" EVERYTHING THERE COULD BE THEN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING "
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It wasn't quite how I'd pictured it.
I suppose when you possess such immense love for another person, it's puzzling to see when others don't share the same affection. Dallas wasn't the most liked person in Tulsa, even amongst the greaser side. It was evident by the discomfort in people's faces. There were quite a few bodies gathered around, hands in pockets while they hovered around the casket, but not one showed a hint of emotion.
I shed tears with one other person at Dallas's funeral, that being Two-bit. There could have been a few others. I thought I saw Sylvia sobbing under her breath from across the room, wiping away tears with the sleeve of her black shirt.
I did think there would be a big showing. Dallas had a lot of connections. I came to realize not a lot of them were good ones.
I wanted to speak, but I couldn't. I was never good with speaking.
It was grey outside with layers of clouds undulating over the sun, light rain spitting down every so often. Thunder crackled from far away creating a soft sound from where I was. I was glad it wasn't sunny out. The weather felt right. It was the only thing that did feel right.
I'd never felt such a wrench of guilt inside of me until I sat at Dallas's funeral, fidgeting and squirming in my seat from how badly I wanted to leave. It was painful to hear the chatter about him. The speeches were unbearable, and when Darrel mustered the courage to do one for the whole gang, I couldn't stop my sobs. My thoughts screamed at me to stay where I was, and I did until the end, when I could walk away with my father and brother by my side.
Nothing helped to abate the images of the night he was shot from forcing itself into my mind. The soft touch of his hand as his grip dwindled. It was the small things that looped in my head, like the way his eyes stared into mine before turning dull. It amazed me, the way a beating heart could still so fast, everything there could be, and then absolutely nothing.
My dad wanted to come. It warmed my heart when I heard him say that. I was never too close with my dad, so he had no reason to take a particular liking to Dallas — but he did, even before death. He was by my side, comforting me every moment I needed it.
When my father, brother and I arrived home from the funeral I'd gone directly to my room. I shut off my lights. I shut my door. I threw myself under the sheets and let the silence overtake my thoughts. No matter how many times my tears faltered or I jolted falling asleep, Dallas was still on the forefront of my mind.
I couldn't get him out of my mind, no matter what I did to try and relieve my thoughts from the hell I was going through. The crying never stopped.
I got up from my bed, heaved a loud cry, and then stormed out my door with tears streaming down my cheeks. I went to the living room where there my dad sat at the couch, his legs propped on sofa as he flicked the remote at the television. He looked up to see my tears, his calmed expression dropping and switching to concern when he saw my state. He immediately rose from the couch and shuffled over to me, motioning for my to sit down as he wrapped his arm around my waist.
