“May they rest in peace,” the pastor says, finishing the eulogy.
Now, it’s my turn.
I walk slowly up to the podium at the front of the church, turn, and gaze out at all the people who came to the funeral. My parents really did touch many people’s lives. Mrs. Mac and Mrs. Diamond tried to discourage me from speaking at the funeral, which, quite frankly, just made me want to do it more.
Because, really, how could I not?
Hopefully, I can say everything I want to say.
Deep breath.
Game face in place.
Okay.
“I want to share a quote with all of you from a book I’ve been reading. It goes, ‘Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?’ We’re all busy people, and it’s easy to get so wrapped up in life that we forget to live. My parents knew how to live. They enjoyed the little things in life, like sunsets, great parties, telling jokes, hanging out with friends”—I can’t help but smile—“and even silly things like giving piggyback rides. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t want us sitting around here, crying over the fact that they are gone. I think they’d rather we celebrate the fact that they lived—every, every minute—and would challenge us all to do the same.”
The lights dim, and the presentation starts. My cue to step away from the podium and take my seat.
When we were at the church, planning the funeral, it was very sad and somber. And I don’t know what hit me, but I looked at Mr. Mac sitting there, not smiling, and I just thought, This is not what Mom and Dad’s lives were about.
If Dad were here, he and Mr. Mac would be laughing and joking about something. They had more inside jokes than a group of seventh-grade girls.
I know you have to do the religious part, and I wanted to do the religious part. But they sorta felt disconnected. The religious part felt more about what was next for them, and I’m happy that they are in heaven and all that, but what about us, the ones they left behind?
We don’t really want them in heaven. We want them back with us.
I want them back with me.
So, I told our pastor that I wanted to do something that would make people feel good. To help them remember the fun times, to see that my parents enjoyed their lives.
They loved to celebrate.
So, I wanted to do something that would celebrate my parents’ lives.
Phillip, Danny, and I would be outside, shooting hoops or playing a game of H-O-R-S-E, and Dad would come out and be like, “It’s gorgeous out; a day like today is worth celebrating.”
I always thought celebrate was sorta code for, If I say I’m celebrating something, then my wife won’t complain to me about sitting here, smoking a stinky cigar.
But that wasn’t it. Because, before you knew it, Mom would be out there, sitting on his lap, drinking a wine cooler, and celebrating with him. Then, pretty soon, half of the neighbors would show up, and they would all be drinking and eating and really celebrating the fact that they were together, that it was a beautiful day. I think they definitely appreciated daily life and not just special occasions. They made everyday occasions special.
So, even though it was painful, Katie, Lisa, and I went through all our photos and selected a few that showed my parents doing just that.
Celebrating their lives.
Phillip scanned them all into the computer and created a slide show of them set to music.
Notes play and pictures flash by:
Mom as a baby.
Mom with no front teeth, with pigtails, on her bike.
Mom with her high school friends in their graduation caps and gowns.
Dad as a chubby, bald baby.
Dad dressed as a cowboy with Uncle John dressed as an Indian.
Dad playing basketball in high school.
Then, the two of them together in college, looking goofily in love.
Dad and Mr. Mac in college, togas on and cigars in their mouths.
A big group of Dad’s frat brothers, all holding red cups and making silly faces and gestures.
Mom and Dad at a fraternity formal, Mom with bright blue eyeliner and big hair.
Mom with her best friends on spring break at the beach.
Mom catching the bouquet at the Macs’ wedding and Dad pretending to be scared.
Their college graduations.
Mom with an amazingly happy look on her face, holding out her engagement ring, while her friends are gathered around, looking at it.
Mom and Dad dancing and kissing at their wedding.
Dad carrying Mom over the threshold of their new house.
A group of their friends in a hot tub on a skiing trip.
Daddy holding me at the hospital the day I was born.
Mom and Julie holding Phillip and me as babies.
Mom teaching me how to walk.
Daddy holding my hands in the air, teaching me the signal for a touchdown, when I was two with a Nebraska game on the TV in the background and everyone around him dressed in red.
