“I’ve read the terms of your proposal and everything seems to be in place.” Returning my papers, he looks into my very soul. “It’s time to bring this to council for a final review. At that point, the contract can be drawn up. And you know the following step – time to chat with the Master. Not to worry, you’ve planned an excellent mission.”

My plans were moving faster than I had dreamed. After toying with these ideas for what seemed an eternity, the final details were settling into place at an alarming rate. Sensing the need to remain close, my advisor guides me along the hallway.

Rounding the corner, we find ourselves at the Grand doors. They open and we are greeted by an enchanting soul who leads us to an ornate table in a room shimmering with light. I am nervous sitting with unfamiliar faces, but they smile at me.

“Your journey will be a great challenge; one filled with trepidation, pain, and uncertainty. Why have you opted for such difficulty?” probes the one they call Michael.

“I know that adversity will develop my potential and expand my consciousness. Believe me, I am not taking this lightly. I’ve mulled this over for centuries.”

“Very well, let’s review your assignment. You are agreeing to family breakup at age three, Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia at age 8, and a four-year battle with this cancer, ending in death at age twelve. As we speak, your parents are not anxiously awaiting your arrival, although the bond with your mother will soon develop. Your biological father leaves you on your third birthday, but thankfully the father you’ll come to know and love meets you within the year. Is this what you’re signing up for?”

“Yes. The subcontract with my mother states that I will teach her unconditional love. She will grow strong enough to battle her own cancer after I’m gone. The man I'll call father will nurse me during my pain. It will give him the focus needed to break free from his addictions. As for me, I'll be the lucky one. I will be surrounded by love, enabling me to see the grace in all circumstances.”

“Well planned. You have considered your life purpose and made excellent subcontracts with other light filled souls. You are ready.”

My guide leads me from the glittering room toward even greater illumination, one that radiates love and kindness. Appreciating such peace, I stop and savor the moment. A gentle nudge reminds me that I am here to see my Creator.

She is divine. I bask in her glow, her warmth soothing me. I know I am ready.

“Yes, you are,” my Master speaks. Of course, she can read my every thought. “It is time to begin the final meditation, on this your last day in the Heavenly realm.”

The words ‘last day’ echo in my mind, driving fears to the surface. Why would I leave this comfort and peace? “I'm not sure I’m ready to leave.”

The Creator, sensing my apprehension, responds, “Of course there will be times when you’ll want to turn back – and what soul wouldn’t? Our peaceful bliss is void of the negativity that blankets the earth. It is not a sign of weakness. Force yourself through it, knowing one day you’ll return to your heavenly home.”

“What if I change my mind? What if I want to break this contract?” I ask.

“You do have a choice. You can choose to fulfill your contract at any time. This means that you can delay meeting the terms, but you can’t avoid them altogether.”

“Meaning that eventually, I will have to come back to it?”

“Yes, if not in this lifetime, then in a subsequent earth experience.” With compassion, she advises, “Remember that the spiritual realm is never far from reach.”

A sense of knowing fills my soul. I am prepared to sign the sacred contract. With a loving gaze the Divine One fills my soul. Hand on heart, I commit myself to a new life on the earthly plane.

“It is done. We must act quickly because the journey is a difficult one. There is no turning back, despite the second thoughts that may cloud your mind. Confusion and memory loss will also occur.”

Heavenly ranks soon fill the room. I am blessed and filled with a love that buoys my soul. Elevated and empowered, I tear myself away from my heavenly family.

Now strong enough, my journey toward the dark abyss begins. Already longing to turn back, I head into the black tunnel. With each step the light fades and my fear grows. The walls spin and cave in on me; I am lost in a wave of claustrophobia. Each tiny movement becomes a struggle, until I am squirming on all fours, forcing my way through the contracting walls. Yearning to scream and wail, I see a pinhole of light. My hope.

