The Reunion

As always, I would love to hear what you have to say.  I wrote this piece a while ago after attending mt Aunt Joan's funeral.

I'm not sure if I am going to write more, but I had ideas for a story based on this, so tell me if I should keep writing this or focuse more on one of my other pieces, "Her Garden" and "Pippi's Diner".  If you haven't read them please check them out.

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The Reunion 

          I walked up to the bright white building and stared at the site before me.  The house was illuminated by dull yellow spotlights scattered around the front lawn.  There was a gray welcoming sign standing proudly next to the main doors.  “A Celebration of Life” is what the board said.  I didn’t respond.  Only stepped forward toward the entrance and headed for the steps.

          The stairs weren’t tall, but there were many.  Carefully, I took the first tentative step up, up to heaven.  I would meet her there, now and one more time hopefully; after.  The next pace brought me closer and I felt my chest lurch as each stair disappeared behind me.  Don’t turn back now.  I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.  The last ledge was waiting there and I took it in stride.

          The room was carpeted in a shocking green layer, with faded royal red diamonds patterning over top.  Ugly starched curtains hung, draped unevenly over the multi-paned window.  They were covered with fair pink and red swirled roses that looked almost hand painted with warm jade leaves to match.  The dark wood walls were not bare.  They shared pictures of her and everyone, even me.  Happy times, sad times, funny times; they showed them all.

          But then the corner came.  I turned it and a small gasp escaped my mouth.  There were row after row of flowers in all types and forms; bouquets of roses, wreaths of lilies, bundles of violets, and mixed varieties all lane down with the others.

          And those words, they came back.  This was not a celebration of life though.  This was a morbid house, meant only to trick the minds of the foolish into believing that things would be okay.  I wasn’t foolish.  I wasn’t tricked.  I walked up to the velvet lined bed and knelt down for a minute.  Praying silently to myself, I thought back to the last moments we’d shared.

          There was one, in particular, that I remembered most frequently.  It was one of those warm, sticky summer days that you would always complain about but secretly enjoy anyways.  We weren’t outside though.  We were sitting in a drab, white hospital room, her in her bed and me seated beside her in the rickety wood chair.  Even though she was the sick one, and I was perfectly healthy, she was holding my hand and comforting me.  There were tear stains under my eyes and my cheeks were a dull red.  In contrast, her eyes and face were clear, only glistening with determination.  She kept patting my hand and reassuring me, saying everything would be okay and she’d be up and ready for school by the end of the summer.

          She was wrong.  She would never be going to school again.  She would never call me up to talk about nothing.  She would never go to college.  She would never see another birthday.  She would never even get to throw her end-of-summer party.  She had wanted it so bad.

          “Ally,” A familiar male voice called me back to the present.  I realized there were more tears running smoothly down my cheeks and I scrubbed them away.  No emotion, I thought to myself.  Don’t show any emotion.

          “I’m sorry for your loss, Ally.”  Somebody murmured behind me, probably an old friend or distant family member of hers that I hadn’t seen in a while.  They didn’t sound sorry at all, not that I needed their sympathy.

          Eventually they realized I wouldn’t respond, and moved on, toward the rest of the buildings occupancy.  Good, I thought.  Because this was how I liked it now – silent and lonely.  If my best friend, my other half, my sister, couldn’t enjoy life anymore, I would do my best not to either.

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