September 13th, 1955. The day Nickolas and Connor Malcolm died. I'm at their funeral, it's a warm day and the sun is soaking through my black dress making me feel as if I'm about to fall into that hole with them. They had graves right beside each other. In the beginning, I kept asking Sam why they were placed together in this soul breaking graveyard. Finally just as my eyes filled with tears, making my vision blurring and my heart aching, he answered. "So they could be together forever".
I hated funerals; I've only been to one other than this. That was my grandpa who died from a stroke. I wished Nickolas and Connor would have been that lucky to die like that. The Malcolm twins didn't die from something normal like old age or even a car crash. These boys got killed, murdered by two raving teenage boys probably only a few years older then us, drunk and stupid. Breaking many people's hearts just so they could beat on someone, just thinking they hurt them. Even though they did so much more. I know for a teenager like me, things shouldn't matter, get over it they're dead. When people go through stuff like that it just breaks you. Especially if you witnessed it like I did. It was incredibly macabre.
I always thought I was a robust person. The last time I cried I was ten and I fell down the stairs. The next time was that horrid day when I was at school in math class. I remember we were working on fractions which I was incredible good at. The principle called us all down to the gym for an emergency assembly. "Nickolas and Connor Malcolm were murdered last night" he grieved. As soon as I heard that I think I was the first person to cry. Sure, the rest of our friends cried to, but nobody could ever shed as much tears that day then me. It went silent except for my wailing. Just their friends let fright escape from their eyes-and tears. They told me to run, so I did. I cost those boys life. I thought they would be fine and they weren't.
Not many people knew those twins. Not many people cared. I never thought I'd see the day when even their guy friends cried. I never thought I'd see the day when only a few selective kids at a school honestly cared about someone dieing brutally. I never thought I'd see the day when two of my best friends were murdered.
I was never the same since that day. And now here I am on September 30th, 1955 sitting about to drop one of the sentimental things from Nickolas and Connor I had left from them... In their grave forever. I had many things from them, pictures, notes passed in class, my very first camera. I just couldn't give that camera up though. They knew how much I loved capturing significant moments in life. That was the thing I wanted to give them the most but I just couldn't do that, it was one of the only things that really meant something from them. There was one other thing that they gave me though but I couldn't possibly give that back to them because…they would have wanted me to keep that forever. Love. They always gave me their love.
The closest thing I could think they would have wanted was pictures. I went straight to Wal-Mart and bought two of the most expensive photo albums I could find. One was purple, calm and caring like the way Nickolas always was, and red, dangerous yet safe just like Connor. It had a slot in the front to put a certain picture but instead I put words, words to describe just what Connor and Nickolas were like. Nickolas, always there for people, caring, smart, amazing. Connor, exciting, unpredictable, funny, wonderful. So many more words could describe them. They were both ethereal. I titled each album, love.
I began carefully and lovingly putting photos of us all together in it. Each one explaining a different adventure. That was just this morning that I made those, I of course had to keep copies of every picture to remind me everyday how wonderful they were. I slowly dropped each album into their graves. It made a quick thump and them I just walked back to stand with people crying. The whole gang of friends, the ones who cried with me but not as severely, all dropped something into their graves. Sam put in a pocket knife for Connor and a book of poems for Nickolas. Marilyn threw in a comb for risk taking Connor and some pens for sensitive Nick.
That was the difference between the Malcolm boys. Connor liked brushing his hair with grease, shoplifting, joyriding, playing instruments, and cracking jokes. Nickolas was that boy who preferred staying in and writing, reading, thinking up poems, going to acting classes, and drawing. For some reason even though those boys were complete opposite they got along splendid. For twin brothers, they looked nothing alike, they looked like they sounded. Connor like a thug with his hair greased back and wearing jean jackets with tight pants. He looked like he escaped from the eighties. Meanwhile, Nickolas liked his hair black, just past his ears flipping out. His style was simple, he just enjoyed black shirts and jeans.
Just before we put them in graves, we had the chance to see them dead. How unsightly is that? Do you really think, on the saddest day of my life I want to see them dead? It was sick. Delilah and Sam actually held their hands. I just didn't think I could do it; I walked by to stand away from this scene and caught sight of it. Then I understood why everyone wanted to see them. Just to see them one last time, remember them looking snappy in suits, wearing make-up to cover up scratches and bruises. They were put in the suits they went to grade seven year end prom in. Everyone had to dress fancy and golly did they look jazzed up. I danced with them that night; I had lots of pictures too. Just like every other day with them. I saw them covered in blood that night they died, probably seconds before their souls left their bodies. They looked almost happy now. I couldn't help but go up when everyone was at the snack table, go over and just hold them.
I grabbed onto Nickolas's hand and Connors. They were both wearing rings on their fingers, those rings they wore everyday of their lives. I didn't know what came over me but I took them. I stole from dead people. They're hands felt warmer without those rings, as if I should have took them. I stuffed them in my pocket and just held onto them for what felt like forever, but in a good way.
That was just a few minutes ago that I stole, and just held them before Sam pulled me away so they could anchor them into the ground. Now at this moment I was watching the group of friends all leaning against a fence crying along with me. "Adorabella…you have to tell me…what happened…" Katie pleaded. I had witnessed death; it broke me more every time someone asked me about it. "Oh Katie, stop badgering Belle, she has a right to focus on the funeral. Which you should be doing" Sam pulled me closer. He was tall and muscular; always making sure people left me alone at bad times. Sam was the only other person with the Malcolm's and me when those boys pulled a knife on us. For the last month people constantly asked us about them, he would just tell them to mind their own business.
I couldn't tell anyone about that night, just remembering it, it killed me inside. Many cops and parents tried to break me enough to spill the details. Saying things like, "If you tell us we can make those boys pay for what they did" and "Its you're fault Nick and Connor are going to be rolling in their graves". All I ever said was, "Never call him Nick, you don't know him like that" and "Connor doesn't roll, he jumps". They asked Sam too but we were both just filled with to much grief in a way, Sam and I were scared.
We thought those guys would come back for us if we spilled any details of that horrid night. I grabbed onto the rings in my pocket at the thought of ever ending up next to Nick and Connor.