She Remembers

There she stands. All the way in New Orleans. She stands on the musty thresh-hold, taking it all in. Remembering. Remembering what used to be. There are chunks of plaster all over the floor and a dusty, discarded pole lay there too. The familiar blue wallpaper is stripping away, as if it wanted nothing more than to be out of this mess. The window is broken. Crisp autumn air shows no mercy against Jo's thin zip-up jacket. Glass splinters cover the floor, waiting to harm little bare feet. She remembers this place. The place like home. That was home. She learned here. It was her school. Until she left.
          It smells like blood. The blue paint of the wooden chair is tinted red. The dried blood feasting off of the horrible happenings of this room. Jo remembers the night it happened. The night her most favorite teacher was killed. She remembers. Ruth is dead.
          The elderly woman was sitting in that same chair, watching the class over her tiny spectacles. Not knowing. Not knowing what would happen in that very same spot, just a few hours later.
          She remembers seeing it. Seeing her die. She never saw his face. The one who killed her. She had been in her room in the basement. Ruth had been taking care of her. Ever since her parents left her on the doorstep. Ruth had given her a home. Jo had sat hugging the damp sheets against her shivering body, not daring to grab the warm blanket on the floor for fearing her body would shake too much. She remembers.
          Then she heard it. First it was the yelling, then it was the screaming. She remembers. Hearing the glass shatter while the others snore. Hearing the screams, as the chair was flipped over. Hearing the screams fade, as the knife plunged. She heard the murderer jump, as the world ended. She remembers.
          Jo had left that night. Paying a visit to the room before she left. She'd arranged things to look better. She had buried her beloved teacher as the clock struck midnight. And now she is here. Things are just as she left them. She remembers. All alone in that room. She came here to write. She came here to record. She came here to follow her dream. Jo came to see. To see the place that she left. That she had abandoned. Although she never truly left. It was there, in her heart. She knew she would have to return to the place that she would love to have forgotten. The place that ended her life as she knew it. She loved that teacher. Ruth was her friend. She remembers.