Touch

Prolouge

I can see my my mothers familiar afro peaking over the edge of the casket from where I'm sitting in the church.  The service was short and sweet, I don't have any family members and the child services lady told me that she would wait outside.  That I should take my time with my mom.  She reached for my hands to comfort me but I pushed them underneath myself and kept my eyes downcast.  I know I'm only ten years old, but I'm smart enough to know that with my emotions running free my curse would be as well.

My mother had learned that the hard way.

I slide off the tall metal chair and stand alone and tiny in the massive hall.  My black skin and unruly hair glistening in the light from the stained glass artwork above me.  Hot tears are running down my face and I swear I can feel the eyes of all the statues and figures on me.  I roll down the sleeves of my black dress and completely cover my hands.  I take a small breath and look up to my mom's casket, it's nothing special.  A dark wood and light interior was chosen for her as the child services lady took care of me.  I called the police right after I got mad at my mom and she crumbled to the floor with a startled gasp.  The child services lady is the one who explained that my mom wouldn't be coming back after they took me away from the crime scene, but of course I already knew that.  

The night before the funeral, I laid in bed and cried because my mom was the only one who knew about the curse.  I remember her telling me to never say anything to anyone about the curse, that they would take me away from her and I would never see her again.  I begin to cry harder at that thought.  I didn't need to say anything to make sure my mom would never come back to me.

I walk almost in a trance towards my mothers casket and gaze up at the locks hanging over the edge.  I reach up and gingerly touch a curl, usually when I touch people I feel like I'm apart of them, even if I just barely clip a shoulder blade against their hair.  I used to love hugging my mom, but now I feel cold.  I feel alone for the first time.

I let go of her hair slowly, to small to see her face lying in the casket and whisper 

"Goodbye mommy."

As I turn away and head towards the double doors leading out of the church, a small part of me listens intently for her response.  But just like when I grasped her hair, there was nothing but the empty air to tell me goodbye.