Free If You're Gone by Brittany Goodwin Page B

box I had stored beneath the bed frame months ago, attempting to forget it was there. Deep breath in, deep breath out . My fingers lingered for a moment, and before I could stop myself I was pulling the small treasure chest from its hiding place. It was perfectly made, carved from a log of driftwood Brad had smuggled back from our trip to Topsail Island over spring break. The letters ‘L&B’ were burned into the top of the box. I allowed my fingers to trace the indentions as I had many times since May seventeenth.
    With a deep breath, I lifted the corners of the lid and set it on the floor beside me. I stared at the folded love notes, candid photos and ticket stubs I had carefully preserved over the course of the six months I had spent with Brad. The dried corsage from my junior prom lay across the top and dozens of tiny dead buds were scattered amongst the contents. These once sentimental, romantic reminders now seemed like the Cliff Notes of our tainted relationship, housed in a small, dark, wooden coffin. Maybe I should bury it.
    “Lillian! Breakfast!” Mom’s call echoed through the hall.
    I shoved the box back to its hiding place and gathered my notebooks into my arms. As I rose to my feet I glanced out the window for any sign of Anna’s blue compact car coming to take me to school. I could easily predict how the morning’s conversation with my parents would play out; I knew I'd need a quick getaway.
    I crept down the hallway and slipped into the kitchen behind my mother who was bent over the sink, up to her elbow in soapsuds. But I wasn’t stealthy enough, and she quickly turned her head towards me.
    “Well good morning, Senior!” she said, wiping her hands on a towel that sat on the countertop beside her.
    “Good morning,” I groaned, hovering in the doorway.
    “Come on, have a seat. I’ve got a whole stack of pancakes waiting for you.” She pulled a chair away from the round table in the middle of the room and motioned towards it emphatically. Graham and Eliza sat across from each other, shoveling forkfuls of syrup-covered pancakes into their mouths.
    “Thanks, Mom. But I’m really not hungry,” I insisted.
    “Oh Lillian, sit down. You’ve got to eat something, you look terrible.”
    “Well, thanks,” I said flatly as I sunk into a chair.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She dropped three pancakes onto my plate as she spoke and drizzled them in a honey colored syrup. “You just look so nice when you have some makeup on, and I love how you used to do your hair.”
    I grunted, thinking back to the time when I was thirteen and she made me wash off my mascara before I was allowed to leave the house . I wish I could be thirteen again.
    “Lillian, did you like fifth grade? My friend Emily Myers said that her big brother said it was the worst grade of all,” seven-year-old Eliza stated innocently. “I told Graham he is gonna hate it but he doesn’t believe me.”
    “I’m only gonna hate it if there's lots of homework,” Graham said with his mouth full. “Do you remember if there was lots of homework in fifth grade, Lil?”
    Fifth grade. Brad.
    “I…” I pictured Brad chasing after me in the gym. “I don’t remember much about fifth grade,” I lied. “But be nice to the girls, okay?”
    “Nice to the girls?” He wrinkled his nose, still chewing. “Yeah, right.”
    “I bet Graham has a girlfriend!” Eliza giggled. “Do you, Graham? Do you have a girlfriend?”
    “Eliza, Graham, if the two of you are done why don’t you see if Dad is ready to leave?” Mom interrupted.
    They looked up at her, nodded, and rushed out of the room, leaving their dirty dishes on the table. This must have been the cue. My eyes dropped to my plate.
    “Lillian, I know this has been a hard summer for you, I do,” she began once we were alone. “I just want to make sure you don’t lose focus.”
    “Focus on what, exactly?” I wanted to ask, but I held my tongue and stabbed the prongs of