were bright enough for her to appreciate the view. And…I wouldn’t have tripped and fallen if
I hadn’t been so distracted.
“Are you okay?” She’d caught up to me and was helping me up. Her voice was beautiful. Her mushroom hair was even more uneven up close,
a large chunk missing near her eyebrow,
obviously self–cut.
Adorable.
- 39.
But she had a terrible memory. The next day,
she’d forgotten all about me. I greeted her in
the hallway, and she jumped, staring at me
blankly for a moment before giving a hesitant
nod. “Hi,” she mumbled.
She didn’t even remember my name! I kept up
<
11:26
47
my nightly runs, and she finally started to
recognize me. She even gave me a small smile
when we passed each other on campus.
One winter day, I sprained my ankle playing.
basketball. I was on crutches for a few days. I
skipped class to sneak a cigarette in the
bathroom when the earthquake hit. Screams
filled the hallways as everyone scrambled down
the stairs. The building swayed violently.
I fell, twisting my other ankle. I huddled in a
stall, watching the panicked students rush past,
no one stopping to help. I thought I was going
to die there.
Then Mushroom Head appeared, pushing
against the flow of students, into the men’s
bathroom.
“Don’t worry,” she said calmly. “I’ll get you out.
of here.” She helped me up, then, realizing we
were running out of time, she hoisted me onto
—
14
<
her back and carried me down five flights of
stairs without breaking a stride.
I learned later that she’d already made it
outside, but came back when she didn’t see
- me. She was aloof, distant, but never hesitated
to help those in need. She never boasted about
her good deeds, never complained about being
wronged, never showed any weakness…
I was falling hard.
After we were assigned to different classes, I
pulled some strings and got transferred to hers.
I became her “slightly goofy, question–asking
jock” desk mate. After graduation, I confessed
my feelings. She rejected me.
Stubborn little mushroom. She turned me down
twenty times that summer, then stopped
replying to my messages altogether.
- 40.
<
But I knew she liked me, too. I’d pretended to
fall asleep on her shoulder while she was
tutoring me, and she hadn’t pushed me away.
She claimed she was against marriage, that
she’d never date anyone. That was impossible.
No one could stand being alone for that long.
She was just playing hard to get. And I could
wait. To take the pressure off, I dated other
girls, maintaining a casual friendship with
Ashley.
For seven years.
Then, in the eighth year, she stopped talking to
- me. That made me angry. This time, I dated
Brittany, the flirty receptionist Ashley couldn’t
stand. I wanted to see how long Ashley could
tolerate Brittany having me all to herself.
When Ashley finally contacted me, asking to
meet at a hotel, I cancelled an important
<
11:26
meeting and rushed back. She’d shaved her head. A glowing mushroom. She looked
amazing.
I wanted to shave my head, too. So everyone
would know we were together. But before I could, I discovered she wasn’t a virgin…
47
Jealousy gnawed at me. I’d waited eleven years,
hadn’t even kissed her, and someone else…
I kept seeing her, hinting that I wanted to be
with her, for real.
On New Year’s Eve, after the fireworks, she fell asleep in my car on the way home. She had a
nightmare, crying out for her mother, begging her not to leave. It broke my heart.
I’d heard stories about her family. I loathed
Carol and Brittany. I wanted to get Ashley away
from them. I decided to meet her parents, make
my intentions clear.
<
11:26
Then she disappeared. And that post… I read
every word, my heart twisting with every line.
What had my girl been through?
- 41.
I searched for her frantically. I found her in the morgue. My little mushroom, so sick, so thin, lying there unclaimed for twenty days.
Three pounds of ash.
47
I took care of the two men. I fired Robert. And I
took Ashley with me to Seattle. As for Brittany, I
had plans for her.
In early March, her parents, finally realizing she
was gone, came to me, demanding her ashes.
I didn’t give them to them. My girl had dreamed
of leaving that town. I wasn’t about to deny her
that
<
11:26
47
On May 1st, something big happened back
home. Carol drugged Brittany and threw her off
the eighth floor of a hotel. Brittany died
instantly. She landed near the hotel entrance,
right by a busy street. The scene, captured by countless bystanders, quickly went viral.
Brittany was wearing lingerie. A sex toy…
It was a humiliating death, the subject of endless online gossip. Within hours, Brittany’s identity, and Ashley’s post, were trending.
Carol went to Robert’s apartment, confessed
everything, then… Robert called the police. He
hadn’t wanted the police to look for his
daughter, but he was quick to report his wife.
Carol didn’t fight it. She just asked for a
divorce again. This time, Robert agreed
immediately.
They were already divorced by the time the
<
11:26
- ))
police arrived. He told Carol not to worry, that
he’d hire the best lawyer. The next morning,
Carol was found dead in her cell. She’d
overdosed on pills she’d smuggled in. She
didn’t leave a note. For anyone.
47
- 42.
A year later, I was traveling, a small portion of Ashley’s ashes tucked close to my heart, when I
ran into Robert.
He was driving a beat–up old car, wearing a faded, wrinkled leather jacket. He looked much
older.
He rear–ended me. His fault. The repairs would cost $36,000. Not much. Especially since insurance would cover it. But Robert acted like his world was ending. He sobbed and pleaded with me, claiming he was broke, depressed, barely hanging on. He made it sound like asking him to pay would push him over the edge.
<
11:26
47
“I have Ashley’s money,” he said, his eyes wide
with panic. “If I die, the government will take it. I can’t let that happen.”
He looked at me, a strange glint in his eyes. “If
you make me pay, I’ll have to use Ashley’s money. It’s all she has left.”
“Go ahead,” I said coldly, hiding Ashley’s ashes
from his view. “Spend it. Then die.”
“I was saving it…to give back to her…”
“No one wants it.”
He’d been so practical when it came to his
daughter’s pain, so sentimental now that she
was gone.
I watched him talk to the police, then drove
away. The sun was shining. Some people clung
to life in the shadows. Others, like me, carried
the memory of loved ones, breathing in the
sweet scent of freedom. And the peonies in
Seattle…they were blooming brighter than ever.