Dearest children,

Today was a good day. Your mom asked me this morning what I wanted to do, and on the spur of the moment we decided to go to the beach. We left you at your grandma's, and off we went. Yes, it was a two-hour drive each way, but it was worth it. My headaches even seemed to ease up, almost as if they decided they'd done their job, and they were going to give me a last respite before tomorrow's surgery.

The beach is much different in late fall than it is during the summer. The crowds are gone, of course, and the shops on the boardwalk are all closed up. There was none of the jingle jangle of the arcade games, the thump-thump-thump of the Whack-a-Mole stand, or the calliope music from the amusement park rides. I missed the music, but I did not miss the crowds. We walked along the empty boardwalk, enjoying the moment together.

We walked to the pier, and watched the folks fishing off the end. Some of them were catching big fish, and others were dragging in nothing but seaweed. Your mom and I tried to guess who would catch fish, and who would catch junk, but we couldn't. That's just the way it is. We continued our walk and talked about the journey our family is about to go on.

In a few years, when your mom gives you this to read, you'll already know how the journey ended. That's not what this letter is for. This letter is to help you see it as I do now, at the beginning, suspecting where the journey will end, but only guessing at how we'll get there.

It's not going to be an easy journey, and it is certainly not one that I'd choose to take, if it was up to me. It isn't up to me. Like lots of things in life, it is simply happening, and there isn't any choice in the matter. I do have a choice in how I'll respond. In that sense, I'm lucky; lots of people don't have that chance. They wake up one day not knowing that they should be preparing; they should be setting things right; they should be writing letters to their children―because by the end of that day, that chance will be gone, taken by a distracted driver, a heart attack, or some other fatal surprise.

I am luckier than they. I have been given the gift of time. I went to the doctor with these headaches two weeks ago, had the MRI scans ten days ago, and had the consultation with the neurosurgeon a day after that. If I have what they think I have, it can't be cured. It can't even be slowed down very much. Of course, the neurosurgeon still wanted to offer hope. Tomorrow, after surgery, we'll know for sure. So technically, this is the last day of uncertainty. But truthfully, the evidence is in, and there isn't much room for doubt. The doctor is very good at what he does, but I think the path ahead is clear to both your mom and me. We talked about it, and decided not to mourn.

We walked down to the surf line, watching the waves and looking for sea glass. The tide was going out, leaving lots of shells behind. You'd never think of Ocean City as a great place to find shells, but that's because there are usually too many people there, and they find them before you do. That's not a problem in November. Fewer people come here then; the rewards are greater for those that do.

If the surgery goes well, I'll wake up tomorrow with a gift of more weeks or months to be with you, and I'll still have the ability to appreciate that time together. There will be no miracle drug: No one has ever survived this diagnosis. But I will fight it nonetheless. We may even be able to come back here next summer, with all of your cousins and aunts and uncles.

I know that I can't protect you from the inevitable outcome, and it would be wrong to pretend otherwise. But I'll do what I can to make this journey easier for you three, and for your mom, who is my rock. We will find things to treasure as we go, just as we have throughout our lives.

Together we will spend a fortune in borrowed time.

We walked back to the car, still looking for shells. We found a beautiful piece of polished blue sea glass―the biggest that I've ever seen. That sea glass is enclosed with this letter. Let it remind you that there are always treasures to be found, no matter what the circumstances.

Love forever,

Dad

There’s a window in the chamber so the witnesses can see me die, but when I look through it all I see is darkness. It’s designed that way, with the lights low in the Witness Room and burning brightly in here. For all I know that room could be empty, but I seriously doubt that’s the case. There are just too many people in this world anxious to see me move on to the next one.

Not that there also haven’t been people trying to get me to stick around here for a bit longer. I had my fourth “last meal” a few hours ago; the first three didn’t quite take. For all that he was court-appointed, my lawyer devoted nine years of his life to my case. He tried every trick in the book to get my sentence overturned, and at first I supported his efforts every step of the way. Twice he convinced a judge to issue a stay of execution just hours before I was scheduled to be killed. After the second of those stays was finally rejected, I asked him to stop trying. He argued with me, and I know he was sincere, but I’m pretty sure I saw relief in his eyes as well.

