Greyson (#Wattys2017)

one

'Sitting next to you is like taking a sip of eternity, the sun, the stars, the sky, never tasted so good.'

-Christy Ann Martine

The bird hit the window with the force of a baseball throw, causing me to look up from my last minute schoolwork. Bolting up, I ran down the stairs to check on the poor animal. My feet pounded on the hard steps and I passed my dad who was drinking coffee from a Best Dad mug. A confused look crossed his face.

"Ire, where are you going?"

I didn't answer and instead opened the sliding door to find a flop of feathers and bones on the patio.

I sulked back inside to find dad standing there in the doorway, blocking me, "Dead?" I nodded. He walked over to a whiteboard we had set up next to the television and placed another tally on the chart. The final score now showed as seventeen.

"We should call someone."

Dad turned around, "Call who? Tell them what? Hey, birds keep on hitting our house and dying, is that odd?"

I glared at him, "I'm being serious. Birds normally don't act like this."

"I'll look again today for reasons to why this may be happening but you need to eat and get to school."

With a huff, I sat at the table grabbing an apple along the way.

Dad groaned.

"What now?"

He picked up the remote and turned up the volume on the television.

"Today is the five year anniversary of the mysterious disappearance of the then 12-year-old, Greyson Lieven. Now, he would be 17 and the police are still on the case. This situation is even more enduring as it happened at the Casbury mansion. The 12-year-old was dared by friends to approach the mansion when the boy vanished right before their eyes. A ceremony will be held in his memory today at five o'clock at the Lieven household."

I chomp on the apple, my face grimacing, "Why do they need to bring this up every year? Do they want us to dwell and be sad?"

My dad placed a comfortable hand on my back, "You're just upset because he is your best friend."

My finger went up, silencing him, "Was. Was my best friend. He's dead and people just don't want to accept that so they keep on having 'ceremonies for his memory.' In reality it's just a party but you feel less guilty because you think you are doing it to honour him. I was there that day, dad. I know he's dead"

He slumped back on the couch, "Just don't think about him today, okay sweetheart?"

I nod as I take the last bite of my apple, throwing out the core. I walk to my bag and grab my leather jacket, "I may be home a bit late, I want to take a few photos for my portfolio."

"Just text the time and be safe."

I look at him with a glare, "Dad, I'm the definition of safe."

I hear him laugh, "Oh, and happy birthday Ireland."

I stop and stare at the wall. "Thanks," I say as I exit the house, making sure I grab my camera.

Arkley is a small town. It's big enough that you won't know everything about everyone: name, age, place of work and/or favourite colour. But it's small enough though that you will recognize the majority. When something big happens, it feels like it is happening for years as that is all they broadcast on the news.

Our boring town only has a few interesting stories. Take Greyson Lieven for the main one. Aside from him, we only have the story of when the bakery caught on fire due to some kids fooling around in the back and when a bunch of packages went missing. Turned out the mailman was a hoarder and the truck only ever traveled between the post office and his overflowing house. 

Also the time she disappeared. I try not to think about that story though.

I like it though. Without a bunch of distractions it is easy to concentrate on school. The faster I'm done with school, the faster I can travel and take photos of the world. 

Don't get me wrong, I love my quaint town of Arkley. I like how there's always fresh graffiti on the side of buildings, beautiful artwork that is appreciated and never vile. I like how there's always a dollar movie playing friday night that was made in the eighties. More than anything I love that my family is here, even if I can't see them physically. I can go to places and I see past memories that were created before it happened.

The crisp autumn air blows on my skin as I walk. A leaf falls from a dying tree, getting caught in my ebony, thick curls. I admire the contrast of the red leaf and my hair for a second then reach up to brush it out.

The walk to school is a short and boring one, with the occasional hellos and got to go's. 

"Ire!" A pair of arms wrapped themselves around me as I approach the school. The arms turn me around, forcing me to stare into bright hazel eyes, "Ireland, how are you?"

I groaned and pushed Oliver off of me and proceeded to walk forward, "I'm fine, and I don't need any sarcastic, overly smiley pity."

He shook his head and matched pace with me while putting an arm around my shoulder, "I wasn't giving sarcastic, overly smiley pity, I don't even think that is possible. I was asking a simple question. Do you understand how conversations work?"

I smile and look away, not wanting him to see his happiness was rubbing off on me, "Yes of course I do. Do you understand what personal space is?" I speak as I remove his arm from my shoulders.

Oliver laughed, "You really are one of a kind."

"Well, I am pretty awesome."

"More like annoying."

I smacked his arm and he faked pain, holding his arm and grimacing.

"Help! Help! I'm being assaulted by a woman!"

I cover his mouth, not wanting to draw attention, "Be quiet you drama queen."

He pinches my cheeks, "Right, wouldn't want you getting embarrassed on your birthday now would we?"

My smile drops.

Oliver watches my mood change and grabs my arm, halting me from walking any farther, "It will be fine."

Oliver hasn't always been here. He came four years ago, a year after Greyson went missing. He and I just clicked and he became like a replacement. Replacement is a harsh word though, it makes it sound like I wouldn't be his friend if my best friend didn't disappear. Oliver is an amazing person, he has understood my feelings toward the disappearance and knows how to comfort me. I love Oliver, but he's no Greyson.

He tugs on my arm, pulling me out of my daze, "Come on, we need to get to class."

I nod slowly while biting my cheeks, and follow the brown head of hair into the school.