• Miranda Goldberg


    Why did Dylan have to die?

    He was a beautiful boy. A few inches taller than me at five feet and 9 inches. He had slate grey eyes that twinkled when he was really happy. His hair was a darker blonde that did a natural swoop thing. It was adorable. His wasn't big, but he cetainly wasn't a twig either. He was leaner than normal, however. And he wore beautiful form fitting clothing. It's a surprise he never had a boyfriend before college.

    Dylan wasn't any different than any of the other boys I've taught. He was a sweet guy. He always walked into class with a smile, his binder in arm, his work always finished. As a matter of fact, he was one of my favorite students. His essays were always top quality. When we were working on the fiction portion of our class, his story evoked emotion. It was so great it made tears come to my eyes. In all ten years of my career as a college professor, Dylan Hinereckler was the most influential and caring student I have ever had the honor of teaching.

    One day, before class, he walked in early. It was the day I broke up with my ex boyfriend and I was crying. Dylan came in, the smile that was always on his face fell the second he seen me. I assume he was coming in for extra help which he certainly didn't need. But when he seen me, nothing else mattered to him. He took a deep breath and set his books and binder on the center desk of the first row. He stepped to my desk and I still hadn't seen him because my head was down on the it, one arm under my head, the other out in front of me, my hand palm down against the desk. He set his hand gingerly on top of mine and when I looked up, he smiled a sweet smile and told me it would be okay and that he was here for me. It was that day that I realized just how much certain students mean to me.

    He sat there for the thirty minutes before class, just holding me and letting me cry. I know what you might be thinking, but this isn't a cheesy forbidden romance story between me and him. But that was just how Dylan was. If he seen a complete stranger crying, he would hold them and let them cry. He would rub their back softly and tell them it would be okay. He was never a mean person. Not even to a fly.

    So why did he have to die?

    I'm as clueless there as you are. See, there wasn't one thing I could find wrong with that boy. Not one thing. Hell, even though he was gay, he never pissed anyone off or even hit on them. The only boyfriend he ever had was a sweet young man who shared that same class as him in my room. Dylan was great, but his downfall was he was so shy. So the boy had to talk to him. It was kinda fun and cute to watch their budding romance.

    The other boy's name was Lucas Harris. Lucas was very handsome. He was tall, six feet and some odd. His hair was black and a little long. He always had it off to the side to show his face. The boy's eyes were green and his face strong. His jawline was well defined. He was built too. Probably hit the weights multiple times a week. But he was kind also. He may not have been as intelligent as others, but he accepted everyone for who they were. And he was very popular. Even among the young men, considering he was gay.

    One day, instead of sitting in the back and chatting with his friends, Lucas sat in the desk directly to Dylan's left, making sure Dylan looked up when he slid into his seat. He smiled at him and started talking to him. It wasn't a deep and meaningful conversation, mainly just comparing their most recent assignment and asking how they are. Just idle chit chat. They even talked after I was done giving my lecture. And right before class ended, I remember seeing Dylan's face light up as Lucas asked him to a coffee date. And those were the exact words that he used. I swear, the next day in class, that twinkle was blinding in Dylan's eyes. It somehow grew brighter when Lucas walked in and sat by him agian. They were just the sweetest couple.

    That's why when Lucas came into my class, after being with Dylan for one month, crying, I was...intrigued to say the least. See, that was also the first day Dylan was gone. However, Lucas wasn't crying loud and openly, but a few silent tears fell down his tanned face. He walked up to my desk and looked at me.

    "Ms. Goldberg. I need to talk to you." It wasn't the way he asked, or the tears that were slipping from his eyes that made me agree. It was the look in his eyes. They were pleading, hurt, but most of all, weak and vulnerable. If you knew Lucas the way many others in my class do, you would know why this was surprising. Lucas was strong and very well put together. So I stood up and told my class to work on the previous day's assignment while I spoke with Mr. Harris. Then I stepped out of my room, Lucas right behind me.
    Once the door was closed, Lucas wrapped his arms around me and tried his best not to cry. He failed. "Lucas, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

    "I was in love with him. The first boy I have ever been with and I fell in love. And this happens. Why? Why did this happen to me, Ms. Jenkins? Why did this happen to me? Why did Dylan have to die?" He sobbed. But what the hell was I suppose to do? Dylan was my favorite student, and the boy that he was having a relationship with just told me that Dylan was dead. How the hell am I suppose to hold him and tell him it would be okay when I was having trouble not breaking down and crying?
    But I had to do something.