The third time was the worst. I got as far as being strapped on the gurney and wheeled into the execution chamber before they called it off. Some group convinced yet another judge that lethal injection was an inhumane method of killing someone, like there’s a humane way. I’d had a statement released asking that no one try to stop the execution, but some people just can’t help but think they know what’s best for me. Kind of ironic, since thinking that way got two people dead and put me here in the first place.

You can get to be pretty understanding when you sit in a small cell for almost a decade waiting to die. I can’t hate anyone anymore, and in some ways I can even appreciate what those human-rights folks tried to do. Of course, I’d appreciate it more if I thought they were doing it for me as a person, not as a cause. I’m not saying I deserve to die, but it’s going to happen and I’m so tired of sitting around waiting. I don’t have any control over my life anymore; I’d like to have at least a bit over my death.

I’m sure a lot of those unseen people just a few feet away in the Witness Room are praying to God right now that I don’t live to see another day. Would it surprise them to know I was praying for the very same thing? I’ve never been all that religious; I don’t know if suicide is a sin, or whether praying for someone else to kill you is even considered suicide. If it is a sin, it’s got to be pretty far down on any list that’s going to be counted against me.

The nurse finally got the IV in. That was new territory for me; I didn’t make it this far the last three times. Poor guy was so nervous it took it him four tries to hit the vein. He mumbled some apology, which almost made me laugh out loud. I gave him a break and didn’t point out that a bruised arm is the least of my health concerns at the moment. Right now it’s only saline dripping slowly into me; the barbiturate will come next. They say I won’t feel a thing. It’s supposed to be like falling asleep, and I won’t even know when they switch over to the tubocurarine and my lungs stop. Of course, the people who say it doesn’t hurt didn’t exactly volunteer to test that theory, and the only people who have been through the process weren’t in any shape to describe the experience afterwards. I do know from all my reading that the whole thing rarely takes more than a minute or two, so no matter how it feels, it won’t last long.

I try to see through the window again, with no more success. One person I know must be out there is Warden Peterson, and I even know where he must be standing. Even in these days of cells and Blackberries, there’s still a dedicated landline to the Governor’s office. Nothing other than that phone is going to keep me alive much longer. Peterson’s too much of a hard-case not to follow protocol to the letter, and I know he is right there by that phone. I wonder if he is thinking the same thing I am.

Please God, don’t let it ring.

I licked the envelope flap, pressed it closed, then placed it on the stack. The taste of glue lingered on my tongue as I double-checked the sealed envelopes. Baltimore Sun, Chicago Tribune, Denver Post…perfect, all perfect. Los Angeles Times, Miami Herald, New York Times…each white envelope was flawless, pure, a worthy container for my words. Philadelphia Inquirer, Washington Post…tomorrow they would learn, they would see. My message, my vision…their future.

I glanced at the clock – 13:58. Two minutes ahead of my timetable. Leaning back, I patiently waited for 14:00 hours. Months of planning had gone into this; I wasn’t going to ruin it by rushing. No, I could wait two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds. One hundred and nineteen, one hundred and eighteen, one hundred and…

14:00 hours. Metal creaked and groaned as I pushed away from the Formica table. I looked again at the schedule. 14:05 – Hand Letters to Mr. Eames. I had scheduled five minutes to walk the 79 feet from my kitchen to the mailbox. Thirty-two steps. Plenty of time.

I could hear it as soon as I opened the door. The gunning of an engine, followed by squealing brakes. Gun, squeal. Gun, squeal. Mr. Eames was ahead of schedule. I quickened my pace. Gun, squeal. Too close. He was too close. I’d never make it.

