Part 3

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She turned on the TV. The news was on. She really didn't like the news but one thing caught her eye. An old house. Two stories. White. It was her house. Breaking News: Old, abandoned house gets torn down by storm. She knew her memories were still there. But nothing else. No one would remember anything about the house. No one would know what she knew. No one would care to know what she would know. She wrote in her journal the story of the house. It went a little something like this:
Dear Journal,
The night was foggy, no one was home. I was scared.
She had to stop though. It was painful for her. She put down her pen and look at Kennocha. He was sitting on the floor staring at her as well. She decided to feed him then go to the lobby for breakfast. That morning was potatoes and hashbrowns. She sat by herself and a lady approached her. "Hello miss?" She was taken by surprise. "Yes?" She quietly responded. "Do you have the small, brown dog?"
"Why yes, can I help you?"
"He escaped and is by the pool."
"Oh, why thank you." She left her plate and ran to the pool. Sure enough, just like the little old lady said, was Kennocha. He was sitting next to a chubby man-no more than 30. The man looked happy sitting next to the little dog. "Sorry, I must have left my door open." The man looked strangely familiar. She got the chills, picked up Kennocha and left. "Your welcome...Buttercup." She stopped. She had a scared look in her eyes. Was it him after all of these years? Could it be? She didn't dare look back, she already knew it was him. She started to cry and then she ran. She went back into her room, got her things and quickly left the motel. She decided to go to California. Wasn't a long drive. Few hours, but that didn't matter. She turned her radio on, loud. She wanted to forget about the man she just saw. Kennocha had is head sticking out the window. She started thinking about him again, the boy she fell in love with. The one she was scared of leaving, but just did. She was going to write him a letter explaining it all. She hoped he'd remember her. They knew each other for about a year and a half before he left. He was an outcast, one would say. She always thought of him as quiet. And I get to kiss you baby just because I can. The song was one he showed her. He said she was his everything. She knew it was true. He hoped that he would remember it. He left for two years, he still wasn't back. He was gone for about a year. Everyday she hoped he would write. When she looked in the mail and recieved nothing, she became disappointed. It's you. It's you. You make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything. The song zoned out everything else. Every thought, every worry, every care. Everything.