Chrissy's POV
"And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." The priest reads off the most ridiculous Bible verse I've ever heard and Stella quietly sobs beside me. Her grip is so tight on my bicep that I'm sure there will be bruises tomorrow, but I think she would fall over without my support.
My mind drifts back to the ridiculous bible verse. Why in the hell do they read this at a funeral? Aren't there other ones about how awesome heaven is or something? Besides, who is the one walking through the valley of the shadow of death, us or my mom?
Right now, it feels like I'm living in that valley and my shepherd took a vacation.
The cemetery is empty except for the very few people who showed up for Mama's funeral. Some of her coworkers and a few friends came, but Stella and I were the only family she had. We are the only people left the bury her in a fucking casket. Her plain, wooden casket costs more than a whole month's worth of rent. Only in this economy can dying be more expensive than living.
The priest continues reading his bull shit as I just stare at that damn casket. Stella is an emotional mess, but weirdly I think it's healthier than what I'm doing. She's always been so good at expressing her emotions, me on the other hand, not so much. As I stand at the edge of my mom's grave, staring at her pine box, I realize I'm jealous of her. I'm jealous that she gets to rest now. I'm jealous that she doesn't have to do anything anymore. I'm just jealous.
My eyes snap open as the dream catapults me into consciousness, but I don't panic. I stopped that a few days ago because I've had the same Goddamn dream every day for a whole week. It's not even a dream, it's a memory, a memory of my mom's funeral. It's a sick loop that plays constantly in my mind whether I'm awake or sleeping.
I roll over in my tiny ass twin-size bed to see that Stella's is empty. We've shared a room since she officially moved in with us when we were 14. Her parents up and moved to California and tried to take her with them, but my mom offered to keep her. They gladly signed everything over to Mama. They never cared about her, anyway. Mama did, though. Mama cared so much about both of us.
Dread fills my stomach as my feet hit the cold floor and my bones make horrible popping sounds as I stretch. I don't have to look in the mirror to know my curly hair is probably standing straight up, but I don't care. Stella has seen me in much worse conditions than a bad hair day. Besides, she not doing much better than me right now. She cries at least five times a day and I can see guilt eating her from the inside out. She feels so guilty that she wasn't here when Mama died. I get it, but there's nothing she could've done. The hospital said it was a heart attack. A heart attack in her sleep probably due to cigarette smoking.
44 years on this earth and all of it was ruined by fucking cigarettes. Ironic isn't it?
With that thought, I take my pack of smokes out from underneath my pillow and shove a few into the back pocket of my jeans along with a lighter. Stella would lose her mind if she saw me smoking, but maybe I inherited more from Mama than her bad attitude. Maybe I just need something to bring me a little bit of peace.
Peace, that's something I won't have much longer. Especially since our landlord came to Mama's funeral, pulled me aside, and told me that I had to be out by the end of the month because the lease was with my mom and not me. What kind of an asshole does that at a funeral? I had to stop myself from killing the motherfucker and putting him in the ground with Mama, but I wouldn't do that to her. If they were in the same grave this asshole would drive her absolutely insane for all of eternity.
So I have no idea what I am going to do, but I'll figure it out. I'll figure it out without Stella, though. She is going back to Yale in two days and she can never know what is going on here. She's the one chance to make Mama's legacy mean something. She can't give that up because of me.
"Morning," I say as I walk into the kitchen. Stella is frying an egg on the stove, but upon closer inspection, I notice that the white part is now a dark brown and smoke is rising from the frying pan. She doesn't move, though. It doesn't even look like she's on this planet. It looks like she's in the same place Mama is.
"Stella!" I yell as I try to snap her out of this trance but it doesn't work. I rush to the stove and I turn the gas off, take the pan out of her hand, and throw it in the sink. Smoke billows out of the pan and it hisses in protest as I drown the fire hazard in water.
"Shit," Stella finally mutters as she snaps back into reality. "Oh my God."
"It's okay," I say as I turn to face her. Her once blank face is now covered in shock as her wide eyes stare at the blackened egg in the sink. "You good?"
"Yeah," she sighs, but I know she's lying. Neither of us are good right now.
"You wanna go out for breakfast?" I ask with a laugh. I guess something else we have in common is that we can't cook for shit. We never needed to because Mama was one step below a master chief. Cooking was the one thing that she enjoyed doing. Which worked out perfectly because our favorite hobby was eating her creations.
"Yeah," she answers as her laughter fills the air as well.
