• I slipped through the protective bars that had been placed over 12 feet above the concrete floor of the gully. The two aluminum bars were still warm; just like his hands. . . I placed one foot through the two bars placing it on the concrete they had been cemented to. I then place my feet over the ruble and slid through the two, low bars of aluminum. I wasn't nervous knowing I could fall over the side at any second. . . I just kept walking across the ruble. About 15 feet away from the bars was a slant. It allowed you travel into the long, concreted gully. I stared out at the bottom realizing how much dryer and cleaner it was since I'd last been. The floor was dry, so I couldn't throw the rocks down and listen to the sound the pebbles made when they hit the water. They always sounded like rain. It was one of our favorite things to do down there. . . Looking at how clean it was made me realize I'd never see that plastic bottle of Mountain Dew me and him had thrown down there two years before. I remember him trying to finish the last of it without drinking any back wash. He had thrown it into the gully before he'd asked me if I backwashed or not. I laughed so hard when he found out I didn't. I remember him jumping up onto the bottom bar and yelling, “I could’ve finished that soda!” and him being too lazy to go and fetch it from the bottom. Everyday we passed that gully, it was still there. I stopped looking down there for it after he left.
    I began to walk down the slant staring across to the other side of the gully. On the other side was a slant, too. Only it was much more steep and harder to climb. I remembered when we used to run up and down each side and laugh and smile as we did just that.
    As I walked about 10 feet down I placed my hands onto the graffitied, cement walls. I began to walk as I let my fingers run across these graphitized walls of memories. I kept walking 'till I was under the bridge; back where I had started. I remembered when him and I had stood under the bridge in the dark, laughing extremely hard over nothing. I was about ready to kiss him under that bridge until some man yelled out to us to get out. From that day on, he never wanted to go back into the gully.
    I journeyed back when I realized my eyes were beginning to water. I walked back to the slant with my fingers dug into my front pockets with my thumbs sticking out. My head bent low, trying not look at those walls who mocked me for coming back. As I journeyed back up, I stared at where we used to sit down and talk; it had been the only time we could. I sat down and let my legs hang just like we used to. I began to think the water in my eyes were beginning to finally subside, but I was wrong. I then pulled my legs into my chest with my arms and dug my face in deep.
    My tears began pour from eyes. I couldn't help it. The only thought running through my mind was, "What's wrong with you? Why are you coming back to such a hurtful place? Why are you making yourself suffer? How could you let yourself come back here? You don't belong here anymore! Especially without him with you! You are supposed to be letting go, not bringing it all back. Why can't you stop crying? Why can't you understand that it's all over? He's NEVER coming back! So why are you here? Because you’re pathetic!"
    I tried to wipe away my tears with my jeans, my eyes still on my knees. Then, I look out into the street. Across it were people I knew. One of them called out my name. I finally get up to leave. . .