"Indian summer is like a woman. Ripe, hotly passionate, but fickle, she comes and goes as she pleases so that one is never sure whether she will come at all, nor for how long she will stay."
-- Grace Metalious, Peyton Place


Pacey took careful steps, trying not to disturb the sereneness that had surrounded him by crunching the leaves. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, hoping to fend off the chills that the autumn breeze was giving. The sound of the wicked wind and the falling leaves were all he could hear.

He felt sick--nauseous anyway. He inhaled deeply, hoping it would be enough to keep him going, even though he wasn't sure exactly where he was going. Finally, he stumbled across what he was looking for.

Falling to his knees, he stared down at it. He didn't know how long he stared, but he wasn't sure what to do. His fingers ran across the hard, grey marble to sweep the leaves away. "Andrea Elizabeth McPhee, 1983-1999," were the words carved into the small foot stone.

The dirt was still there, in between the foot stone he was perched next to, and the larger headstone that rested a few feet away. He ran his fingers across her name again, and diverted his eyes from the dying flowers just above the stone.

"I guess that if you were here . . ." he began, not going on. "I guess you'd be scolding me, and saying that I should've come here sooner. But you're not here, so . . . I guess that really doesn't matter.

"I know that it's been five weeks . . . five weeks and three days to be exact. I don't know what was holding me back really. I thought coming here would be like finally admitting that you're gone.

"Why'd you do it, Andie? Why did you do it dammit!" he screamed. "How could you just leave like that? How could you decide to leave me!?" His head fell to his hands, and he wearily rubbed his eyes. He was not there to yell. On the off-chance that she could hear him, the last thing he wanted to do was chastise her for killing herself.

"I miss you," he said, softening his tone considerably. "If you thought people thought you were crazy, you should hear what they're saying about me," he laughed nervously. "I keep hoping this isn't real, maybe a dream or something." He gently picked at some grass at his side. "I have a copy of your obituary on my dresser. It's not there to remind me of you--Lord knows I can't forget. Every night I go to sleep with the shallow hope that I might wake up and realize it didn't happen. That I can get up, and the obituary will be gone, and I'll go to school, and you'll be there waiting at my locker ranting about some project or freaking out about a test you have to take. You're not there, though. Thirty-seven mornings I've gotten up, and it's been just as true as it was the day before--if not more true.

"Dawson thinks I've gone off the deep end. He's actually taken a break from his personally created drama to worry about me, which, I think, is saying something. He doesn't want me to go anywhere by myself. I guess he's afraid that somehow I might do what you did. I won't, though. The one thing I know that you didn't know is how the people who are left feel. Granted, I'm not exactly well-loved, I'd never want to put those few people who I really do care about through this." He shifted his weight, resting it more on his feet as he remained kneeling.

"Dawson, he found me the other day with your pajamas. I was in your room a couple days after you . . . and I found them. I guess you were wearing them the night before, because they still smelled like you. I took them home. They're losing the smell, and it's almost like I'm losing you all over again. It's silly, I know, but I feel like they're the last shred of you that I've got left. I can't hold you now, but I can hold them. It's not the same, but it's all that I've got." Pacey reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek, then winced, hoping to hold the other silent tears back.

"I was in the Nurse's office the other day. They wanted me to see the school psychologist. I was looking around at all the posters: you know, the one with all the different people that said 'which one of them has HIV?' and the one with the baby that says 'it costs so much a month to raise a child.' There was one that said 'suicide touches everyone's life -- know the warning signs.'" He took a breath, and looked back at the sun. "I guess that I didn't know the signs. I'm trying to tell myself that I couldn't stop you from doing it, and I'm not sure if I could have.

"The thing is, I know that thinking about it--any of it--won't bring you back. Nothing's going to bring you back, and I can't help but to think that I'm going to spend the rest of my life facing this big, scary world all alone.

"You came into my life at a time when I thought that no one believed in me. You changed me, and I really don't know if you did it because it was some sort of challenge or if it was because you cared. I don't know if that matters much now. You see, I loved you, and I miss you so much, but no matter what was wrong with you, I cannot forgive you for leaving me. When you came into my life, it was so abrupt I didn't really understand it. Then, you left just as quickly as you entered, and everything has changed all over again. Except this time things just don't go back to how they were.

"I invested everything I had in you," he whispered, "and now you're gone. My everything is gone."

He stopped, silently thinking about everything he said. "As mad and as upset as I am, I still love you, and I will probably love you forever. But, Andie, I've got to do something before I go crazy. I walk around a corner, hoping you might be there. I see you in the grocery store, only to figure out it wasn't you at all. I pick up the phone, and get disappointed, because I hoped it was you. . .I have to accept that you're not coming back, and as much as it hurts, I've got to move on with my life."

He sighed. "I don't want my hope destroyed every morning when I look at my dresser. I don't want to think I'm hopeless because you're not here anymore. I don't want to wake up in the morning, thinking about what the day will be like without you. I want to make the day mine, I want to accept that you're gone, and I want to move on with my life. I can't walk around in my own world for another five weeks just because you decided that you needed to check out early."

He ran his finger across her name one last time. "McPhee, I hope that where ever you are now . . . I hope you're happy. I'm not going to forget you, or forget how you impacted my life. I'm sure that I'll think about you with everyday that goes by. I hope that you're off to find your happiness, because I'm off to find mine. Somehow, I pray that you'll be able to understand that."

He sat there, not able to move, knowing the severe impact of what he was trying to do. Before he stood up to go, he surveyed the area once more, as the leaves danced across ground. "Goodbye, Andie," he whispered, before turning and walking away.

* * * * *

NOT to be continued.