“I’m saying good-bye to the world. I’ve never been much of a writer. You all know that. So this is going to be a lousily-written piece of junk, but I think you’ll like it ‘cuz it’s the last you’ll ever see of me. See, I’m even using nice handwriting for you! Excited? Oh boy, Jeremy’s using good handwriting for his suicide note! I can see you now, Mom, not caring it’s a suicide note and just obsessing on the handwriting. “Oh my god, Jeremy used good handwriting! Loook, Lauren, LOOOK!” It’s not that I don’t like the world. Naw, the world’s an okay place to live. But I don’t wanna be here any more. I don’t wanna put up with the stares, the shrugs, the sneers? It’s not just ‘cuz of my declining grade-point-average or anything, or the way people make fun of me at school. That’d be stupid. It’s because I feel like the other side of the painted horizon holds something for me that’s more excited and more extravagant. I’ll tell you, if I can, if there’s an afterlife. If your lights flicker on and off, that’ll be me, playing with the lights and telling you I’m still there. If I’m in hell, I turn them off and you’ll sit in darkness and then I’ll turn them back on and I’ll make the door open from wind. I think that’ll be the best thing I could do. ‘K, Mom? You’ll know. I never wanted a funeral. I always wanted a giant party, where everybody’s laughing and dancing and treasuring my favorite food: a party celebrating my life instead of mourning. Don’t wear black; don’t sob your little hearts out. I don’t want that. What I want is my favorite food, enchiladas, at my funeral. Or rather, party. So, thanks guys, for all of it. Thanks, Ms. Tina, for letting me overstay my welcome. Thanks, Mom, for pushing me to the limit and tossing me over—basically making me who I am…I guess, when you read this, was. When I’m over there, or if I’m just sitting in a still, black room, I’ll remember you guys. I’m gonna be with dad, right? And with your grandma, Billy, and with your cousin, Delilah. Oh. Delilah. I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me: ever. I’m gonna miss you. If you wanted, I could take you with me and we’d frolic through a field of wild flowers, like you always wanted. Just you & me, babe, forever. But if you want, you can stay. Yo, Billy? Date her. I know you’ve always wanted her. I mean, I guess she’ll need some time to blubber incoherently about me being dead, and then she’ll look at your pretty face and move on and you’ll have kids…and all that junk. You’ll have kids, Delilah, didja hear that? I never wanted kids, like you know, so now you get your wish, Delilah. Thanks guys, for…everything. I had a good time while I was here.”

Delilah’s eyes crumpled under the effect, like a giant fist pounding her down. Her mind galloped in circles, tears choking out of her eyes. He was so brave, so strong, till the end. “Just you & me, babe, forever.” She couldn’t believe it. Her mind wouldn’t hook onto the fact he wasn’t there, he wasn’t going to show up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, a Mohawk marching down the middle of his pale head. “No!” she screamed, before she could prevent herself. No…no…no…Her mind plunged into an unbelievable hopelessness. She dove into the pools of anger—rage—depression…all the places she thought she’d never see. Her tears just joined Jeremy’s dried ones that encrusted the page. Her hands traced over the wording that was written, cautiously, along the page. She suddenly felt an irrational hate towards the handwriting, because it wasn’t his. Her sobs choked through the room, but she knew that they were drowned by his mom’s loud drones and her incoherent blubbering. Delilah didn’t muster up a word of sorrow. Nothing. It was nothing, she was nothing without Jeremy. As flashbacks crept into her mind, smiling brightly, she smacked them with her horrific emotions. She hadn’t felt things like this, ever. She didn’t want to marry Billy, she didn’t even care she wasn’t going to have kids with Jeremy. She just wanted to hold him, to feel his warmth, to smell his scented breath. “No,” she choked, collapsing onto the carpeted ground. God was crushing her with his mighty fist. “Why…why…” She rocked back and forth, her eyes wide and fiery. Nobody bothered talking to Jeremy’s girlfriend. No, she was just a piece of his life, her parents were the ones who made them, and Billy was the one who’d helped him through the tears. She couldn’t say anything else; the ability of speech had surpassed her.

--

These flashbacks weren’t supposed to come back. They were supposed to be hidden now. There were supposed to crawl behind a table of depression about Jeremy and never have the right to show their faces again. But, lo and behold, here they were. They were back.

--

Their eyes met.

“You’re from around here?”

