HOW COULD I FORGET? I killed her, and I had the nerve, the audacity to forget to visit her on the day she died. I’m freezing and stumbling and I can barely see. It’s too wintry for the flowers to be in bloom, and to make search even more futile, the flowers have to be white. What am I going to do? I sit down and let my sobs shake through my body; I don’t particularly care if anyone hears, my useless fingers pulling frost-covered blades of grass out of the soccer field and my head in my knees. What would she think of me now?
But then I remember something amazing: Jake had given me white tulips for our anniversary. Oh, Jake. A gift from him to my mother. I start walking across the field to my room where I know the tulips are sitting on my table,
But then I remember something amazing: Jake had given me white tulips for our anniversary. Oh, Jake. A gift from him to my mother. I start walking across the field to my room where I know the tulips are sitting on my table,