Letters from Luke chapter one

My parents start to talk about Luke at the dinner table and before I know it I start

to hum. I place my hands over my ears and hum to keep their conversation from reaching me. I want to show them that they need to stop talking. My efforts are in vain though because soon bits of what they’re saying reach my ears. His mother … devastated … faith.

The metal legs of my chair scrape against the Maple wooden floors as I stand and leave the dining room. Luke is dead, I think, can’t they just shut up and leave him alone.

“Heather,” My mom’s voice echoes off the high ceilings in the living room. I clutch one of the suede sofa cushions until my knuckles turn white. I breathe in through my mouth slowly, trying to slow down my heart rate. I blink and all I see is Luke. Luke at my desk doing homework, Luke driving his mom’s station wagon. “Honey, are you feeling okay?” She takes a seat next to me and wraps her arms around me. I want to shrug her off, but I don’t.

“I’m fine,” I reply looking at the table of pictures. It doesn’t have as many pictures as it used to. My mom thought it would be best if she took down all memories that involved Luke. It didn’t help.

“I think we need to talk about what happened again.” I shake my head before she even finishes. That won’t help either.

“Listen to me, Heather, you need to let go. Luke was a troubled boy. His mother told you that.” I keep shaking my head, hoping she’ll stop talking. “He made his choice sweetie and we have to live with that.”

“Just be quiet!” I shout. “Luke was fine. H-he was fine.”

My face is wet from tears and I can’t stop shaking. My mom’s lips are pursed; she has no intention on stopping my outburst.

“He was happy and he had a lot of friends. He was my best friend.” I finally give up, my shoulders sagging. I let my sobs ring throughout the room.

“Yes, I know that. And I understand you loved him. Just like me and your father did. He was a great boy. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better for you.” Now she’s rubbing my back like it’ll erase everything. No, Luke meant the world to me , I want to say, none of you knew him like I did . “It’s been a month, you have to let go.”

Again I shake my head. “No, I can’t just let him go.” I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my black hoodie. I glance at my mom and I can see that she’s about to break down. I look down at my lap. “I just don’t understand why he would do this to me.”

“Nobody does, Heather. We all wish we saw it coming, but we didn’t.” She takes my face in her hands. “We just have to stick together and keep our heads up.”

“How? It’s too hard.”

“I know, but we can pull through.”

I nod and stand up. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Please be careful Heather.”

Outside the concrete is wet from the recent rain, the air filled with humidity. I keep my eyes on the ground. I focus on the sounds of the passing cars, a dog barking. I don’t know where I’m going. I just let my feet take me wherever they’d like. Soon I see the playground and the convenient store at the corner of Boston and Plymouth. Luke lived two blocks away. I turn left and now I’m on Boston Street. Garbage lines the side walks and there’s a group of guys standing in front of a barber shop. I cross the street while the lights still red and make my way past the Little Peach, toward Campbell Road. I haven’t been to Luke’s house since the funeral.

Everything’s still the same. The street is still a dead end and there’s still a basketball hoop in one of the houses next door to Luke’s. An old lady in a green cashmere sweater sits on her porch, smoking a cigarette. The gray smoke matches the color of the clouds. She gives me a smile. I don’t bother smiling back.

In front of Luke’s house is a white picket fence that reaches about my waist. His mom-Sarah’s green station wagon isn’t in the driveway anymore. In its place is a shiny black SUV. I rest my hands on the fence. Taking a deep breath I unlock the latch of the fence’s door. Instead of heading to the door I take a seat on the front steps, wrapping my arms around myself. I hear the phone ring inside, three short rings. But I can’t hear his mom’s voice when she picks it up.

The door opens with a squeak. I know its Sarah. She takes a seat next to me. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at the road.

“Hey,” I finally say.

“Hi,” She smiles at me when she says this, wrinkles forming at the edges of her eyes. “Mrs. Crowley told me you were out here." I nod, assuming that this Mrs. Crowley is the old lady next door.

Several minutes of silence follow that.

“So you got a new car?” I look at the driveway to my left. The car looks too big for her. I imagine her small 5’ 4’’ form behind the wheel and I almost laugh. Almost.

“Yea. The wagon reminded me too much of-”

“Luke,” I finish for her. She nods. “I miss him, you know.”

“Heather we all miss him” She says, gently rubbing my back like my mom did. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Inside the house smells like vanilla, it always has. The front door faces the stairs that go upstairs, to the left is the kitchen and to the right is the living room.

“Come; let’s get you something to drink.” I follow Sarah into the kitchen. Its brand new cherry oak cabinets and gray granite counter tops make it look like something you’d see in a more upscale home.

“Hey Sarah?”

“Yea?” She says looking back at me. She’s filling a tall glass with Iced Tea.

“Have you gone downstairs?” The house’s basement was Luke’s place. I want to go see it, but I’m scared too.

Sarah shakes her head and looks down. “No, I haven’t been there since a few days before. . .” She fades away and hands me the glass. She looks at me, her eyelids threatening to overflow with tears that are forming. “It’s the only place I haven’t cleaned out.”

“Do you mind if I go and look around?” She shakes her head and turns away from me. Gripping the counter to steady herself, she starts sobbing. I don’t try to comfort her. Instead I make my way to the hallway before I lose my nerve.

The place looks exactly like I remembered it. The green walls are full with pictures and posters of Luke’s favorite things. In the middle of the room is a foosball table, the little soccer players look lonely. Bean bag chairs are spread around the room. The air down here smells like leather. The T.V up on the wall has a thin layer of dust on the screen, which I wipe away with my sleeve as I pass it. Luke wouldn’t want this place dirty . I let myself sink into the black leather couch. I survey the room, it looks so familiar but so abandoned.

My eye catches the pool table on the far side of the room. The pool sticks are lined carefully up against the wall, the billiard balls in a triangle on the table. Next to it though I see a white rectangle. It’s out of place. I walk over, my feet light on the hardwood floor.

It’s an envelope. And it has my name on it.

“To Heather, from Luke.”