Recycled Memories" by Meredith Lawson

Recycled Memories
For most girls, the first step in getting over a boy is to get rid of all memories possible. That would probably explain why Adaleigh’s trash can was overflowing with what at one time was probably an abundant forest. Inside the walls of that silver rimmed, metallic waste bin lay many photos, notes, CD’s, and even little things like stickers. She remained angered with him over all the little things he had managed to do, causing her more and more tears. Even though some days she was to the point of pulling her hair out because of him, Adaleigh was still hooked on their memories... maybe not him specifically, but the idea of an “us” that was a fall-back to a bad day or feeling alone. So she sat in front of the waste bin, knowing what lay ahead of her would probably be depressing but hopefully bring some sense to what she knew would come one day, getting over him.
She pulled the items one at a time, doing the worst thing a girl could do at the time, bringing back all the memories again. First came a few pictures. Her fingers slid over the glossy paper as everything started to come back to her: the way he kissed her under the stars that same night, how he was ticking her 2 seconds before she hit the shutter button, explaining why they had smiles spreading wide across their faces, and how the both of them not only framed the 4x6 piece of photo-paper but each other’s worlds. Next, came the aroma of sharpies pouring out of the bin. In her palm lay all the burned CD’s of their favorite songs with his name surrounded in hearts written on the covers.
She looked back, remembering all their songs they were both in love with. She missed when they listened to rap songs, knowing ever word, starting to dance no matter where they were as long as they were together. She missed when the acoustic songs’ lyrics always played in their head because they were the soundtrack of their summer. Adaleigh noticed her Clinique make-up, matching her perfect complexion skin, started to rub off from the tears.
She picked up the next item: the poem she wrote him. She was always good with throwing cute little poems in their text messages here and there and he was always good with making her smile light up a new moon with whatever he said, whether it be how much he missed her or just calling her sweetheart. Reading through the poem, she noticed all of the inside jokes they had together. “God, why were we so cute together?” she wondered. She set the poem aside and pulled out a wrinkly, faded wrist band. It was from the night they went to the fair with a group of friends. She remembered it being a hot summer night when he had asked her out right after they had spent the night riding every old, creaky rollercoaster in sight, her knowing the only safety she had was being in his arms.
Her manicured nails grinded with the rough bottom of the bin, as she swiped the last item into her hand. In her arms was his Bob Jones High School-labeled hoodie. Dating a boy from a different school meant if she wore his hoodie she would definitely get into arguments about it at her own school. She loved having something of his that close to her everyday, so, like the bigger person she was, she always took the rap for supporting the opposing school. It lay there in her arms, his smell still somewhat attached to it. She buried her face in it for a silent minute, soaking up the last of his memories -after all, she probably won’t see or talk to him for a great amount of time. She had seriously considered “spilling” nail-polish or a bottle of perfume on it, hoping to give him a little something to make him remember her, not necessarily in a good way but how he should feel sorry he lost something so sweet. And that was even if she decided to be generous enough to give it back.
Now that she had gone though everything once more, she had a better understanding of why she should move on. If he couldn’t accept her at her worst, he didn’t deserve to be with her at her best. Hopefully one day she’d realize that her being her best wasn’t even being with him in the first place, but with someone who respects her.