May 15, 2008
I really hate this.
I have no clue what's happening. Mom won't tell me anything. I don't see why, I'm thirteen—I can understand adult concepts. I know I'm not quite an adult yet…maybe not until I'm sixteen. But I'm not stupid, and I can understand that something is really not right. Mom has been weird lately. Probably because she doesn't want me to know that Warrick hanging around means that they've been going out. She makes it painfully obvious. Every time I mention it, she tries not to smile, and tells me they're just friends. Warrick's kinda cute—no one knows that I've had a little crush on him when I was younger. At least Mom has good taste.
I remember the first time I saw Warrick. I had to be about six. He and Mom picked me up from school and dropped me off at Dad's in the company car. It must be some creepy silent language that only old people can understand or something like that, but I know that Dad took one look at Warrick and Mom immediately tried to calm him down. When she was talking to Dad, Warrick talked to me. He asked me all the boring questions grown-ups always ask. How's school, how are your grades, are you having fun with your friends. But somehow, those boring questions didn't seem too boring with Warrick. He had me smiling within moments. He offered to buy me and Mom ice cream after work and after I came home from school. I told him how Mom would say I would be spoiling dinner, but Warrick promised me he'd take care of that.
Warrick and my Mom have something going on. I know it. I knew it from that day we ate ice cream together. Mom had to go to the bathroom, and Warrick ordered her the wrong flavor. She didn't get upset over it, but Warrick insisted on buying her another one. When she said no, he fed her some ice cream from his cup when he thought I wasn't looking. Oh, and the night that Dad…died. Mom said he was there to help us through it, and it'd be like a big pajama party.
A pajama party that lasted three days.
Now Warrick's been hanging out at our house a lot. I know they're together, but she just won't tell me. She won't tell me anything. I just wish
I heard a noise in the other room. I frowned, dropping my diary and looking at the clock. Mom wasn't supposed to be back so soon. "Mom?" I called. She didn't answer. I walked into the living room. Mom was standing there, her hand against the wall. "Hey," I said.
"Hi," she said in a small voice.
"You're home early," I said. Mom nodded, looking down. Now Iknew for sure something was wrong. "What's up?"
"Nothing's up, Lindsey," she replied.
"Mom, I know you and Warrick are going out—"
"Lindsey, for the umpteenth time, we're just…friends." Mom tried to sound pissed off, but her voice fell. She suddenly slumped to the floor, sobbing. "Mom!" I said, reaching down to hold her. "What happened?"
I didn't understand. "What do you mean by gone?"
"Oh, Lindsey," she cried. "Warrick's dead."
I blinked, watching my mother cry violently on the floor. When I read those books and see those movies about when a loved one dies, I always thought they were playing on the melodramatics. I never expected to know how this felt, like, in real life. I was trying not to cry, didn't know what to say or do…it was like losing Dad all over again. Mom's breaths were coming as fast little gasps, and I knew I had to be strong, for us.
"It'll…be okay, Mom," I said, holding her in my arms. I meant it, and tried to make her realize that it was true. Her blonde hair stuck to her where the tears had left their tracks on her face. I pulled the stringy strands away, looking her in the face. "Mom, everything's gonna be okay." She looked at me back, four sad blue eyes meeting, and her breaths slowed. Somehow, I'd calmed her down, and somehow, she'd believed me. She didn't stop crying, but I knew she knew things were gonna be alright.
June 15, 2008
It's been a month since Warrick was shot. I can't really say things are gonna get better around here, but I guess it's too early to tell. The funeral was…sad. But I guess that's why it's called a funeral. Grissom did the eulogy and it's the first time I've ever seen him show any emotion. Warrick…really touched a lot of lives, I guess. I'm gonna miss him a lot…
I stopped writing as I felt a warm tear trickle down my face and land on the pink ink, diluting it and causing it to bleed through the paper. I couldn't help but think of him bleeding to death, wherever he was shot. Him being on that autopsy table, being cut open. I shuddered out a breath, crying even more. Picking up the gel pen, I continued to write.
Warrick was a really good match for Mom, I think. I know she's gonna find someone else, but just like Dad, Warrick was family. I will never forget him.
I closed the diary and smiled at the ceiling, despite my falling tears. "Yeah," I said, "I'll never forget you."