Though she has no blood relation to Mama, I still see our mother in her. I see Mama in the way Stella laughs at inappropriate times. I see her in the dimple on Stella's cheek that only appears when she smiles. Isn't that crazy? Maybe biology doesn't mean a damn thing. We're her girls, of course, we are going to keep a part of her alive.
"Larry's?" I finally ask after a few seconds of silence. It was Mama's favorite diner. It's where we would go to celebrate any special occasion. It feels weird going through when we're sad, but it's something to do. It's something to make us feel closer to her.
"Yeah," she responds with a nod as I grab Mama's car keys. "Then maybe-uh" Stella stutters as I turn to face her.
"Hmm?" I question as I gently push her.
"Maybe then we can go through Mama's room? I'm only here a few more days and I don't want you to have to do it alone." Just the suggestion drains all of the color out of her face, but it's something we have to do. It'll make it a lot easier when I move out in a couple of weeks.
"Yeah," I agree with a curt nod. "But first, pancakes."
Breakfast passed by in a blur as neither of us ate much, but we tried to hold it together. That is until the owner walked up to us and gave us our meal for free. We both lost it after that, especially when he hugged us and told us how much he'd miss his favorite customer.
It's crazy to me how one person can be so many things. To Larry, she was his favorite customer. To her boss, she was his star employee. To her customers, she was the manager with a smiling face and great customer service. And to Stella and I, she was just Mama.
Now, she's nothing. Now, she's just rotting flesh in a cheap wooden box.
"Let's keep this one too," Stella says as she hands me another one of Mama's old plaid shirts. I throw it on the keep pile and roll my eyes as the mountain of clothes begins to topple over. She is going to have to bring a separate suitcase on the plane just for all of Mama's clothes. She's always been the more sentimental one, but this is a little extreme.
"Stell, are you sure you want all of these?" I ask cautiously. There are exactly three shirts and two pairs of jeans in the giveaway pile and we have gone through almost all of the clothes in Mama's closet.
"Don't you want to keep anything?" She asks as she grips another plaid shirt and tears well in her eyes.
"Yeah, I want those two hoodies I put to the side," I say as I point to my small pile in the corner. Those were the last two things she wore and I took them from the dirty laundry basket so they still smell like her. Maybe I'm crazy, but I don't need a ton of old shirts with weird stains and holes in them, I just want to be able to smell her sometimes. And those hoodies will be huge on me so they'll be cozy, like she's hugging me. Man, she gave the best hugs.
"I guess I'm going a little overboard," Stella laughs as she eyes her massive pile.
"Just a little," I agree with a laugh. "But if that's what you need, take them." Nobody knows what the fuck to do now. We sure as hell don't know how to cope with this so if she wants to keep every piece of clothing Mama owned to make herself feel better, then so be it.
"I just don't want anybody else wearing them," she admits with a shameful look in her eyes. "Is that horrible?"
"No," I whisper as I move to wrap my arms around her as a few tears fall from her eyes. "No, it's not horrible." Honestly, I didn't think about that. We are giving these clothes away to a charity. A charity that will give them to other people. People who aren't Mama will wear these clothes. "We could always just burn them," I suggest only half-jokingly as I let go of her.
"Bonfire?" She wiggles her eyebrows at the suggestion and we both lose it. Laughter fills the air as I double over and a few curls fall from the loose bun on top of my head. I don't know what part of our brains breaks at this moment, but neither of us can breathe, we just laugh.
Finally, we settled down after a few attempts. Every time one of us looks at the other, we burst into another fit of laughter. I mean, laughing is better than crying so I can't complain.
"Have we lost our minds?" Stella asks as she wipes away a few tears from the laughter fit.
"Did we ever have them?" I quip as I finally welcome oxygen back into my lungs. Now that the moment has passed, the same darkness looms over us, especially Stella.
"Fair enough," she shrugs as she turns her attention back to the closet. Most of the clothes that were hanging up are already in their designated piles so she opens the top drawer of the old wardrobe. She riffles around the drawer and tosses a few old nightgowns in the trash pile. I start folding a few items in the giveaway pile, but suddenly a shrill scream fills the air and I throw the shirt that was in my hands on the ground.
"What the fuck is it?" I ask as I stand up, ready to fight whatever intruder I'm sure just walked through the door. Instead of finding an axe murdered, I find Stella hoovering over the wardrobe literally gagging. "Stella, what's wrong?" I ask, again.
"I could've lived my whole life without seeing this," she groans, her voice full of disgust. She turns around to finally reveal a black lace lingerie set. She's holding it by two fingers and her arm is fully extended from her body as if this teddy is contaminated. Knowing Mama's preferred type of man, it very well could be.