Daddy teaching me how to ride a bike.
Christmas morning, wrapping paper everywhere.
My parents at Disney World, watching the parade, with me asleep over Daddy’s shoulder.
Dad, Phillip, Danny, and me playing soccer in the backyard.
Daddy blowing out the candles on a very pathetic-looking cake I had frosted.
Mom and me at my eighth-grade graduation.
Our families all standing in front of a fountain in Kansas City with the Plaza lights aglow around us.
A Thanksgiving Day flag football game with all our families.
All our neighbors together for the annual block party.
My family with the Diamonds and the Macs this past Fourth of July.
I glance at Phillip, who’s sitting next to me.
When I was going through all the pictures, I realized how much Phillip and I had been together. He was in practically every picture with me even if he was lurking in the background somewhere.
The screen flashes.
Dad, by the grill, holding a plate of very badly burned hamburgers with Danny’s dad and Danny laughing.
The slide show is incredible. Phillip didn’t want me to watch it before the funeral, and now, I see why. It’s like he got me the perfect gift and didn’t want me to open it early.
What would I ever do without that boy?
I reach over and put my hand on top of his.
He glances at me, and I mouth, Thank you, to him.
He smiles at me as he wipes tears from his eyes.
At the visitations, all the ladies were telling me what a lucky girl I was to have such a devoted and supportive boyfriend. At first, I told them that Phillip was not my boyfriend, just one of my best friends, but most of the ladies I said that to sorta rolled their eyes at me.
Like Phillip was really my boyfriend, and I was trying to keep it a secret.
When Mrs. Mac told someone that Phillip and I were just very close friends, the lady sneered and practically insinuated that close meant, uh, close, as in, based on the way he was always touching me, we must be sleeping together.
And, well, we are—kinda. Since I can’t go to sleep without his shoulder next to me. But, you know, not in the way that lady assumed.
So, finally, both of us gave up.
It was easier to just agree than to try to explain.
So, when people asked him how his girlfriend was doing, he would say, “She’s hanging in there.”
And, when people said I had an amazing boyfriend, I’d smile and agree.
And, of course, Phillip had to give me a hard time about that.
So, last night, when it was just us, he was referring to himself as my amazing boyfriend, my support system, my devoted lover, my, uh, close friend.
He really does make me laugh. And being able to laugh occasionally, in a situation like this, has helped release some of my pent-up stress.
At least I haven’t blown yet.
The video ends, and the pastor requests that everyone join us at the place of rest.
And, seriously, this is the part I have been dreading.
This is the part that freaks me out.
The place of rest.
As in the cemetery.
Where they will be buried.
And I will never see them again.
Okay, yes, I know they are dead. I know they aren’t coming back.
I know they are never going to talk to me again.
But, for some strange reason—and I know this sounds kind of sick—having their bodies still here, like at the funeral home and here at the church, it’s like they are still a little bit here.
It kills me to look at Mom and Dad lying there, in their caskets, not smiling at me, not teasing me, or not telling me they love me.
But, at the same time, they are still here.
Well, sorta.
I mean, I definitely believe in God and heaven and all that. And I believe that their souls have gone to heaven and that, someday, when I die, we will be reunited.
But that doesn’t mean I am ready to let their bodies go into the ground.
It feels so harsh.
It feels like the wrong thing to do.
Because it feels like that is all I have left of them.
And I’m hanging on by whatever threads are left.
As Phillip walks me to the limo, I tell him, “Phillip, I don’t know if I can do this part.”
And, of course, Phillip and I can’t carry on a conversation because people are wonderful. They keep coming up to me, hugging me, holding my hands, and telling me what wonderful people my parents were, how sorry they are for me, how my parents are watching in heaven—all that stuff people say at funerals to try to make you feel better.
And it does. I know they are being sincere, but still, I have a horrible feeling of dread inside me.
Because this is it.
After we bury them, I am going to be all alone.