    So I wrapped my arms around the mountain of a man and stroked his hair softly. Honestly, I am not sure if this was the right thing to do or not, but I know that when my father died, that it was exactly what my mom did after she told me and I reacted much the same way that Lucas has. It helped greatly and I fell asleep in her arms. And even though my mom was hurting just as much as me, she made me feel like she was strong enough to hold me up and let me know it would all be okay. I knew that I would live and be happy because of her. And that was all I could do for Lucas.

    "Lucas...It'll be okay. You are alive and he loved you so...he'd want you to be happy. Think about it. Would Dylan ever want to see someone sad, especially because of him? Dylan was sweet and....and...oh my dear god. Why?" I couldn't hold it in anymore. I wound my arms around him even tigher, my tears soaking into his navy polo. It wasn't long after that I realized I had a class waiting. However, I knew this class was fine to be left alone, however, I knew I just couldn't teach anymore today. I sighed and leaned away from Lucas' trusting arms. "Look. I have to excuse the class. Just...just wait out here. I'll be right back."

    After his quick nod, I stood up and wiped away my tears. I cleared my throat and stepped into the classroom full of curious eyes and rustling papers. I nodded to them all. "Due to a personal matter, I will be cutting class short today and postponing classes for the rest of this week. Which means that you will have four days including the weekend. Because of this, I will expect an expanded form of your essay tomorrow. Let's say...by a thousand words. See to it that your essay finds it way to my desk before my lecture by then. You are all excused." I feigned a smile and all the students left in a surprisingly orderly fashion compared to the way they normally would have done. I almost think that they knew something happened. After that realization hit, it took all my strength not to break down yet again.

    I stepped forward to the front row of the desks and set my hand on Dylan's desk. I swear it felt as if he were there. As if his smiling face would be looking at me if I looked up from the face wood of the desk. But I couldn't. Dylan may not be alive and his dead body may be resting in a morgue, but I could feel Dylan there. I could feel his presence. I could feel his soft hand on mine. Is it possible to close my eyes and see him? Is it possible that this is a bad dream? I couldn't take it anymore so I did close my eyes. And I swear I heard Dylan.

    "Ms. Goldberg...Ms. Goldberg..."

    "Dylan? Is that you?"

    "What? No, it's Lucas...I-I just told you Dylan died." It was as if I broke away from an illusion. Was I dreaming? I would've swore on anything that Dylan was the one saying my name. I snatched my hand from the desk like a spider had bit it and after calming down a bit, I turned around and faced Lucas. His face was tear streaked but he had stopped crying. I assumed he calmed himself before he was bumbarded with many nosey student's so all was well. He smiled, or rather he tried to smile, but I knew it was fake.This boy's world had just been shattered. How could all be well with him now? He must be stronger than a lot of other people I know.

    "Lucas...How...how did he die?" I asked. It was a hard question, no doubt. Maybe it was even a little cold-hearted to ask but I had to know. I had to know if it was natural...or worse. Dylan most certainly did not deserve to meet death unfairly.

    "The cops said it was....suicide." Clearly it was hard for him to say. He had to take a rather large breath before he even mentioned the word. Suicide. The act of taking one's own life. Death by one's own hand. No. That is not how Dylan died. I cannot accept that. Dylan was great. Suicide? No. He was happy. Believe me, I should know. His eyes never sparkled more than they have over the past month. Hell, that sparkle alone could light up my whole room. So what would possess him to kill himself, to take his own life. I refused to believe it.

    "W-what? Suicide? What do you mean? Accidental?" I had to know. I needed as many details as I could get. Lucas made his way over to me and looked at the desk much the way I had. He even touched it longingly like I had. For a minute, I waited to see if he had the same reaction as I had. He hadn't. Or he had and he hid it way better than I had.

    "The cops say it was purposeful. That there was a letter and everything. But I don't believe it. Ms. Goldberg, I came to you because I have no one else. My parents hate me. My friends are all fake. And I knew that you were the most important teacher to Dylan. He idolized you. I have to admit, I was jealous." The poor boy tried to chuckle but it came out more like a cough. "Anyway, I came to you because I figure you knew him just as well as me, if not better. You have to agree with me. He never would have killed himself."

    I gulped and looked into Lucas' see green eyes and seen the pain and loss he felt. But I couldn't tell him what he wanted. What I knew was the truth. "It's up to the cops. Not us. To us, the public, his death was an unfortunate outcome of the humiliation he has gone through being openly gay since middle school and we had no possible way of changing his destiny. I'm sorry Lucas, but Dylan is dead." I mumbled the last part knowing that once I said it aloud, as if it didn't affect me, that I would have to accept it. I would have to accept Dylan's death, and I wasn't ready. But I had to seem strong for Lucas. I moved my hand to his and tried to hold it but he jerked it away. And the next sight I knew I would never forget.
    His eyes.

