. (continued)

The doorbell rings and I make my way to the front door and there is the man I’ve always dreaded seeing.  He hands me the envelope and I don’t even have to read it to know he’s gone.

*One Week Later*

Rain pours down and clouds cover the bright sun.  The day matches my mood, its depressing, perfect to make a funeral even more depressing.  We were supposed to have the funeral a few days ago but I was crying too much. Whew, here we go.  His casket is draped in the American Flag, and then I have to say goodbye.  Its then I break down.  I take off my heels and run across the cemetary to my truck.  As soon as I get into the driver’s seat I realize I can’t cry at all.  I’m trying to hard to cry, I’m not sure why I can’t, I feel like I need to, as if it’s my duty, but I can’t.  Once I heard a quote from a movie based on World War two, one of the women serving as a nurse said something among the lines of “What do you do when you have no more tears?”  My answer to that at that exact moment was scream.  I screamed, I hit the steering wheel multiple times.

I hadn’t screamed in so long, since I was in middle school probably.  My screams were just heartbroken screams.  While I screamed I was teary eyed and while my throat felt like it was closing.  Those screams were nothing like the ones from middle school.

After thirty minutes I look to my right just to notice people are leaving because the service has ended.  After everyone has left I walk over to the casket and just talk.

“Do you remember the first time I met you?” I ask my dead fiance.

There’s no answer, I don’t need one.  I just go on about how we met at the high school.  How he planned to enlist, about how excited I was to get married.  When I’ve finished every single detail, trying to answer every question he asked me that I didn’t get to respond to.  Its finally time for me to say goodbye, and saying goodbye was the hardest part of all.  I tell him I love him, and go on talking again about how much I’ll miss him.  Three hours later I’m on my way home, my stomach feels like it’ll just fall out of my body.  Soon I’m overcome with exhaustion and can’t wait to get out of this black dress.  Once I get home I see my mother’s car waiting there and I can’t believe it.  My mother left when I was young and didn’t come back into my life until I was 17.  He was there for me that whole difficult time.  After age 18 she left again, but she’ll occasionally visit to come ask me for money.  He was always there to tell her no, to help me through everything.

“Hi!” She says happily, as if she’s not here to ask me for something.

“What the hell do you want?” I ask her angrily.

Black eyeliner and mascara are smeared across my pale face.  My black hair is down a little past my shoulders, its messy and wavy.

“What happened?” My birth mother asks me.

“Don’t act like you care, I asked you a question, I expect you to answer” I say hatefully.
“Well, I wanted to just see you and talk to yo-”

“No you don’t cut the crap!  I’m not giving you money or anything else!”  I yell back.

She rolls her eyes, “so selfish, you know I’m just trying to talk and you bring up money again!”

“The only reason why you’re here is to take the little money I have for yourself!” I scream, and throw one of my black heels at her.

Its a good shot, it hits her in the leg.

“Well I just need a little of money okay!” She screams.

“I’m not giving you any money,” I say with an angry scrunched up disgusted look on my face.   “My fiance died a week ago the funeral was today, and you come to ask me for money?  You disgust me, he was nice to you, he may not have given you money but he tried to help you.  He offered to help you in ways that could help you get money and you decided, hey I’ll just show up and take something else from my daughter!”

My mother shakes her head “I didn’t know he died but since he did, I mean I know this is so hard for you, you might just have some room in your heart for me and I heard he went into the military, so maybe, you’ll have some extra money as well” she stutters through the whole thing.

She obviously didn’t know he had passed away, but this is horrifying.  I walk closer to her to get in her face and tell her straight to leave.  The smell hit me, it was like running into a solid brick wall, it was just so strong.

“Have you been smoking?” I ask her.

She looks startled, “N-no of course not.”

“Mother, have you been smoking weed again?” I ask.

My mother left when I was eight to go do “great things” well she messed up.  She ended up being a part of a gang, became addicted to drugs and even became a drug dealer herself.  Well now ever since she found me again, she’s been lying to me.  Saying she quit ect.  How could she?  We paid for special treatment just because she seemed like she needed to quit.  Like she wanted to.  Well she quit for what, the two months she was there?

“Look don’t you judge me, saying I’m smokin-” She starts but stops because I’m running toward her bronze car.

I yank the car door open and it reeks of smoke.  I climb into the seat and pry the door open with my leg.  I stretch my neck so I can see the trunk, its covered by carpet.  Oh so she’s gotten somewhat smart now huh?  So I pull the carpet off and there is a little handle to pull up where she’s obviously hiding the drugs.


2 thoughts on “. (continued)

  1. Damn You Jade. Tears on the fuckin key board. Excellent. I’m there.
    I have spoken to many of the dead for many hours myself, many, upon, too many times.
    i hope you are proud of yourself for makin an Old Beat Up JarHead Cry.
    For Real jade, Great Job.
    We will have a problem if you ever STOP writing.
    You Go Girl.
    For Real, I’m In Tears.

    • As soon as I read your comment I teared up myself. Glad to know I accomplished what I wanted in that story :) thank you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s