I used to be able to beat the school bell.

I remember the good old times; him yanking on my hand as we flew through the corridors together, only to skid into our seats just as a horrible ringing tune echoed throughout the school. We would grin at each other then, and he would place his fingers to his lips, and then put them on my own. We were never on time. Instead, we would always be taking our silent walks together before the bell, him holding my hand with the occasional pinch of my cheeks.

Sometimes we’d just cuddle together under the huge oak near our classroom. The best times was when the leaves would slowly begin their descend to the ground, and I’d feel like I was in a fairytale with the love of my life right next to me.

Under the oak was also where we had our first kiss.

I remember being frightened as he had hugged me extra tight and then leaned in to place his lips against mine. I had tensed up, clutching at his arms, but the moment our lips met, all traces of uneasiness washed away and I was just filled with love for him. We had kissed hungrily then, my hands roaming his chest and wanting for more and him adhering to my request by caressing me gently and melting me with deep kisses.

These walks and cuddles ceased to exist after the accident, and he always got me on time for my classes. I hated that; I hated having to follow a strict schedule – class, therapy, meditating sessions, class, therapy, class.

I had thrown a huge tantrum when I first found out about being a puppet, but knowing that he was with me made things a little better. It was a comfort to feel his hand on my shoulder, or feel his lips graze my forehead, or even just to see his face in front of me. So I had gone along with the schedule, although I hated it dearly.

One time, he was pushing me to class, and a bunch of nifty first grade kids blew past us, screeching to a halt outside their classroom door. Sinking into their seats just before the bell went off, they gave each other hi-fives.

They reminded me of myself, so stark was the resemblance that I had to turn my head away from them.

“So beautiful,” he said wistfully.

“What?”

“Them doing what we used to do, living our legacy.”

“It’s our legacy.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Our legacy.”

“Yes?”

“Our.”