Her Goodbye [✔]

Eight Minutes

Nine days after Miss Summer's death the Summers residence received another knock on the door. Harry Kirk was a neglected boy with a heart of a hundred men. He had worked alongside Maya in a Cafe on the east side of the town. They were friends, and although she was headstrong with an open heart he was one of the few that she could unwind around. He came across Miss Summer's old household, and knocked on the chipped red-painted door. He waited for a few moments to come across Mrs Summer at the doorway with a young child on her hip and her usually ruby red lips had faded blue on observation, and there was a deep bitterness in her eyes. Mrs Summer had grown tired of men in the last few weeks, and even more tired of their ability to treat her as a toy – but yet, she found herself opening the door wider for the young boy, perhaps it was because his faded blue eyes reminded her of her daughter.

Harry was the sort of boy, that if you were told he killed the president; you'd believe it. He had some form of sadness surrounding him – and darkness clenched on to his heart. However, Mrs Summers' looked on towards him with glee and placed a drink and a plate of freshly baked muffins on the kitchen table he'd been sat at. He could feel the aura of several people who had sat where he was at the moment and offered their condolences to a family with little hope left. Mrs Summers new hobby – a way to fill the void, her daughter's death had caused – was baking.

Unlike the others that Mrs Summers had come across – Harry's letter was formed on sticky notes, stuck on to a sheet of paper in a colourful mismatched mess of happiness. She herself found this odd – as her daughter's letters usually held a bitter note in them. Harry however seemed completely engulfed by it – like it meant more to him than anything else in the world. 

"Dear Harry,

How are you charmer? 

I hope you don't feel too harshly treated about the fact everyone else got proper letters on proper paper and I had failed to do this with you. I had done it because I felt this would mean more to you than that. 

Remember? You do right? 

When I was upset, or I needed to tell you something, but couldn't twist my lips into saying how I felt, I'd write it down on post-it's, and form a picture for you. I loved doing that. Sure it disrupted the customers, but after a while, I actually think they began to understand why I was doing it.

There are so many people in this world Harry and you may be wondering why out of everyone you were one of the people I wanted to write to. No, I'm not going to confess a deep underlying love for you, don't worry. I wanted to write to you, because you've always been there for me, and although it's difficult for others to understand my motives – I feel you always will get me.

You used to have all the answers, and you, still have them now. Deep down you know why it happened and there are very few people who can say the same. Don't you feel lucky charmer?

I only told you because you always there always trusted me. You always loved me the way I loved you, and that's something I appreciate. I know, at some point I'm going to break down mentally, and It'll probably be my grandmother who causes it. I had confided in you on many occasions about my circumstances and my family life, and you were one of the few who ever heard these stories.

I have to go now; Katie is having trouble with bookings. Even if you don't understand, know that I'll always be looking out for you – because now you can't do it for me, 

Maya."

Mrs Summers' noted that Harry had dropped the paper, and was silent. She even had time to wash all of the dishes, before the chair grinded back, and he cleared his throat. 

"Mrs Summers, do you have a lighter?" He had said with a harshness lining his throat as though he was trying not to cry by acting far different than usual.

"Don't you think it's too pretty to destroy Harry?" 

"No one can read it, ever. She said it herself."

Mrs Summers gave up at that point and handed over a lighter that she kept in her blouse pocket, and she watched the note go up in flames. Little did she know; she was watching another source of life fade away. She was watching it happen.