Letters from the grave

I don't know when it started but things just seemed to take too much effort or were it that I didn't want to put the effort in? Either way very few people noticed. The few that did were a couple of my teachers, though there wasn't much they could do. In the end it was the music teacher who helped me live for those four years of high school. To my teachers I say thank you and sorry.
Sorry that I'm a coward and the life before me was requiring more effort than I was willing to put in. I chose the easiest way not to have to do that.
Forgive me

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His hands shook as he read the small note scribbled with a red pen on a blank piece of paper. It came in the mail addressed to him at the school; two days after he had read of her death in the paper. Letting the note drop to his desk he stared at the paper. Memories of the years he had taught her, consoled her, calmed her, watch her punch her hands raw while crying, her graduation and the stunning dress she wore that night. Burying his head in his hands he wept, guilt surfacing. There should have been more people than him that saw the depression in her. Sometimes hidden; sometimes obvious by one simple glance.

That night he didn't sleep. His mind going over the letter he paced his apartment. In the morning the note was still on his desk but it was accompanied by an envelope. Sinking in to his chair with a coffee he opened the envelope. The writing was the same as yesterday's though in blue pen today. Drawing in a deep breath he began to read, being pulled back into the memories of the life they had shared for a short time.

---

Hi,
I'm sorry that you're reading this. It means that I am actually dead. There are some things I should have told you long ago.
You meant more to me than I could express. No matter what happens I need you to know my death was not your fault. You made life worth living for the time I knew you.
I have so many memories of the four years I was your student but I think I'll only reminisce of the ones that stand out clearly from each year.

---

He had to stop there to get his mind under control. An image of her sitting at a desk in a room full of her art work stood out in his mind. It was her writing this letter to him; of course she would have customary headphones on her ears. Glancing at his watching he found that he had better start preparing for the class he had first, otherwise he could be late.

The side of his lips tugged up as he remembered her teasing him for always being early to school and yet late to every class. Placing the letter back in the envelope carefully he tucked it then into his pocket. It was important as were the memories it contained.
Shuffling through the papers and folders on the desk he found the material for his morning classes. Downing the rest of his coffee he left to teach. The whole notion seemed surreal to him in that moment. He was going to teach a class full of teenage students with a letter from a dead ex-student in his pocket.

Returning back to the staffroom and his desk two hours later he placed the sheets and books in a pile. They would need to be marked before he continued her letter. It had been hard enough to focus on the two classes knowing he had the letter in his pocket. He imagined he wouldn't be able to concentrate very well after reading the remainder of it.
Once through the pile of marking he poured another coffee and shut the staffroom door. Walking back to his desk he took the letter out. His hands shook as he unfolded it.

---

You know this letter is the last thing I put any kind of effort into. Shall we begin our quest back in time now? I'm going to apologize now for memories I bring back to your mind. I just need you to know that you have always been important to me.

Year 7
We were nothing more than new meat after being on the top at primary school. The second day was my first music class and I was very excited for it. After handing everyone a guitar we begun with the basics. When the end of class had come about I was in love with the guitar.
Later as the year progressed I came to love the hour spent in the music room. You taught us to play Let It Be by The Beetles. Who you told me more times than I can remember over the years that they were your favourite band. When I bought my own guitar you agreed to fix the broken string for me, even though you shouldn't have. I was very grateful to you for that.

Ahh year 8. When things went downhill.
Most of that year downright sucked for me. What I do remember is you, always being there. Whether I was down or in any other mood.
A particular memory is when I was punching a wall in the morning and you stopped me before I could do any real damage to myself. Another time I was dizzy from not eating, your face when I said I hadn't eaten was so worried.
I'm sure that are more memories that I can't recall right now, aside from the dreadful incident of me crying in front of you and my temper flaring when some girls took and hid a piece of my art. Only you could calm me down from that anger.

Year 9 was better.
My main memory of this time was after I had an asthma attack in P.E from trying to play against a team of four by myself. Heading back to the sub-school to get by bag with my mother you were there.
Immediately you asked if I was okay, it was clear that you knew of what had happened and was worried. In a way it made me happy, I was happy that someone cared.

In year 10 (wow)
It was towards the end of the year and a few of us students were sitting in the staffroom with some of you teachers and you asked what we would miss the most. At the time I didn't answer truthfully. What I missed most was you.
You were always there when I needed someone, no matter what it was about. I couldn't tell you but I miss you.
Thank you so much for those years. I had a massive crush on you and have finally told you. It only took five years!
I'll miss you

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Tears rolled down his cheeks as he read the last line over and over. Taking a deep breath he let it out in a whisper, paying that she would hear.
"I know. I miss you too."