The Postcard

The Postcard: Chapter Two

I wiped the drops of rain from my eyes as I shoved my hands in the soaked pockets of my dark denim jacket. Who was that? I asked myself as I stepped off the crowded sidewalk and expertly dodged the buses and Corvettes.

I felt the postcard in my back jean pocket. Why did he want me to live? I shook my head and pulled up the damp hood of my grey hoodie. My wet hair stuck to my cheeks. Who was he? Was he a ghost? A friend of Grant’s? Am I going completely mental?

No doubt. I walked to the red-brick house that my best friend, Cleo, lived in. I knocked on the door. Hard My fist made contact with the wood. It hurt, but I didn’t wince or cry out in pain. “Cleo!” I called, pounding on the door.

Cleo’s mother opened the door, poking her blue eyes in a little crack. Cleo’s mother, Mrs. Thompson, was always a second mother to me. And when my mother died to me, she was my only mother.

“Is Cleo home?” I asked, looking up at the pitying face of Mrs. Thompson.

“She is, dearie. Come in, I’ll whip up some hot chocolate. With five marshmallows.”

I smiled. Actually smiled. For the first time in the longest time. I slipped off my hi-tops and walked upstairs to Cleo’s room. “Actually, Vanessa, she said to Jo that Bryce passed out.” I knocked on the door. “Oh, one minute, Vanessa. What is it, Cody!”

I stepped into the room, smiling wryly. “Oh! Vanessa, I’m going to have to talk to you later.” Cleo took off her headphones, the black pads tangling with her brown, curly hair. “Kurt, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here because I was about to commit suicide and someone, a boy, gave me this.” I threw her the miraculously dry postcard. She caught it and at me.

“Why were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked. I shot her a death glare and she turned her attention to the yellowing paper in her hand. “No? What does No mean?”

“I tried to commit suicide. He didn’t want me to.”

“What’s up with this graveyard thing? That’s completely wacko.”

“He didn’t want me to kill myself.”

“Whatever. Are you staying tonight?”

“Yeah,” I shuddered. “I don’t want to go home. I might be staying for a couple more weeks. Where’s Cody?” Cleo’s eyes strayed to the door. I hadn’t talked to her for a month or two. I finger-brushed my brown waves as she spoke.

“He’s out. Enjoying the rain.”

As if on cue the front door downstairs opened and pounding footsteps came up the stairs.

“CC! Where are you!” Cody’s voice called out, stepping into the room. His shaggy brown hair stuck to his forehead and his leather jacket hung on his arm. “I see Courtney has paid you a visit.” He nodded towards me. I hadn’t seen Cody for a while because, after Cleo’s parents divorced, his father got full custody of him. And then his father died and he came back. He looked different. Yet strangely familiar…

I shook my head and waved Cody away.


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