Convincing You I'm Me

Chapter 2: Was

The day I first saw Lily wasn't special. Actually, it was the opposite to what I'm supposed to say. It was ordinary. Our eyes did meet across the hallway of school, and in truth, I did think she was beautiful and different, but that wasn't what made it ordinary, what made it ordinary was that we just glared at each other, she gave me a smile as she did everyone, then looked away, and we continued on our way. Without a second thought about it. She was fourteen, I was fourteen, and yet, annoyingly, it took us two years of glances and glares to speak to each other. And it wasn't even her I spent all that time glancing at, it was her sister. 

I stare at that last bit, and I scribble it out. A tear drops down onto the paper and I wipe my eye.

 After two years, I plucked up some courage to speak to her. She had wavy, dark hair that day with a pink headband and wore pink leggings with a stripy white and black dress. I knew, before a word even left her mouth, that she was a little crazy. And I was right. Crazy drew me in, it kept me on my toes, for twelve whole years. Everyone that knew Lily would say that her specialty of crazy was to drag up random conversations at all hours of the day, she would even bring up irrational questions like: Is an orange named after the colour? Or is the colour named after the fruit? Just to fill a gap of silence. It was those bizarre awkward-silence fillers that made me fall in love with her. That made all of us fall in love with her. Lily wasn't ordinary. She was eccentric and giddy and literally, all of the things I somewhat despise in a person, but never despised in her.

I throw the pen across the table in anger, not being able to continue. The funeral is in one hour and I still can't get the damn words right. I move over to the window, prizing the drapes open slowly as I glance at the ground. People are beginning to arrive, dressed in their depressing, grim black.

"Jason," a low voice calls from behind me. It's my mother, but I have no time for her right now. A slight cry rumbles through the air, and I can't bring myself to look at my son. "Don't you want to hold him?"

"No," I say, my nose sniffles and I wipe another tear. "Take him to the nursery."

"She wouldn't want you to be like this," her voice gets harder. "you've barely looked at him in two weeks. She died giving birth to him, she died so he could live, I know it's hard but you need to bond with him."

"Where are the girls?"

"With your father. They're upset."

"Is Maggie here yet?"

"Yes, she's making them breakfast. They're three years old, and they've just lost their mother, they know what's going on. They're smart. You need to talk to them."

"I have," I move my jaw side to side, with no energy to raise my voice. "I mean, yeah, I'll talk to them."

I turn around, as the baby cries out again, and then drifts softly into a dream. My mother cradles him gently, rocking him side-to-side. I know I shouldn't blame him, of course, it's not his fault, but I'm just not ready to be close to him yet. My mother and Lily's mother have been taking care of him for the past two weeks. They've been taking turns with getting up in the night, feeding him a bottle, singing him back to sleep, taking him for short walks. They've been doing everything Lily should be doing, Lily should be here, it's not fair. And every time I think I'm coming close to accepting it, I drift back into numbness.

I scramble the papers of the eulogy, folding them into the pockets of my suit. I pass my mother in the doorway, not daring to glance down at the small baby that is sleeping in her arms.

I cross the hallway, ignoring the hung frames of memories that try and call out to me, that try and torture me. The house is quiet, as the mourners wait outside, surrounding Lily's family with support. I hear gentle sobs coming from the lounge and I stand still underneath an archway, watching my father embrace my daughters on the couch.

"Why did mummy not say goodbye?" Jade asks.

My father looks up at me with sad, brown eyes and waits for me to respond. I walk over to the couch and he lifts himself up, patting me on the shoulder as I take a seat in between them.

They cry again, and I hold their long hair, taking a deep breath as they fall into my chest. "Remember what I told you?" I say quietly. "That sometimes, people have to go without saying goodbye?"

"Yeah." Jessie wipes her eyes staring up at me.

"Well, mummy is one of those people. It might not make much sense, or any sense, but all you have to understand is that mummy loved you more than anything in this world."

"I know that," Jade whispers. "I loved her too."

"I need you both to be very brave today," I say. "Maggie is going to be looking after you. You're going to go on a nice walk to the park, have some ice cream. And then she's going to bring you to me later."

"No!" They squeal in unison. "Let us come with you."

"Please Daddy." Jessie begs.

"You can't. I'm sorry, girls."

They burst out into tears, crying on each of my shoulders. I sit so still that I almost fall asleep, I almost trick myself into believing everything is okay.

"Girls, breakfast is ready." Maggie calls from the kitchen to the doorway.

"Go on," my voice is croaky and choked. "I'll see you later."

They tighten their arms around me for a moment and I kiss their heads, and then they surrender themselves to the kitchen doorway, not looking back.

I find the strength to get up from the couch and I move towards the front door that my father holds open for me. I step out into the bright sun that hasn't been around in over a week, it dries the wet grounds, and it's almost as though she's sending it to us.

People stare at me, some stare at the ground, some are so silent that they sway as they look into the abyss of nothing, and then we all take breaths together, as the coffin comes slowly towards us from the bottom of the driveway.

I feel my legs begin to give way and my father holds me up, tightening his arms around mine. I can't remember picking out a white coffin, I can't remember picking out horses that pull the carriage she's placed in. I can't remember choosing lilies and tulips as the flowers to surround it, I can't remember ordering two black people-carriers to take us in.

But I did all of that. Sometime, somewhere, I arranged that.

I know I have to say goodbye today. I know I have to stand in the church and talk about her in the past tense. That scares me.

Past tense.

Past.

That means gone, that means never coming back. That means, just a memory. 

She's now a was, she isn't an is. 

My body falls rigid and piece by piece, it turns into ash that scatters across the air. I don't fight it, I'm falling apart, and I don't want to stop it. 

Because that's how much she means to me.

Meant to me.

Was.