Please, Let Me Go

Teachers and their time capsules. What are they worth? It's literally just a finger puppet and a standard pencil they put in a box a year ago. She never understood the concept of time capsules. If she put the things she loved in them, she'd forget and never get them back, torturing herself and itching to open it every second she looked at it. If she put in something she didn't love, than what's the point?

But the class required it, for some reason. And she wasn't about to do something stupid. What should she put? Her favorite book, perhaps? It was worn and held memories, and she could get another copy. It was like making a cake, she mused. A little pinch of this, a few of that. A few pages of her sketchbook? Maybe that lace bag of dried lavender her mother gave her? A container to use.... the old rosewood suitcase would do. It sat it the corner of their storage room, along with many other forgotten items. Her mother's wedding dress. Her father's childhood scrapbook. The room was a time capsule itself. She finished the suitcase off with her first pair of headphones and a copy of her chocolate cake recipe written on a paper torn from her first journal. One last touch? She hovered it over the open suitcase, but hesitated. Pulling it back to her chest, she abruptly shut the suitcase.

When they presented their time capsules, the teacher was very impressed with hers, as a lot of students hadn't really taken it seriously, maybe thrown in their schedules and some glittery gel pens but that was it. Noticing the presence of a certain item still in her hand, however, the teacher shot her a look of pity. She hated that. Being treated as if she were made of glass wasn't a very nice thing, having people pester her and pretend they understood, only to whisper gossip about her later. For a while she had believed they cared, until she overheard them happily bet on what had caused the event.

The teacher stopped her and put his hand on her shoulder as she walked past the willow tree. You know you have to let it go- let him go, he whispered. She simply slapped her hand off, told him to mind his own business, and walked away.

At the old cobblestone bridge she stood, the bridge where they had once met. The bridge where they had become friends, fallen in love. The bridge where he took his life. She thought back as she removed her black flats and sat on the edge. It had been a clear summer day, the sky cornflower blue like the river below, vanilla wisps of cotton candy clouds mixed in. She was fetching groceries for her mother, and had gotten sidetracked as she relished how good the warm summer sunlight felt on her face, pausing to truly appreciate it. Out of nowhere something fell from the apple tree in front of her. A boy. She studied him as he groaned and tried to recollect himself. A proper summer boy with tawny, messy hair, dirty overalls, and deep blue eyes like the ocean. Sorry, miss. he chuckled. Apple? She stared at him. Miss? How old do you think I am? Sputtering, he thrust the apple into her hands and ran off. A small smile formed on her lips.

Over and over, they met each other passing by the bridge. He was always either laughing and splashing in the river below or eating from the apple tree. Eventually, they became friends. No one knew of their little interactions, it was a secret they had both took great excitement in keeping. Slowly, she fell in love, as did he. They became a happy couple, and would spend many an afternoon on the sturdy branches of the apple tree, watching the clouds float by. He said he would propose, but of course, it was a bit too early, so they agreed to wait until they grew older. He promised to do something great, but she told him to keep it simple and to be himself. She loved him for the simple boy he was, not whether or not he could pull off great feats or give her the most expensive gifts. And they looked forward to it. That day would never come. One day as she strolled by the bridge, she spotted his muddy sneakers lined on the edge. Thinking nothing of it, until she heard a shake from the apple tree followed by a loud splash from the river below. Looking down, she saw his body slowly drifting away in the river. Crying out, she almost jumped after him, but saw an envelope next to his shoes.

To the one whom I loved- no love,

I know you will blame yourself, please don't. It was not your fault, and it never will be. My mother is dead, my father pulled me out of school and isolated me. You were the only one I could see, for he knew nothing of my trips to see you and your smile. I am dead, yes. But I ask you not to dwell on my death. Do not throw me a funeral, do not show my father this. Please, move on. When you have grown strong enough to let me go, come here once more. Whisper your prayers for my mother and I, and throw this ring into the river.

Ring? She searched the envelope, pulling out a small object. The ring, made from the wood of the apple tree sat in her palm, with a small, smooth ocean blue piece of agate pressed into it. 'Always.' was engraved on the inside in fine cursive. She cried.

Now, it was old, and worn. The agate was rougher and the wood chipped along the edges. The 'Always.' had faded, now almost unreadable. Turning the ring over in her hands, she stared down at the water, and thought of him.

She took a step backwards, and dropped it in.