At nearly eight-thirty to be more exact. I had been walking in the county park located about a mile or so from our new home and I was just starting back when I heard a slight sound behind me. I turned and saw a boy about my age rapidly approaching on a bike. Not anyone I knew, of course, but there was something about him which drew my eyes to lock on his oncoming figure. I stood frozen for the several seconds it took for him to reach me and just managed a smile as he passed. He turned and smiled back and raised his hand in a quick wave before moving on down the road. For nearly a minute I stood staring after him and to this day I can not really say exactly why. There was just something about him...My name is Karen Shepard and I was fourteen at the time. We had just moved here three weeks before from the city where I had been born and lived all my life. There we had a nice three bedroom house on a nice quarter acre lot in a nice neighborhood in a nice suburb. Nothing unusual, just a. I hadn’t spoken to him since the day he had told me that he wanted to end it. He called it being pragmatic. I have despised that word ever since. Since when do feeling and love have anything to do with pragmatism.. I couldn’t blame my brother for his anger. I loved him and I was causing him so much pain. All my life I had hated the feel of doctor offices and needles, but now I felt nothing. I’d had enough things stuck in me that I felt like a pin cushion. All I wanted were my memories. That was like cupping water to a thirsty mouth, as if my memories of being happy with Caden were enough to heal me. He had been my morning star and I had been the east waiting for him to rise with his brilliance, bring me joy and happiness, the peace of a new day. Caden had been my personification of love. He had danced through my gardens and plucked my petals. I gave him everything and believed in no obstacles. Nothing could destroy our love, no trouble, no storm cloud would trespass on our blue.
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