I broke into a run. Five minutes. He was supposed to be here in five minutes. Not thirty seconds. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t miss him. My message had to go today. The world wanted it. Needed it. A flash of white – there he was, three doors down. I was five feet away. I slowed to a walk. Gun, squeal. Gun, squeal.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a smile. I forced my lips into the appropriate response and handed him my precious cargo. He glanced at them.

“More letters to the editor?” His tone was condescending, like I was some crazy person incapable of intelligent thought. A familiar anger rose in me. He was no different than my former colleagues, people who were blinded by their own perceived intellect.

But I just nodded. I didn’t have time for a polite, erudite lecture on the merits of my plan. I had to stick to the schedule.

“Well, if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem, right?” he said. This time my smile was genuine. I wasn’t part of the solution – I was the solution.

But he didn’t see my smile. He was already pulling away, rushing to his next stop. I looked at my watch. 14:04. I waited a minute, then returned to the house.

I looked again at my schedule. 14:07 – 15:07 – Rest. Yes, this was what I needed. A rest. A time of restoration and preparation.

But adrenaline was still rushing through my veins. What if I had missed Eames? What if the letters hadn’t gone? But they had to go. They were the key. Without them, the world wouldn’t understand. They would dismiss me as crazy, unbalanced. But the letters explained everything. Finally they would comprehend my brilliance, my vision. Those who had called me eccentric and peculiar would now hail me as the brightest mind of our time. No, not of our time. Of history. The scoffers would now be scoffed at, the tables would be turned.

Tonight, I will change the fate of the human race.

Tomorrow, they will understand.

I just have to stick to the schedule.

Edwin Morrow stood across the counter from me, absently thumbing the wedding ring on his left hand His Armani suit, manicured hands and feathered gray hair set him apart from most of the folks who came in to my shop and I told him so.

“Oh, I’m not all that different,” he said. With his looks and the way he talked, he could have played Robert Redford in the movie of his life.

“Well, I tell you,” I said, “most of the folks I see are real outdoorsmen. The hunting type. All grizzled and unshaven, beer swillin’, dirty-shirt wearing slobs. Workin’ stiffs, you know what I mean? I have to say, sir, just seeing you there, you make me feel a slight bit sore for what you’re wearing. You’re downright wearing what I make in a year on your back there. What kind of car do you drive, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“I... um... don’t actually know. I’d have to ask my driver,” he said, reaching inside his suit coat. “How much do I owe you?” He pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills so thick his silver money clip bent nearly backwards trying to hold them all

“Hey now, hold on. You’re not one of them, you know, you’re not a drug dealer or anything funny like that, are you?” I asked, worried as I was with anyone who paid by cash, but especially caught off guard by this fellow.

“No,” he laughed. “Nothing that exciting. Just an investment banker. Stocks and bonds and things like that.”

I couldn’t help but watch him twirl the ring on his finger as I counted out his change. It cast glitters of rainbow lights around the display cases behind me like a mirrored ball.

“That has to be the biggest darned rock I have ever seen,” I told him. “Sparkles so much I almost need sunglasses just to look at it straight on.”

“Oh, this? It’s... It’s...”

“I’m sure she’s a real looker, too.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, his eyes suddenly hollow. “A model. Aspirations of being an actress like Rebecca Romaijn...”

“You don’t say. Mines so fat her butt don’t even fit on the couch no more. Got her one of them bean bag chairs to sit on. The other day she plopped down and, I tell you, she popped that darn thing. Just, POP! And there she is sprawled out across the floor, too big even to get up. I laughed so hard my sides hurt after.”

He just laughed a little to himself, took the bag I held out for him and turned to walk away.

“Hey, hey! You left your change here.”

“Keep it,” he said.

“I may crack jokes,” I said, “but I’m not really that bad off, you know. There’s fifty bucks here.”

He held up his hand, not even turning back to look at to me. “It’s yours. I enjoyed the story about your wife. Thank you."

