The Real Ram

Chapter 48

The first funeral I attended was for my grandmother. I was only about two years old, but I remember a lot of the service. I remember being the kid that was screaming in the second row. Ha. Yeah, they all thought I was screaming for some stupid reason. Like I wanted food, or a nap, or my freaking diaper needed to be changed. Most of the people that attended that funeral thought I should have just stayed home because I was disrupting the service. Idiots. Even I understood more of what was going on than they did. They thought they had to cry because the people around them were. They thought they had to be sad because of the dead lady in the front. They thought they were behaving perfectly and that I wasn't. 

What they didn't know is that I was screaming because I wanted to fill the silence. I wanted to mess up the organ player in the front, because I knew my grandma didn't like that music. I remember she always had opera playing. I remember she always wore this vanilla smelling lotion, and whenever I went to her house she would always greet me with these delicious cake pops she made. She never seemed to run out, it was awesome. I was never really close with my mother's side of the family, but something about my grandma always stuck with me. Even now, when I smell vanilla I think of her, or when I hear opera I know the song or the play it came from because of her. 

See, everyone thinks babies scream for no reason. It's not true. I remember I was screaming that day because I wanted to smell the vanilla lotion my grandma always used, and I wanted to hear her music. Not some middle aged man playing what looked to me like a piano on steroids. I loved my grandma, and I knew I understood her better than all the people sitting behind me grieving. 

The only other funeral I had been to was for my mother. It was then, when I was only five, that I made up my mind on funerals.

I was never going to attend another one again.

The mood was so negative and I didn't really get why. The pastors and friends speaking kept telling the crowd that it was a celebration! That we should be laughing along with each other, not buried in grief. They kept say that, yet I could tell they felt broken inside.

The service in general was just so bland. They went through solemn songs sung by people I didn't recognize, and speakings by people who didn't really know my mother. They all cried while saying it was a celebration. Crying while they told stories about her, and crying when they watched the casket disappear into the earth. 

But the part that bothered me the most was the obituary reading. I never understood why people should care where she was born or who her parents and kids were. I knew my mom didn't want to be remembered like that, so I started to fake cry, turning it into a loud sob. This got Phillip to take me outside until the reading was over. I could tell, even in his darkest gloom, that he was thankful for me giving him an excuse to leave. I knew he didn't want to remember Mom like that. I knew.

"Why did you let her go in alone?" I hear a muffled voice scold.

"Mole wouldn't let me in, and Zoe said she was okay with it!" Flame whispers harshly.

"But—"

"There was nothing I could have done, okay? I was stuck, and Zoe was put on the spot. She handled it in the best way for both of us."

"Yeah, she looks fantastic right now," I can hear the sarcasm dripping from her words.

"I asked him and he said they just gave her something to help her."

"Help her with what?"

"Apparently with her ability. He didn't really explain why or how but I know he was following under X's commands."