Phillip pulls me aside, next to the limo. “Princess, you can do this. You’ve got this. You stood up there and gave that little speech without crying. This will be easy compared to that.”
I whisper, “But, Phillip, this is not the easy part because, when they bury them, I am going to be alone. All alone.”
And, really, that is the part of all this that scares me the most.
Phillip tenderly cups my shoulder with his hand and pulls me into a hug. Then, he smiles at me, touches the tip of my nose with his finger, and says, “Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily. As long as I’m around, you’ll never be alone. I do have my reputation to uphold as your, uh, very close friend, you know. Heck, I’m going to be around so much; you’ll probably be begging me to leave.” He gives me a sly little grin.
I give Phillip a little smile, but I don’t get to reply because Aunt Sara and Uncle John barrel between us and hop in the limo.
Phillip rolls his eyes at them and then says, “I guess it’s time to go.”
I follow them into the limo, and it takes all my strength not to pull Phillip in with me.
To protect me.
I have to sit with just them, as in just Aunt Sara and Uncle John, for the next part of the service.
I really don’t know why I agreed to it, but it was important to John that it be just family, so I did. I figured, since I planned everything for the funeral of his brother without his input, it was the least I could do.
But, now, I wish I hadn’t been so nice.
Especially when I get in the limo and Uncle John doesn’t say a word to me. On the ride to the cemetery, I thought maybe he would say something about how I was brave to stand up there and speak, which so many other people have said.
Or how amazing he thought the slide show was because it showed them as we all remembered them—so full of happiness and life.
But no. Nothing.
I don’t think I like Uncle John very much.
At the cemetery, I take my seat next to John under the tent covering the two freshly dug graves.
We wait for the twelve most important men in my life, the pallbearers, to get the caskets out of the hearses. There’s Mr. Diamond and Danny; my dad’s fraternity brothers, Mr. Mac, Scott, Lance, and Barry; my friends, Joey, Neil, and Brandon; my dad’s work friend, Jeff; and his best high school friends and weekly basketball teammates, Todd and Mike. I really thought my mom’s friends should be able to carry her casket, but it was explained to me that pallbearers were traditionally men, and I would be smart not to stray from that because caskets are apparently heavy. So, I made my mom’s best friends honorary pallbearers, which I hope made them all feel special, too.
Of course, Phillip was going to be a pallbearer. But, when we were planning the funeral, they told me the pallbearers all sat together, which meant that I was going to be sitting in the front row all by myself.
Well, I mean, John and Sara were going to be there, too, but I wasn’t expecting any love or support from them.
That’s when I begged Phillip to take on an even more important role.
When we were lying in the hammock, looking at the stars the other night because I couldn’t sleep, I told him that he’d been my rock through all this and asked if he would continue that most important job and please sit with me at the funeral and hold my hand, so I wouldn’t fall apart.
Actually, I kinda begged.
Something about having Phillip squeeze my hand helps me keep it all together.
The pallbearers each grab a handle as the caskets are slid out of each hearse.
They start the long walk up the grassy hill. Before today, many of the pallbearers didn’t even know one another, but right now, they look like brothers, all in dark suits and all with the same solemn look on their faces.
I forget what they told me the caskets weigh, but I remember them saying they were easily supported by six men. What they didn’t say was that the emotions they seem to be carrying are much, much heavier than the caskets ever could be.
They all look like they are carrying the weight of the world.
I’m sure that, if I could see my own face, it would probably look the same.
The pastor has started speaking, and I’m trying to pay attention.
I listen to the words and prayers he says, trying to find some comfort in them. But, well, honestly, I’m not really feeling it.
Because, internally, I am freaking out.
The pastor asks us to stand for the final prayer, and I know it’s getting close.
As planned, the caskets will get lowered into the ground. John, Sara, and I are then supposed to sprinkle dirt over the top of each. Then, we are supposed to slide one of the long-stemmed roses out of the floral arrangement and drop it into the hole as well.
I wanted to fight that part, too.
I was fine with the dirt because I got the whole ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust thing, but the rose bothered me for some reason.