---

At home that night, scraping the last charred bits of au gratin off the casserole dish, not really listening to the local news, imagining how easy my life would have been if I’d sold stocks and bonds instead of bullets and guns, I saw his face flash across the TV screen.

Seems, distraught that his new wife had left him for some fancy Hollywood producer, he’d gone home and put a bullet through his brain.

“The Supreme Court refused to issue a stay, Johnson. You won’t live to see another sunrise.”

“That is jack, man! How can they do that? The death penalty isn’t even legal in this state anymore.”

“Not until January 1st, Johnson. We got three more days, and I intend to spend two of them celebrating the end of your nasty little life.”

“Man, the election was two months ago. You can’t go against the will of the people.”

“Will of the people? Since when did you ever care what anyone thought? All you care about is the will of Walter Johnson. The law says we can kill you, and that’s what we’re going to do. The governor says, ‘do it.’ The state Supreme Court says, ‘do it,’ and now the nine black robes in D.C say ‘do it.’ You’ve finally run out of time.”

“The governor has had it in for me for the last eight years. What did I ever do to him? I got him elected, that’s what. He put my face on every billboard and TV show, saying I needed to die. Well, he’s been trying for eight years, and the state tried for twelve before that. It didn’t happen then, and it ain’t gonna happen tonight. All I gotta do is last three more days. The death penalty goes away, and twenty days after that we get a new governor. It just don’t make no sense.”

“Tell that to the governor. He’s going to be here in a few hours. I think he would push one of the plungers himself if he could. He considers it his moral duty to see you rot in hell.”

“Since when did you become such a jerk, Ruiz? I thought we had something. You were the only guard on the Row that didn’t ride me.”

“You and me? We never had anything! I was doing my job, and my job was a lot easier when you were nice and quiet. I treated you like the junkyard dog you are. I just didn’t want to hear you barking all the time.”

“But it don’t make no sense, Ruiz. I’m gonna die because of a technicality.”

“Technicality? I’ll tell you what don’t make no sense, Johnson. Raping and murdering seventeen women. A prison guard; a cellmate – those I get. By why those women? They were just going about their business when you brutalized and killed them. Where was the sense in that? Where were their twenty years of ‘due process?’ Where was their Supreme Court? That’s what doesn’t make sense.”

“Sixteen, Ruiz. I only raped sixteen of them. That Emmerson chick, she put up one helluva fight. I had to kill her just to shut her up. I wasn’t gonna do her after she was dead. That’s just wrong.”

“Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up. If there’s anything else you want to get off your chest before midnight, you be sure and save it for the chaplain.”

“Seriously, Ruiz, there is something else. The cops only pinned three of those women on me. I gave up the rest because the DA promised to keep me off Death Row. That’s another reason this whole thing is bogus. The DA promised, man. Anyway, there’s more. I could tell you about a lot more. Iowa, Wyoming, Oregon. Think of all those families out there not knowing. Get the governor to give me a stay for just three more days, and I’ll give them all up. Names, dates, places, bodies. I’ll give it all up. You gotta help me, man. Those families need closure.”

“Closure! That’s a laugh. I’ve waited a long time to hear you cry like a baby, Johnson. And I’ve got to tell you I like it. I like it a lot. I don’t care whether there were seventeen or seven hundred. I will get all the closure I need at 12:01 tonight. I just wish hanging were still legal. I would love to see you twitch.”

“I’m not asking for me, Ruiz. Those families, they gotta know! You can’t make that decision yourself! Get the governor. Get the DA. Where you going? You have no right. All that suffering! Come back here, Ruiz. Don’t leave! Don’t leave me, man! Don’t leave me alone!”

When I got out of bed I had no idea it would for be the last time, had I known I would have never left those soft sheets. Unknowing, I got out of bed, took a shower, noticing I needed more conditioner I made a mental note to pick some up while I was out.

