quaint [h.s.]

sixteen

Time passed and I hung up the phone, "No one is answering. And Harry, I can't go through with telling her."

"So how are you going to start talking to her?" Harry asked and set the radio down on the table.

I searched my brain for self help, "I don't know."

"Does she live where you live?" Harry asks.

I shook my head, "She's a block away though. We need to talk to her somehow.."

Harry stood up, "Good luck with that. I'm going out with a few of my friends and I'll be back around six."

"All right. Have a nice time," I say.

"See you later," and he walked out the door after grabbing a light jacket.

I turned off the TV and went int the bathroom. I stared at my usual reflection in the mirror and breathed out. I pick up a brush and brush out my dark hair until there isn't a single tangle when I'm finished. I put on those black heel shoes and my pink skinny jeans I wore on the first day I arrived here. I put on a white T-shirt and I'm sure that I'll look out of place.

I exchange the shoes for my flats and I grab my purse and walk out the door. I can't be in the house alone. I find myself wandering into the graveyard. Im very much used to coming here and it's a routine for me. Even though I know that my father's head stone isn't here.

I push open the gate and stick my hands in my pocket while I walk to the usual spot. It's empty, as before, and waiting for 2002 to come so my father could be put in the ground with his stone and his epitaph on the stone.

I sit cross-legged and rest my chin in the palm of my hands. I hear faint crying and I look up and around and lots of yards over, there's a funeral going on. Everyone is dressed in all black just as they should be and they're all either quiet or mourning over whomever the deceased person may be.

If I wore black, I could've at least try to sneak and see who the person was, but no I just had to wear these bright pink jeans. I watch the funeral from afar and once they lower the casket in, people start to leave. They must hate the sight of their loved one being placed into the ground forever.

But one woman remains and her hair is color of a nice chestnut brown. She takes off her hat and places flowers by the grave stone. There's two guys who tell the woman to back up while they place the dirt over the casket to bury it.

Without thinking, I walk over there and the woman looks up and her kind blue eyes meet mine. She quickly looks away and her attention is back on the person in the ground.

"I'm sorry..about the loss," I say and I know I look awkward.

"Thank you. It's my grandfather. He's died of some sickness," she sighs.

"Oh. I'm sorry again," I found nothing else to say and she nodded her head once before blowing her nose with a tissue.

Her eyeliner is smudged and it looks like she could care less about her physical well being.

"I'm Doris.." I stick out my hand.

She looks at me while she ponders and then she meets her shaky hand with mine. "Nicola."

What?

"What?"

"Nicola. My name is Nicola Wesmore," she said and dropped my hand.

"Nice to meet you," I chirp out and glance at the grave. I'm related to the dead person who's in the casket.

"Why are you here?" Nicola asks.