

"He's my father", I said proudly

"oh", Eric said as he riffled through my lunch box, looking for my rolls, "I didn't know you had a father"

Talk about something wracking you straight in the face.

So, I grew up under the care of my mother. Now she was a nice lady, sweet and gentle the kind of people most people dream about. But so far I remember there were some arguments between my mom and dad when I was young and not surprisingly my father defused the situation pretty well. I think that's why he stayed in congress for so long. So some disillusionment with my father made me become something of a rebel. Not a bad one, mind you. Me and my friends might sneak out late and eat potato chips in the graveyard behind the church, but in seventies that was kind of thing that made other parents shake their heads and whisper to their sweet sweet children

"you don't want to be like that Miller boy. He is paving his road to prison!"

Me. A bad boy. For eating potato chips in the graveyard. Go figure

Everything was going smoothly until on April 13, yes today, teacher told students to choose between chemistry and drama. Now, I hadn't really planned taking drama that year. But as you see I lack options. The thing was, I thought it would be a blow-off class, especially when compared to my other option. No papers, no tests, no tables where I'd have to memorize protons and neutrons and combine elements in their proper formula…

what could possibly better for a highschool sophomore? It seemed like a sure thing, and when I signed up for it, I thought I'd just be able to sleep through most every class, which considering my midnight graveyard chips eating, was fairly important to me at that time. If you know what I mean.

The next day, the first class, I did the V.I.P entry. I came after the bell rang and hurriedly took a seat in the back of the room. Miss chole was too busy to notice me, writing her name in big cursive letters, as if we didn't know who she was. Everyone knew her- it was almost impossible not to. She was big, some five feet ten, curly hair and pale skin that showed her freckles well into her forties. she was also overweighted- I'd say honestly, she was more like a donut in shape- she had a very typical liking towards the flower pattern dresses which dosen't suit her at all. She would great everyone with, "*Helloooooooo childreeeennnn*" sort of singing syllable. Miss chole was really one of a kind, that's for sure. You can't argue with me on that. And she was single, that made it even worse.

We pity her.

The view from the back of the room is really something, I could almost see everyone and I spotted someone, doing something really strange. Amelia Garcia smiled at me, it wasn't until later I would learn the reason why?

Amelia Garcia, was a senior in highschool, yes! 2 years elder than me, roughly. She was a nice girl, and a popular girl too. Beaufort was small enough that it had only one elementary school, so we have been in the same schools our entire lives, and I would be lying if I said I never talked to her. After all she lives right in front of my house. But this didn't mean that I spent a lot of time hanging out with her in my spare time, even back then. Amelia was never been once in my social calendar. Who I talk to in school is one thing, who I talk after school is another thing. She was the daughter of our English teacher, Mason Garcia so, I kept a distance!!

Amelia was thin, with honey blond hair and soft blue eyes, most of the time she looked sort of...plain, and that was when you notice her at all. It's not that Amelia was unattractive- don't get me wrong. She wasn't hideous or anything like that. Fortunately, she had taken after her mother, who, based on the pictures I'd seen, wasn't half-bad, especially considering who she ended up marrying. But Amelia wasn't exactly what I consider attractive either. She didn't care much about outer appearances, because she was always looking for things like "inner beauty", and I suppose that's the part of reason she looked the way she did. For as long as I'd known her- and this way going way back, remember- she'd always worn a pony tail, don't she get bored by seeing herself like that? and that also without a stich of makeup on her face.

Coupled with her off-white cardigan and plain blue skirt, she always looked as though she were on her way to an interview in library. We used to think, it was just a phase and she'd soon grow out of it, but she never had. Even though in my entire fifteen year, she hadn't changed at all. The only thing that changed was the size of her clothes and hair.

But it wasn't just the way Amelia looked made her different; it was also the way she talked, because with Amelia, everything was in 'study'. That was another thing. Though most of the student dosen't mind, but do talk about it on her back. She always mentioned study whenever you talked to her, no matter what the subject. The famous actor is gonna do a new movie? you must study, you can get as rich as him. Teacher was absent because of sickness? you must study, she must be testing us. Anyways, you get the picture. This side of her was hated by everyone, so far I know. Now, I liked studies as much as the next teenage boy, but Amelia seemed to enjoy it in a way that was completely foreign to me. Not only she will study in home, but she would read during lunch breaks too. In my mind this wasn't normal, even if she was teacher's daughter. No matter how you sliced it, reading The heritage of catawba County wasn't nearly as much fun as flirting, if you know what I mean.

Despite of all these other strikes, though, the one thing that really drove me crazy about her was the fact that she was always so damn cheerful, no matter what was happening around her. I cross my heart and say, that girl never said bad thing about anyone or anything, even if someone is not nice to her. She would smile and hum to herself and walk by, she would wave to strangers driving by in their cars. It seemed every adult in town adored her. "she is such a nice young lady" they say whenever her name came up. "the world would be a better place if there were more people like her"

But my friends and I didn't quite see it that way. For us one Amelia Garcia was plenty.

It wasn't until the class started that I noticed somehting usual again. Though Beaufort highschool wasn't large, i knew for a fact that it was pretty much split fifty-fifty between males and females, which is why I was surprised when I saw this class was atleast ninety-five percent female. There was only one another male in the class, which was a good thing, and for a moment I felt flush with a "The world better prepare, here I come" kind of feeling. Girls, Girls, Girls,...I couldn't help but think. Girls and Girls and no test in sight.

Now, our school has never been a heaven of pretty girls, some will wear tones of makeup and then speak with their big mouth while others will be...plain. Okay, so I wasn't the most forward thinking guy in the block. So, miss chole, started explaining about a play for some function in September, and the most surprising part , the play was written by the old Mason. Okay, maybe he wasn't that old. Miss chole continued and finally said "Amelia Garcia is going to be the lead, others choose the roles by yourself". This was kind of obvious that she would be the lead. The class was dismissed, she looked at me again and smiled. I was getting a feeling, that I am going to be in trouble so I decided to walk out of the room as fast as possible and hopefully I reached the safe zone. Despite being curious about Amelia's smile, I walked towards my classroom.

"hey Landon, you heard there's going to be a party next week?" said Eric while putting his hand around my shoulder

"what for?" I raised my brow as I asked

"because of our new council president!!" he said with a big, very big smile on his face.

"don't tell me you got a date?" I said in a shock!

He gave me a smug smile.

what's that suppose to mean? Are you really gonna be a traitor? Did you forgot all the rolls I have given you when we were kids?