Throwing the rose in, I thought, would feel like it did when you threw a coin in a fountain and made a wish.
I mean, how sweet would it be if I could wish them both alive, throw the rose in, and have them pop out of their caskets, alive and laughing?
I don’t know. The rose felt wrong to me, but I agreed to do it.
I don’t know where my willpower has gone.
I did ask why people throw the rose, and I didn’t really get a clear response. No one seemed to know why. They just knew people did it.
Finally, John got frustrated with me and told me it was out of respect. “And you want to be respectful, don’t you?”
But then I looked it up on the internet and found out the reason you stay to watch them get lowered into the ground is not out of respect. This process is supposed to be harsh and difficult for the mourners. It is supposed to force them to face the reality and finality of the death. That, in turn, is supposed to help the grieving process.
We’ll see about that.
All I know is, when you start doing Google searches on caskets, pallbearer etiquette, and funeral traditions, something in your life has gone very wrong.
As you can imagine, lots of people have been giving me advice about how to handle this. About how to handle death.
And how to feel.
How to deal.
And I can’t remember all of it, but one piece of advice has evidently stuck in my mind.
I was sitting on the couch at the Diamonds’ house. We had all eaten dinner there and were getting ready to go to the visitation. Danny wrapped his arm around me, pulled me in tight, kissed the top of my head, and told me everything was going to be all right. Mrs. Diamond, who had lost her own mother when she was only twenty-two, was sitting next to us, giving me advice, but I was having a hard time concentrating because Danny looked so sexy that I wanted to just jump on top of him and start kissing him.
Sadly, I haven’t kissed Danny since the night of the party. With him going back and forth to Lincoln for classes and off-season football workouts and me constantly being surrounded by people who are worried about me, I haven’t even had a second alone with him.
But, when I look over and see two butterflies flitting around a nearby gravestone, well, I remember what she said. She told me to let myself see a little of God every day. And, for some reason, watching those butterflies offers me more comfort than any of the prayers.
But then, while I am standing there, getting my courage up, I watch in horror as John and Sara walk up to the caskets, do what we are supposed to do, and then walk away.
Uh, hello?
Wait a minute!
They were supposed to wait for me.
We were supposed to do that together!
And then boom!
All my comfort and courage are gone.
I seriously feel like I could faint or puke or die myself.
I am frozen in my spot, and I want to scream out loud.
I can’t do this!
I can’t handle this!
This is so not the way my life’s supposed to be!
I am not supposed to be burying my parents.
The pastor clears his throat to get my attention. He is waiting impatiently for me to come up and do what I am supposed to do.
He might as well have yelled at me, Move it, missy. It would have felt the same.
I know you’re probably not supposed to cuss at a religious ceremony, but I can’t help but scream aloud in my head.
My hands start to shake, and I think my head might explode.
I am also seriously contemplating jumping into the dirt myself, so they can just bury me with them.
I feel a hand on my back, so I turn my head, and there’s Phillip.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“We’ll do it together, okay?” The same words I used on his dad at the hospital.
Phillip holds my hand and guides me up to the caskets.
Well, maybe pulls me up to the caskets is a more accurate description.
I am seriously shaking.
He gives me a handful of dirt, and together, we sprinkle some dirt on the caskets.
And I don’t know where it comes from, maybe the butterflies, but I decide to stick to my guns.
I pick out two roses, put them up to my nose, and breathe in their wonderful smell, but I don’t drop them into the dirt.
I can’t.
I’m keeping them.
Taking them home with me.
I’m sorry, but I don’t need any more harsh reality.
I’ve had enough of that.
So, I repeat the mantra I’ve been telling myself all week—through the planning, the visitation, and the funeral.
Don’t lose it. Stay in control. Put on your game face and get through this.
You can do it.
And, now, with Phillip holding my hand, I think maybe I can.
We turn away from the caskets, toward everyone. I take a deep breath, clamp my back teeth down tight, hold my head up high, and walk away from my parents for the very last time.
