Homecoming

My car sits humming at a stop sign and I consider my options. I could turn back now before I get into the town and forget about ever coming back again; or I could stop being a wuss, step on the gas, and start preparing myself for one of the hardest days of my life. I choose the latter.

The town is just as I had left it ten years ago. Peeling and run down. The only difference is the population has dropped from several hundreds to only a few. Kid’s mill around the few local stores that are still up and running and small animals dart across the dirt roads to try and steal a snack for them and their animal families. It has always been a pathetic town. I hadn't lived here my whole life. This was the sixth town I had lived in; we were always running from the last one.

I can't bring myself to go by the graveyard yet. The memories are still too fresh in my mind.

I take the first turn on the left and my eye catches a glare on my old bedroom window. Scary, it looks the same too. The faded blue paint is now a white with a sort of blue tint and the porch is still lopsided and threatening to collapse. I leave my car running just in case and stop for a second; fighting to catch my breath. The air around me freezes and I grab a tighter hold on the door handle. My ghosts that had accompanied my path since I was fifteen are here with me now; helping me to keep walking and push past the pain of the memories.

"I can't do this." I scream as tears form in the corners of my eyes and start to flow over.
I collapse to my knees and my ghosts scurry around me; fighting each other to try and comfort me. But It doesn’t help this time.
The comforting voice of Isabelle fills my senses and I take it in greedily. My tears stop for a second and I concentrate on the barely audible words that she is trying so hard to whisper to me. But I can only make out my name, Allie.
The wind blows and it feels like arms reaching out and rubbing my shoulders and legs. Tired and sore from running from this place for so long.
It lifts me and I stumble along the broken tiled path to the worn and beaten door. There's still a hole from a fist that had gotten to angry and I trace the splintered wood without thinking about it. It was a habit I had never broken.

The door creaks angrily when I open it and a musty smell welcomes me home. The unsettled dust swirls around my body's skinny form and a faint drip from a leaky pipe echoes around the deserted room. Everything is as it had been left; which never happens around here. In a town like this the second you step into your moving truck, people ransacked your home and take whatever they can find and carry off to decorate their own houses. It doesn’t matter, there was and still is no police here. But I guess the pain was too evident here for the usual stealing. No one wanted to go near here let alone inside the dark house. It was unthinkable.

I don't go upstairs. I know that if I do I would probably never come down. No one would ever find me. I would be forever left curled up on my mother's stained rug in her old bedroom. I leave the house before I consider going further and ditch my car for walking; I need the time to think. My ghosts don't leave yet; they know I still need them for the pain that is soon to be coming. I won't be able to bear it alone.

The grave yard is just as I remember it. Cherry blossom trees surround the small area and give it the only beauty. An iron fence that was half way torn down when I was a teenager lies mournfully in a large heap, giving the place an eerie feel. I couldn't get over that creepiness even when I was a kid.

The tears fight to come back but I determinedly push them away. If I don't do this now I may never come back and finish this.

Slipping off my worn leather shoes at the entrance I slowly make my way through the plush grass. My ghosts fuss over me but for the first time in awhile I ignore them and let pushed away memories wash over me. They flit past my eyes fighting to be chosen but I pick the one closest to the accident. In fact it was at the very time of the accident. I let my eyes close and freely give myself over to all of the pain and realness of the memory.

"Flashback"

The acrid smell of beer stings my tender nose but I ignore it and snag the half empty beer from Isabelle, taking another swig I sit back happily and sigh. It tastes like a comforting friend. But not for long; I throw up heavily out the side window and loud drunk laughs make my already throbbing temple pulse.

Chris is driving the small white car and he waves the other beer bottle out the window. His girlfriend, Allie, sits beside him, thoughtfully rubbing his hand with her finger. She was pregnant at the time so she didn’t drink. She rarely drank anyway.

Jack lunges over Blaire and Isabelle to grab the remaining beer from my shaky hand and downs it with a disgusting slurp that we all laugh heartily at.

Chris was my first love, and they say that he was the first to go. He hit the tree head on with the car and died from head trauma; instant death. Allie died holding her boyfriends hand and singing Shania Twain's newest song. Shania Twain was always her favorite. They were supposed to be married later that year. Instead, of a wedding, we attended their funerals.

Jack flew out of the car and wrapped himself around the tree. He died from blood loss as did Blaire. But she had deep, nasty cuts down her always skinny body; perfect from years of gymnastics stunts. They probably never knew what had happened.

But between all of those things I remember from that day, the most clear is Isabelle's eyes. I remember the gold flecks in my best friend's eyes that had stared into my green ones seconds before we had crashed. They have never haunted me. Just reminded me; Isabelle also died. I am the only survivor.

None of us wore seatbelts.

"End of Flashback"

At the funeral I could barely make myself get dressed. I didn't want to go and see their coffins and listen to the traditional ceremony. Maybe it was because I thought that if the funeral didn't happen then they had never died. It was all a scary dream and a selfish thought. Or maybe I just couldn't stand watching all of my best friend’s parents stare at me through tear and rage filled eyes and question why their children had perished and I had lived. I have asked myself the same thing every day since.

I fall heavily to my knees before the five grave stones and finally let the tears fall freely on the new grass. Pounding the grass beside where Isabella lays I howl mournfully. Letting them hear my pain and how much I need them with me.

"I was stupid. I should be next to you, Izzy." I wail trying to read the familiar blurry words on her pearly head stone.

"I’m coming home, I’m coming home
Did you take off while I was gone?
I missed it all, I messed you up, I missed you
I’m coming home, I want to know
When all the leaves begin to fall
If I’m falling, falling apart for you"

Isabelle's favorite song.

Isabelle always used to say Homecoming was a song about Heaven. I would argue that it was about love. It doesn’t matter now because I believe she was right. In fact she was always right. She would be happy.

The cold air suddenly warms around me as I finally forgive and let my ghosts go. Parting smiles and ghostly waves will forever be etched inside of my head. But somehow I get the feeling they will have left me fully. When the leaves turn red and that scarred day comes around. I will remember. And they will find a way to help me through it; as any friend would.

I feel the lingering touch where Isabelle has been since the accident and her cold breath fills my senses. I greedily take her in and remember my best friend whom I have known since kindergarten. The only one I could tell anything and everything to.

"Homecoming, I’m coming." She whispers.

And finally I have let go of what has clung to me for so long.

I’ll never forget my best friends and every now and then I might just stop in and say hi to their families. And every year on the anniversary of the day they died and the day I lived, I will visit the scene and reminisce what had happened, then I will go and visit their resting spot. I’m not sorry for releasing their ghosts because it was something I had to do. They would understand and would have done the same for me.