I didn’t think to take a look around at my life before I walked out the door, who does that? Who takes the time to look around their own home, making the moment last just a little because it might be the last time you will ever feel the antique Persian rug that Aunt Lola brought home from her travels back in the twenties. I could have at least run my hand one last time over the brass woman figure that has always held a place of honor on the newel post. I left the house without feeling her cool smooth familiar curves, so unlike when I was a child and never passed her without a hand, clean or dirty, trailing down her side. Funny the things I regret about the day.

The phone rang as I was picking up my keys from the table next to the front door; I almost didn’t answer it, hesitating just a moment before laying my purse down. If only I would have simply stepped out the door, but no, I went to the phone.

That is how I ended up on the road to Rabbit town and not into Atlanta as I had planned, and that is where the road crew had the roads in chaos. I can say I never felt a thing, but I did see it coming and I knew what was happening when that log truck came around the curve, as if the idiot didn’t drive that way every day, and tilted just a tad too far. I saw the logs coming at me as I sat wedged behind an ancient, but not classic, car and pickup truck. With no place to go and no time to do anything anyway I just closed my eyes.

I vaguely remember a rush of feelings, lights, sounds then nothing, but not really nothing, more of a dreamy memory of a vast place, a passing of time and a rush of relief. Something happened but it is like when I had surgery and the anesthesiologist told me to count backwards from 100 and before I got to 97 I was opening my eyes in recovery. This was like that, I knew time had passed and things had happened just not sure what or for how long.

So on the last day of my life I chose to have lunch with my husband instead of meeting my lover in our usual spot in a quiet place tucked away in Little Five points. The down side is of course, my life in my body is over, not that it was a great body, I had let it go for a number of years, but it was the only one I had and I had not really wanted to give it up just yet. The up sides are I am not in hell, as a matter of fact I found out there is no hell, no devil either for that matter, plus I lived great life filled with fun.

I don’t really understand the testing process here but during that dream state time just after the logs I passed. Surprising who I see around here and I am sure many are surprised to see me as well. But here I am and where is here? That is even more amazing because it is really anywhere I want to be, as soon as I think it that is where I am. I was thinking of Jamie and how he would be worried when I didn’t show up for lunch and in a blink I was standing next to him. He was so sad I could see he already knew about what happened to me; it was too painful to watch. I thought of my lover and was at once by his side as he paced his studio, an angry looking canvas lay at his feet and tears rolled silently down his face. Each man gave me what I needed, I loved them both, now they each grieve for me as I do for them, it was a weird nice to have them care so much, but I felt their pain.

Being a Spirit isn’t without regret or pain, but I am here for eternity and now I will guide the people I love to find happiness so I can feel their joy and not this ache. Life is all about choices even the afterlife.

Twenty two years, eleven months, and six days. It seems like a lifetime. It is a lifetime. My lifetime. Years of living, loving, hating, hurting, crying, laughing, smiling…

Can it really be tomorrow? It seems like a dream. But no, this is real…after years of searching, finding, losing, and starting over, this is it. My wedding day…no, our wedding day. After tomorrow, it will be forever we, us, our life, our home.

As I sit here preparing for the biggest day of my young life, a million questions scurry through my mind. Will I make a good wife? Will he make a good husband? Will everything go right tomorrow? Will someone ruin my big day? Why do I have so many butterflies? Why didn’t someone tell me this would be like this? Why, why, why, why…STOP!!!

I shake my head as if to clear it. I bow it and say a prayer. As I look u I smile. I’ve known from day one that this would work. I’ve felt this way before, for one wonderful, horrible second when down on one knee, he uttered those four words that every girl wants to hear. These million questions flashed through my mind then, but I silenced them, and told him “Yes”. And every day since, I was reminded of how wonderful our life will be, as I let the beautiful diamond ring rest solidly on my left ring finger.