Delilah regarded him with a snootiness before settling down.

“I moved her,” she said simply, turning back to the beer that sat in a glass on the bartender’s table.

“Maybe I could show you around.” Jeremy’s smart-alecky face neared her, expectant and egotistical.

“Maybe.” She wasn’t going to turn him down, like she had all the others. She didn’t want to. She flipped her highlighted black hair around her scrawny shoulder. “Y’know, maybe flirting with me isn’t the best way to get me,” she suggested, turning away, allowing her eyes to scan the crowd. She didn’t find anybody nearly as interesting as him, so turned back and narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for a response.

“Really? Because that’s my tactic.” He leaned forward, his eyebrows arched like rainbows over his deep, blue eyes. “What’s yours?”

“I lure them in,” she smiled, a glowing emotion walking into her eyes.

“Oh really?” he asked, scooting his chair with a threateningly loud scratch. “Because I don’t see any luring going on here.”

“Have you ever thought I’m not interested?”

“Mm-hm, sure. You’re not interested…erm, what’s your name?”

“Delilah. And yeah, I’m not interested.” She turned away and winked at the bartender. The luring was cautiously making its way into their meeting.

“Delilah—what a beautiful name.”

“Cheesy flirt.”

“I guess so.”

Delilah, not being able to help her interested self, turned back and shoved her face right in front of his, her minty breath leaping onto his face. His strawberry-smelling breath blew onto her rosy cheeks.

“Wanna know a secret?” she whispered.

“Most definitely; will it help me?”

“It’s that I don’t like jerky guys.”

He leaned back, smiling.

“Aha, so you’ve met the right one.”

--

“When are we going to get a ‘song?’” Delilah turned to him, confusion spreading across her blanket like her makeup.

“I mean, all the couples sweep across the dance floor and when something like ‘Fergalicious’ comes on they start shaking their bootay, sayin’, ‘Oh yeah, this is our song, babe.’”

“Hmm…well, we can’t have Fergalicious. That song disgusts me.” Jeremy’s arm wrapped around her skinny waist as he daintily plopped a kiss into her mass of wavy hair.

“Well, how about…erm…Helena?”

“No! And, anyways—don’t we have to hear it during our first kiss?”

“That happened a while ago.”

“Then how ‘bout our hundredth?”

“Should I keep track?”

“Definitely.”

He kissed her.

“There’s one.”

“Ninety-nine more to go.”

--

The sun stretched over the marketplace. Delilah’s mind was elsewhere then the fruit that lay in her palm. As the sun settled right on the place she was standing, she was eyeing a man towards the counter. His back was turned, but the hot pink Mohawk that embraced his head kept her eyes glued.

She knew it was stupid and implausible…and…everything. It had been proved, he was dead. Dead, dead. She repeated it to herself continuously, but found it impossible to shoot her eyes away.

“Hey! Jeremy!”

Her words were buried in all the other marketer’s voices. She stalked towards them, determined and feeling faint and stupid inside. She tapped him on the shoulder, shaking. She knew it wasn’t him, and was ready to be let down. As his face turned around, depression blistered her face.

“Need sum’um, lady?”

“No.” Tears collapsed her voice. So she rushed away, letting the tears run out behind her. Let them run, she said, let them go away, just like Jeremy did. It was childish as she shut the door behind her and, in a frenzy of devotion, began to throw pots. The crashes they created shattered the still air, as she threw out of love.

“I love you, Jeremy! I love you too!”

Thunder began to crash outside, simultaneous with the pot and bowl’s booms that struck the apartment building’s quietness. Rain began to poor down from the drearily grey sky, and her face was hidden in an aura of love and tears and everything that would happen when a girl looses somebody she loves.

Suddenly, the lights flickered. Her eyes suddenly became alert, her heart hammering in her chest like a wild, untamed horse, knocking to get out. Her eyes grew wide as they continued to go on and off.

“I’ll tell you, if I can, if there’s an afterlife. If your lights flicker on and off, that’ll be me, playing with the lights and telling you I’m still there.”

She blinked into the flickering lights. Suddenly and with a feeling of extreme displeasure, she heard a shout. “Is anybody else’s lights flickering?” Her soul dropped, shattering into pieces at the bottom of her heart.

“I’ll always love you, Jeremy.”

Her voice faltered and was left, crooked and hanging by a thread, exploding through the now complete darkness.