And I didn’t know it, but apparently, after I was supposed to dropped the rose, the people who attended the graveside service were to come up and do the same thing.
Say good-bye and drop a flower.
But they don’t.
They follow my lead.
When people start coming up to me to give me their condolences, most all of them are also carrying two flowers.
And I realize I’ve started a trend.
I look around the cemetery grounds and see that nearly everyone mingling about is taking two flowers home with them. For their own, in remembrance.
And that comforts me more than the butterflies.
God, I am going to miss them.
Even Mr. Mac, who comes marching up to me because he is furious with John, is clutching two roses in his hand. He tells me, “JJ, you’re riding home with us and not in the limo with that jerk John. I can’t believe he just left you up there by yourself. Some family.”
He shakes his head at John and herds me to their car.
The funeral luncheon is at the Mackenzies’ house. It has a much lighter tone because, for everyone here, the worst is over. But I know that, when everyone leaves, my worst will just be beginning.
Because, regardless of how sweet Phillip is, now, I’m alone.
Truly alone.
Last night, Uncle John offered to take me back to Seattle with him. I don’t know John that well. I see him once a year, if I’m lucky. I’m not sure why, but he and Dad weren’t that close. All I’ve ever heard him say is something about John being selfish and only worrying about himself.
I never used to understand, but I get it now.
Phillip’s mom was not happy about his offer.
Here’s how the conversation went:
“JJ is staying here with us. That’s what her parents wanted,” Mrs. Mac said firmly.
“JJ, you’re eighteen. You can do anything you want. I think it would be good for you to get away from all of this for a while. Get a fresh start,” Uncle John said, scowling at Mrs. Mac.
Mrs. Mac grunted. “Well, I disagree. JJ, you need to stay with us. We love you.” Then, she cried.
How come everybody around here can cry so freely? People must think I’m a horrible daughter because I haven’t cried since the hospital.
I just haven’t been able to.
I’m either very callous or still in shock.
Or something might be seriously wrong with me.
Or maybe not. I think it’s just that I have become an empty shell.
My body is still here, true, but I’m pretty sure most of me died when they did.
And an empty shell should not be fought over, so I pretended to be grown up and replied diplomatically with something like, “I need to stay here and finish high school, Uncle John. Maybe I could visit you this summer.”
It’s getting late, and by now, most of the funeral-goers have left. I’m sitting out on Phillip’s front porch, alone for a few minutes. It feels good to just sit here, in the rocking chair, not having to be polite, not having to say, I’m fine, when I’m about to fall to pieces.
Danny strides through the front door.
I know that I’m in mourning, but mourning or not, the boy is overwhelmingly hot.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say back. “Please don’t ask me how I’m doing, or I might have to hurt you. I’m tired of lying and saying fine.”
“Do you know that, in the last two days, Phillip and I counted you being asked how are you over one hundred sixty-seven times? Then, we lost track.”
“It feels like it.”
He grins at me. “So, how are you?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Fine.”
Phillip told me that Danny and Jake hadn’t done all that much fighting. Evidently, Jake ended up with just a black eye, and that was courtesy of the pipeline. I’m so glad Danny wasn’t hurt. Phillip was right about that. I never should’ve let him risk getting hurt for something so stupid. I mean, if I have learned nothing else throughout this whole ordeal, it’s that life can change in the blink of an eye.
Danny takes my hand, pulls me up, and wraps me into a hug. I practically melt against him. Then, he pushes my chin up with his hand and kisses me deeply.
My mind is immediately rendered incapable of thought. It’s the first time in days that my brain has finally shut up and stopped thinking.
Now, this is my kind of therapy.
Kissing Danny feels so good. I was really hoping we’d kiss again. I mean, on the phone, it sounded like he wanted to, but this is the first time we have.
“You’ve been amazing through this, Jay. I’m proud of you. Quite honestly, I’m not sure how you’re doing it.” He smiles and winks at me. “But then, I always knew you weren’t a prissy wimp.”
“Not always,” I say, reminding him of what he thought of me when he first moved here.