    Normally they were so full of life, joy, and love, but in that instant, it all changed. They became hollow and full of hate. Hate for me. Hate for whoever he believed caused Dylan's death. Hate for everyone and everything that was living when Dylan was not. It hurt to see. Then there was an overflow of anger in them. He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it against the desk. As he spoke, his voice seethed pain and agony. "Fine. I'll find this out myself. Good-bye Ms. Goldberg." With that he stormed out of the class room.

    After that little conversation I had with Lucas, I went to my desk and sent an e-mail to all my other students informing them of their calsses being postponed. Out of pure confusion as to what I should do next and having no plans for the day, I started sifting through the papers on my desk. The first few papers were just standard teacher stuff. Then I started seeing students assignments. Most of them were just weak and poorly written stories of vampires and romance and a rare story of action. They were all boring the first time I read them so I had no hesitations as I tossed them in a drawer. All of them except Dylan's and Lucas'.

    Dylan's essay was about a student at a normal high school who was smarter than all the teachers in the school. Including the principles. And the student knew so. They were so proud of it that they made the teachers know pf their inferior intellect. Then, after proving he was smarter than them all, he was sent to collage. He was only the age of a high school freshman so it was pretty odd. Then the boy realized that his smarts weren't the only thing that mattered in life. However, his next goal wasn't love either. The boy ended up being a dictator of the world. His people ended up hating him and he was soon murdered because of his greed and thirst for power. I reread it, knowing that it would be just as great the second time I read it. You may be assuming that I was searching for a hint of suicidal tendencies, but honestly, I couldn't find any. Not one at all. And that was exactly what I expected.

    I set Dylan's down and picked up Lucas'. I started reading it and noticed something. This story was a lot better than his other stories have ever been. This one felt alive and it was so easy to connect to it. The emotion was so vivid. Nothing like his other stories. Just to make sure, however, I opened my drawer and grabbed one of his old stories and read them. The difference was clear. I looked at the date turned in on both and the second was finished within the last month. Dylan. I had Dylan to thank. So did Lucas. It was then I realized I had been crying. Dylan's death had a larger affect on me than I had expected.

    Before I could feel him again, I had to leave. I knew I couldn't deal with it. So I set the papers done, grabbed my coat and bag, walked out of my room, locked the door and left campus. I walked to my maroon Honda and got in, turning my cell phone on at the same time. Today was going to be a long day and it was clear once I made it to my house. The lawn needed to be mowed and the house needed to be cleaned and the windows needed to have the plastic taken off since winter is over. All these things needed to be done now. to be done today. At least I told myself that but in all honesty, I probably could have put them off longer but I was going to do them all today to keep my mind off Dylan.

    My house was nothing special. It's just a small blue house with half of it unpainted. Of course the shingles are falling from the roof and the inside isn't completely finished, but it's home. I just moved in it over this summer and the last tenets, my sister and he husband, tried to make it look like crap when I evicted them. They weren't paying the rent and they kicked my friend out when they vocally promised that they wouldn't kick him out. They ruined the sidewalk and they graffitied the upstairs and then they tried to ruin the pipes. It was all fixed before the new semester so it's fine now.

    I could hear Lexi barking when I walked up the porch. Lexi is my life and my light. She is a female pure-bred golden retriever and when I bought her, I gave her my lucky bandanna and tied it around her neck like a collar even though her actual collar never comes off. That way when she runs away I know she will come back. It's just how the bandanna works. When I walked in I got a big welcome home kiss from the mountain of a dog. I tried to smile, but it just wasn't there. But the dog would tell. It was obvious by the look on her face. She may be a dog but she acted way more human than a lot of the people I know. With a whimper, the dog jumped down from me and walked to her pillow-bed. I sighed and walked to her and petted her a little bit and walked into my room. I changed into a pair of sweat pants and a cruddy tee-shirt.

    I walked out side and started mowing the lawn. That lasted about half an hour considering my yard is fairly small. So I decided to take a shower, knowing that it would get rid of the sticky sweat. So before I did that, I let Lexi out on her chain. The shower was warm and cleansing. And I don't mean it washed the grass and sweat off, I mean it calmed my mind. I was able to think clearly and logically for the first time since this afternoon. It made me realize something. There was not one clear reason why Dylan would want to kill himself. He was happy with Lucas, his grades were perfect, and he was going to graduate from college in a few months. Why would someone in that point of life want to kill themself?
    Which brought me to only one conclusion. It was either and accident. Or murder.

    But who would want to kill Dylan?