Beyond the City [H.S.]

Chapter 1

Grief is a silly thing. You can grieve the loss of anything; the death of a loved one, the loss of a relationship, the death of a pet. Everyone always talks about the different stages of grief and how they handle it; how it just gets easier to live with. And they're not wrong. Grief does get easier to live with, but sometimes it sneaks back in like a son of a bitch and you're reminded of what you lost.

I am reminded of the relationship that I will never get back while standing in front of my mom and step father's house, car packed, keys in hand - waiting. Waiting for the hug that would never come from a man I lost a long time ago.

"Call as soon as you get settled into your apartment, and stay out of trouble," my mom ordered and gave me a tight hug.

"Good luck, kiddo - see you Monday," my step father, Paul, said with an inhumanly forced smile. I smirked back and saluted him with a puffed out chest. "You're going to get your ass handed to you in the office, Opal," Paul groaned but I swear I saw a faint of a smirk.

"I can stick up for myself, boss," I said. I punched Paul on the shoulder lightly and he grumbled from the contact before nodding once. He put a hand on my back and pushed me lightly towards my aging, light blue sedan. "Alright, I'm outta here - Mom, seriously stop crying. I'm just moving out, that's all. I still work for Paul. I'll see you guys for dinner...in like a week."

I got into my car and gave one final wave as I drove off, holding onto the steering wheel tightly with my non-waving hand. I felt a small knot form in my throat, but bit back the fear of the unfamiliarity creeping in. I turned up the radio and tapped my foot along to the song in an attempt to not get too emotional. At least not yet.

That's when I realized the tune was familiar and memories of dancing around the living room with my Dad came flooding back, ones I chose to suppress after he left me behind.

I try not to get too emotional frequently, especially around my mother. She would immediately jump to conclusions, like she always did, and it would always cause more problems than there were. I had built up so many walls after Dad left that I had no intention of breaking down. Don't get me wrong, I'd feel a lot of things, sure, but I internalize them. Healthily, of course.

I grieved my father leaving like any kid would. I was full of hatred and scapegoating. I was stuck in stage two of the 5 stages of grief: anger. I tried not to blame my mom, or Paul, or myself. Worst of all, I found myself shut down and became mean towards my mom - especially when he first left. I wasn't a good daughter when he left and I still wonder why my mom just won't talk to me about it even this long after.

I try to be a good daughter to my mom, but when little reminders of the relationship I lost appear, I find myself slowly reverting right back to stage 2: anger.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I don't want to resort back to anger, not now. It was difficult to get past the song, so I shut off the radio and dialed Lydia.

"You miss me yet?" I asked her with a smirk.

Lydia huffed and said, "Absolutely not!"

She and I chatted about how Paul was so uptight while saying goodbye, practically kicking me pushing me into the car and Lydia wasn't the least bit surprised with how he acted. She said she'd visit in a couple weeks to see the new apartment once she can get a break from work. The drive was only about 45 minutes away from my mother's, but Paul would only commute two to three days a week. The rest he works from home in their home office, which is why she didn't necessarily mind accepting his job offer to work in the office downtown.

"How is it without me? Does the air feel different?" I asked with a smirk and took a sip of my water before placing the bottle onto the seat next to me.