“Well, nearly. Anyway, it didn’t take you long to convince me.”
I smile in spite of myself, and feel a chink in the armor I’ve been wearing.
“Thanks, Danny.”
“Seriously, how are you holding up?”
“Honestly, I don’t know how I’m doing, Danny. But, when you just kissed me, I felt alive for the first time in days.”
He grins big at me and pulls me into another long kiss. Then, he says, “We haven’t really had the chance to talk about the party. I wasn’t sure what you were thinking. What are you thinking?”
“Um, well, I mean, you told me on the phone that it wasn’t just about making Jake jealous, but I guess I have felt a little awkward around you. I didn’t know what you were thinking.”
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into a tight hug. A much different hug than the hugs I have been getting all day. Those have been the kind of hugs where just your shoulders and arms touch. This is the kind of hug where your hips touch and your stomachs touch, and you feel like your bodies are molded together.
“This doesn’t feel awkward to me,” he says and kisses me some more.
“Danny, why did you kiss me at the party?”
He is still holding me close, and I am praying no one comes outside and interrupts us.
“I don’t know. I felt like it.”
“That’s it? You felt like it?”
“No. I mean, that didn’t come out right.” He sighs. “Jay, truth be told, I’ve maybe been wanting to kiss you for a while. And I got there, and you looked hot, and then you had that cute meltdown, so I kissed you. And it was amazing, and I was having fun and thinking this could be something, and I should have just taken you home with me, but instead, I thought we’d mess with Jake first, and then the fight happened, and then Phillip whisked you out of there, and then your parents—and I haven’t gotten to talk to you about it. And, every time I see you, Phillip is holding your hand, and everyone thinks you two are together, and I just keep thinking it should have been me there. Holding your hand, making you feel better. Why did you ask Phillip to sit with you and not me?”
“I didn’t do it to upset you. I wanted everyone to sit with me, but they told me pallbearers had to sit together.” I eye him. “Were you jealous?”
He nods a little and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, looking uncomfortable.
“Danny, I asked Phillip because I know exactly where I stand with him. He’s been part of my life forever. He’s like a brother to me. And he has this way of calming me down, of relaxing me.” I look at him with a naughty grin. “You don’t exactly relax me.”
As in he excites me—a lot.
“Mmhmm, I know what you mean,” he mutters before he starts kissing me again.
We kiss for a while.
And, while we are kissing, I keep hearing Danny’s voice in my head saying, “This could be something.”
That is good, right?
That means that it was more than him feeling sorry for me.
Didn’t he also say he had been wanting to kiss me for a while?
Could we really turn our friendship into something more?
Something amazing?
As in something that might last longer than his typical three weeks?
The long, amazing kiss eventually comes to an end. Danny still has me wedged up against his body, and I’m loving that.
He says, “Now that we have that straight, I have a favor to ask you.”
Sure, anything, I think to myself.
“So, I have this problem. I’m dying—”
“Bad choice of words, Danny,” I interrupt him and surprisingly let out a little chuckle.
“Oh, sorry. But I am dying to go to prom, and no one will ask me.”
Yeah, right.
“And, well, I figured, since you probably don’t have a date either …”
“I’m not going, Danny.”
“Come on, ask me.”
“I’m not gonna ask you. Going to prom is, like, the last thing I want to do.”
Phillip walks out on the porch. I expect him to freak out over me being in Danny’s arms, but he looks relaxed.
“So, did you ask her?” Phillip asks Danny.
“Nah, she asked me.” Danny gives me a smirk.
“I did not!”
“Mac, my man, I’m still trying to convince Jay she needs to take me to prom.”
“Danny, it’s sweet of you to want to go.”
“Jay, I’m not just being sweet. I really want to go with you, and I think you should go. It’s your senior prom. It’s a big deal.”
“In light of recent events”—I sigh—“it just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal anymore.”
“I think your parents would have wanted you to go,” Phillip says, ganging up on me.
