Honeysuckle

He knows he needs to let go of that last bus ride home.
He had known for months that her folks were moving overseas. They had already found a new school for her. They knew they weren’t coming back. He just had no idea how much of a loss it was going to be. She was so bright; such a good pupil. He was never very good at history, or geography when it came right down to it. When he thought about it, she had taught him everything he knew.
It had started at the school dance over a year ago. Her closeness, her whispered humour, the fragrance of her hair. Honeysuckle, she had told him, when he asked about it. Some shampoo with a scent of honeysuckle. Despite his age, it was an old aroma that came back to him from his really early childhood when the family would visit Grandma. It was an old house with a toilet out the back, almost hidden by the climbing shrub, all but covered with fragrant white and yellow flowers. Hundreds of tiny coloured tubes giving off their sweet perfume. He had no idea how much those earlier memories had attracted him to her, but there they were… very real.
But he had to move on. He knew how much her going had affected him. He knew how much he needed to let go of the painful loss, the lingering grief and the scent of her hair; all those things he experienced during those last few minutes. The remaining moments of that last ride home on the school bus.
He had watched from the back window until she was out of sight, then, like now, he was left with only the fragrance of her hair.
Her name was Sally, but for him she would always be… Honeysuckle.