I reach now and feel that ring on my finger and smile. I have the answers now, at least the ones I need. The butterflies diminish, but do not disappear. It’s ok to be nervous, it’s ok to have apprehension. Today is a day of lasts. My last day as a single woman, my last day of being engaged. My last day of living alone, my last day as a Connelly. The close of another chapter of my life. But tomorrow is a day of firsts. My first day as a wife, my first day with a husband. My first day living with my husband, my first day as a Kendrick. The start of a brand new chapter of my life, no our life.

I realize now that this is what life is. Days upon days of firsts and lasts, beginnings and ends. The single most important thing is to keep living, loving, and growing through all our experiences.

There is a knock on the door. I smile. It’s time for my last party without my husband.

OF SCHOOL

To me this is one of the greatest feelings in the world. All the hard work sitting in a classroom for eight hours a day finally payed of as started to walk out the door. But a feeling haunted me. I wouldn't be able to see my friends for a while. My friends are really important and this was the last time I was going to see them for a while. When I got home I still felt excited but, I felt alone. I tried to get the feeling away but it just wouldn't stop.

But I realized something, when graduation time comes, I would be alone even more. Also I would be stressed knowing my life and career are going to start. College, a job, getting a house, a car, all that haunted me. I laid down on my bed thinking of all this. Then I fell asleep

SUMMER VACATION

It was a calm, cold day here in Michigan. The leaves were beginning to fall and it's raining more then ever. But a feeling overwhelmed me that day. I felt so excited knowing that I was going to meet my friends again and also I was happy knowing I got two more years of school. But that wasn't the feeling.

It was like a feeling that I couldn't quite explain. Even though I was excited but I felt as though nothing happened. Time flew so fast and I didn't accomplish anything I wanted to do. One minute I was walking out of the school saying "Finally I am out!" and the next I'm about to walk back inside school. It's like I fell asleep and didn't wake up until now. This feeling haunted me all day.

Laura was happy, yet sad that it was the last day of high school. She was happy because she wasn't going to have to go to school anymore. She was sad because her three best friends Ashley, Sarah, and Diana were moving away to go to college in California,San Diego, and San Fransisco. All to for away from Florida.Laura as you probably guessing wasn't planning on going to college.

As the lunch bell rang, Laura didn't dare touch her food.She just whirled it around with her fork.She wasn't ready for her friends to move. Laura raised up her soda bottle and said "Here's to our last lunch together!" Laura, Diana, Ashley, and Sarah took a big gulp of soda and put the drink down. Diana looked at Laura and said "Don't be sad we'll all call and we will never forget you." "I know." Laura said, "Its just not easy." Then the 5th period bell rang.

Laura passed Ashley a note that said:
Ashley please don't leave! Ashley wrote back Just like Diana said we will NEVER for get you, with out you, we're not a foursome.....AND THATS THE END OF THAT! Laura tried to write back but Ashley wouldn't accept the note.And that was the end of that.

It was the end of the day and they were all going to Sarah's house. Sarah was leaving in 1 week and then 2 days after that Diana, and then a week after that Ashley was leaving. Sarah's bags were all packed up on her bed. Sarah was going to California, and she was so excited. Later Sarah's mom walked in and say, I hate to break the news to you girls, but you have to leave now. Diana and Ashley left first with Laura still in the room.
"Bye" Laura mumbled and left.

A week came by to fast. Laura, Diana, and Ashley were all at the airport with Sarah saying there goodbyes. Laura was holding back her crying. They all waited until the flight attendent said "All boarding for California" And then with the last hug for each girl, Sarah was gone in a snap.

Two days later, It was Diana's time to go to San Diego, and she was thrilled, yet sad. She was driving to San Diego, and Ashley and Laura were at Diana's house. She gave a hug to Laura and Ashley and jetted off. Laura looked at Ashley and started laughing."Thats Diana for you" Giggled Ashley.

Another week gone to fast. "I can't STAND THIS!" Laura yelled. "Its just not fair!" Ashley looked at Laura, "Look, I have to leave, and I want you to know your my best friend, and you always will be, just remember that." Laura walked out to the car to watch Ashley leave, and then drove home.