I start to say no again, but I wonder if maybe they would have wanted me to go. Mom shopped with me forever to find the perfect dress. She probably would have been disappointed if I didn’t wear it.
“Don’t you think it’s a little callous to go to something as frivolous as prom so soon after my parents’ deaths? It seems, you know, disrespectful.”
I can’t. I shouldn’t.
“Everyone thinks you need to start getting your life back,” Danny states.
“I don’t have a life anymore.”
“Bullshit. You have lots of friends who care about you, and I’m pretty sure, if you could ask your parents, they would tell you the same,” Danny says, getting slightly worked up over this.
I look at Phillip. “You agree with this?”
I thought it would never work.
He nods.
“Actually, both Phillip’s mom and my mom agree. Your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to miss it,” Danny informs me.
Phillip butts in, “And we’re not gonna let you go with Jake.”
Okay, now, I get it. Evidently, Danny is the lesser of two evils.
“I mean, come on,” Danny says, “you’ve got everything for it, right? Everything’s already planned?”
“Yeah.” I waver.
“Great!” Danny says. He gives me a chaste but still delicious kiss. “I’ve got to head back to Lincoln. Call me. Let me know how you’re doing or just to talk. Anything, okay? Is there anything I can do, anything you need?”
“No, I think your mom and Mrs. Mac have thought of everything.”
And they have.
I owe those ladies big. But I know they did everything not just for me, but also for my parents. They loved them, too, and it was their way of showing it.
“Saturday. Six o’clock. Don’t keep me waiting,” Danny says with a grin as he leaves.
Phillip goes back in the house to get a drink. I look across the street at my house. The lights are on, and I’m drawn to it like a moth. I halfway feel like I can just run over there, bang open the door, and hear my dad yell at me. So, I run home, bang the door … and hear nothing but silence.
I look at the kitchen and can practically see my memories.
Me sitting up on the counter, helping Mom mix a special chocolate cake for Daddy’s birthday. I can’t wait to lick the leftover batter off the beaters.
Mom and I making sugar cookies at Christmas while Dad sets up the tree.
I turn my back on the memories and run up the stairs to Mom and Dad’s room. There, more memories come rushing into my mind.
Bringing Mom breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day. I tried to surprise her, but I had to tell her to stay in bed. I made her peanut butter toast and milk—although I think I ate most of it.
Me running and diving under their covers at bedtime because I wanted to sleep with them and not in my own bed. Daddy would pretend he couldn’t find me. He’d bounce on the bed, grab under the covers, and tickle me silly. Then, I would jump on his back and get a piggyback ride to my room.
Me lying in bed, sick with the chicken pox, getting to watch TV all day while eating crackers and drinking 7UP.
Mom and me playing cards and watching movies.
Mom and Dad telling me to come snuggle up between them when I had a bad dream.
I feel like I’m in a bad dream right now. I close my eyes.
I think I’ve become a memory junkie.
Even though the memories make me want to cry, they also make me feel warm inside, and I like the feeling. I go sit on the floor of Dad’s closet, watching him in my mind.
He was getting dressed in his tuxedo. He looked so handsome that night.
Mom running over to get the back of her dress zipped up. I loved the way he kissed her on her neck and told her she looked beautiful and how she blushed. They seemed so in love.
I grab one of Dad’s big flannel shirts and put it on over my blouse. I’ve worked so hard throughout this whole ordeal to maintain control, to keep it together, to represent my family proudly, to be tough and hold it all in.
I can’t do it any longer.
I run back into their room, throw myself across their big bed, and lose it.
I mean, I totally, completely lose it.
I break down and cry and sob and wail like I’ve never done before. I have never, ever hurt so much. I didn’t even think it was possible to feel this much pain.
You’d think, eventually, my tears would run out, but they don’t. I just cry and cry and cry.
And cry.
I’m startled by a noise. I flip around and see Phillip staring down at me.
He sits on the bed and shakes his head at me as he gathers me into his arms. “I wondered when you’d finally lose it.”
I can’t seem to choke out a response, so I just bury my head into his shirt and sob.
