Feels Like Rain

Chapter 1: Grandmama

Jet

I hate funerals. I guess most people feel that way, but not to the degree that I do. Not only did I have my own grief to deal with, but also the grief of everyone who's sitting around me. With it being an outdoor funeral, I thought it might dilute their feelings enough to be tolerable, but it didn't. It's at times like this that I hated my unique abilities. Sometimes being able to sense people's emotions is a bit of a perk, but this wasn't one of those times.

My mom, who was taking Grandmama's death the hardest, was sitting next to me, trying her best to control her feelings, as usual, which was only adding to the tension that was rolling off her. I know she means well, trying to keep her bereavement to herself for my sake, but it's futile. Not only was my own heart breaking for my loss, but for her loss, too.

As I looked out across the field, I thought about how Grandmama insisted that she be buried here. "There's no way I'm gonna be stuck in one of those cold mausoleums," she'd said. "I've always liked playin' in the dirt, surrounded by flowers, so just leave me to it." And we did.

Since she didn't want to be cremated, and all the cemeteries were full, causing the Government to put a ban on in-ground burials for the past few years, we had to get a special burial permit to bury her here. They dug her grave on a hill in the field next to our house where wild flowers have taken over. We'd already made plans with the mausoleum manager to move Max, my Granddad, here, even though he'd said he didn't care what we did with him once he was gone. "It's just my shell. Who cares what happens to the shell once the nut is removed?" I smiled at the memory of his words. As I watched the flowers blow in the wind, I knew it was gonna be a perfect resting place for her-for all of us-when our times come.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my chest from caving in on itself, and closed my eyes, wanting to mentally get away. "Are you okay?" I heard a soft voice come from beside me.

I leaned toward my mom and whispered in her ear, "I'd ask you the same thing, but I already know the answer." I wrapped my arm around her, not knowing what else to do, which prompted her to lean into me and let a few tears go that she'd barricaded behind her eyelids. That little bit of release eased her tension, which only gave way to more grief. I wish I could somehow take the pain away from her instead of just feeling it. I hated seeing and feeling her like this.

When I looked over at Dad, he nodded, which was his silent way of letting me know he appreciated the fact that I was here, suffering through this. How could I not? Grandmama meant a lot to me-the world, actually-so I wasn't about to skip out on my family, no matter how bad my insides kept urging me to.

Grandmama had been our gravity since I could remember. Her son, my mom's dad, died in the World Trade Center terror attack in 2001 by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's crazy that my grandfather was a victim in such a violent, historic event. We watched some live footage from it in history recently, since its forty-year anniversary was coming up next year. After seeing the terror that filled New York City that day, I was glad my abilities only worked in person and not through the screen.

My mom's mother was also dead, so Grandmama had become her guardian when she was five and raised her. She also helped to raise me, since she, too, had abilities that helped her to better understand what I was going through, which was sometimes hell, especially when I was little. Any time I would get around someone who was sad or upset, I'd start crying or screaming uncontrollably, which led to me being stuck at home a lot. I understand now that it was for my own good, but sometimes trying to protect someone from what you think will harm them only causes other problems to arise.

Needless to say, I don't like people. I avoid being around them whenever I can, which has led to a less than active social life. But feeling what I feel, I don't mind being alone. Actually, I relish in it. I do, however, have one good friend named Zander Stone. He knows that I'm sensitive to how others feel, but has no idea to what extent.