Breathe

fourteen

[ nora ]

Two days. 

That's how long it had been since the kiss. My first kiss.

I hadn't told anyone about it; Georgia and Spencer were clueless. It was my little secret. 

I wasn't sure why I didn't tell them, why I wanted to keep the event contained. Perhaps it was because it was more special that way. Maybe I just simply wanted it be mine and no one else's. 

Nonetheless, I could never be with Cole. Our beliefs were spread apart farther than the ocean. 

"Nora, do you have the glue?" I look up at my father. He walks into the room carrying scrapbook paper, pictures, and his famous m&ms.  

I nod as he sits on the floor next to me. 

It's craft night. Every month my family picks a day to get together and create new things. We've made photo albums, picture frames, cards, and anything else that you can make with your two hands. Tonight, I asked if we could make small treasure boxes. I want something to keep my memories in. 

"Here we are." My mom enters in a quite elegant fashion, her long skirt flowing around her legs. 

She brings us snacks and an abundance of colors. Markers, crayons, paint, and any other kind of decoration piece you can image scatter on the floor. 

I pick up a small box and begin painting it yellow. 

"Darling, you never explained that absence to us. Where did you go?"

Not long after the day I left school to help Cole clean up the drinks people poured all over him, my parents received an email informing them of my leaving school. 

"Home." 

They give me skeptical looks. 

"Why did you leave?"

It's no use telling them I was sick. Besides being a bad liar, they were with me that evening and know that I was feeling fine.  

"I was helping a friend out."

"Cole?" My dad's deep voice reveals itself. 

I'm reluctant to nod.

"Honey," My mother places her hand on my shoulder. "I don't think you should hang out with him so often. He seems like a bad influence."

My cheeks redden. 

"If he is a bad influence," I place special emphasis on the 'if,' "then shouldn't I be there for him? Shouldn't I help him to not be one?" 

They both sigh.

"She's sort of right." My father starts to take my side, but my mom hushes him quickly with a look. 

"Just try to hang out with him less, okay?" Her eyes are more kind than her words.

"And no more skipping school," she adds.

I don't respond. I just look down at my box.

The yellow seems more dull now. 

---

After finishing my box, I tied it with a string and let it hang from my ceiling. 

I write one word on a slip of paper and carefully place it in the inside of my new memory chest. 

People may go away, but memories last forever.

I hear soft pangs from the direction of my open window.