"Damn, Mama," I laugh as I inspect the scrap of fabric. This is not an image I ever wanted in my head, but Stella's reaction is fucking hilarious.
"There's a....... rubber item in that drawer that I'm not fucking touching." She adds as she throws the teddy into the trash pile.
Now, I love my Mama, but I draw the fucking line at touching her.... toys.
"Yep, we're burning this wardrobe and we'll leave that in there," I nod in agreement.
"I'll try the second drawer, but if I see anything gross we're just burning the whole thing," Stella mutters as her face is still green.
"Agreed," I laugh as she opens the next drawer with her eyes scrunched and her whole body tensed as if she is expecting there to be a bomb in it.
"We're good, it's just socks," she breathes as relief washes over each of us. Who the fuck knew that the worst part of losing your mom would be finding her...... fun items.
"Oh, what's this?" Stella muses as she stops rummaging through the drawer.
"If it's another dildo, I'm out."
"No, it's paper," she says as she turns around holding a folded-up yet official-looking document.
"What the fuck would she keep in a sock drawer?"
"Oh, it's your birth certificate," she says as her blue eyes scan the document in her hands. "You'll need this Chris."
"Interesting place to keep it," I chuckle as I take the document from her hands. Don't most people keep their child's birth certificate in a fireproof lockbox or at the very least an official-looking folder? I mean come on Mama, the sock drawer, really?
"You know Mama, organized chaos," Stella adds as she goes back to digging through the drawer.
Finally, my eyes scan over the document. I don't think I've seen my birth certificate before, not that I've ever really needed to. If the school needed it, Mama would always drop it off or email them a copy. She never trusted me with any important documents. She said I would lose my head if it wasn't attached, and she was right.
I barely glance at the paper as I set it on the bed beside the pile of clothes. Shrugging, I pick up an old denim shirt and I begin folding it. Suddenly, a jolt of electricity courses through my body as my hands involuntarily shake with the denim still in my hands as I realize what I just read on that Goddamn paper.
That can't be right.
In utter shock, I pick up the old, wrinkled document and read over it one more time. This time, I let my eyes slowly drift across the page, reading carefully, hoping I just made a mistake earlier.
Nope, right there on this birth certificate is my father's name: Christopher Ray Townsend.
Who the fuck is Christopher Ray Townsend?
Mama said my dad's name was Kevin. She also said he died before I was born. Was that a lie too?
What the fuck is going on? This is just a sick joke, right?
Please, God, tell me this is a joke.
"Stell," I croak as all of the moisture has drained from my mouth. My hands shake so hard it rattles the document of betrayal still in them.
"Hmm?" She asks but she doesn't turn around to face me. She is still sorting through Mama's fucking socks while I realize my entire life was a lie.
"Stella," I say again, but with a little more intensity behind it.
"What is it?" She asks as she turns to face me, knowing by the tone of my voice that something is very wrong. Her blue eyes are wide and her lips are pressed in a thin line which is another thing she learned from Mama. That's how you know she's serious.
"She told me his name was Kevin," I whisper as I read the name on the birth certificate for the hundredth time.
"Who?" She asks, clearly confused by the situation.
"This doesn't say, Kevin."
"What doesn't say, Kevin?"
"Why doesn't it say Kevin?"
"Chrissy, who the hell is Kevin?" Stella yells. Her voice isn't full of anger, it's full of concern. In my state, this is probably the way she can get through to me.
"Nobody, I think," I whisper. I don't think I have the strength to speak in a normal voice. I mean, birth certificates are official ass documents, she wouldn't lie on this, right? I mean, why else would she keep this in her sock drawer?
"Chrissy, what the fuck is going on?"
Chrissy?
"She named me after him," I realize as my heart leaps into my throat. Oh my God, she lied to me. Kevin never existed. When I think back it makes sense, she never told me his last name or how he died. He was nothing more than a myth she used as a cover story.
"Who?" Stella asks again as she finally rips the document out of my hands and reads it herself.
"She told me my dad's name was Kevin," I finally verbalize, but the words come out weak like I'm afraid to speak them out loud.
"Oh shit," she says as her eyes widen with surprise.
"Why does that say, Christopher?" I ask, half expecting her to answer. I'll never get an answer to that question, though. When Mama died, she took that answer to the grave with her.
"Maybe Kevin was his middle name?"
"His full name is listed there, Christopher Ray Townsend."
"Maybe Kevin is a nickname for Christopher?" She tries again but her weak attempt falls on deaf ears. Of course, she is defending Mama, but it's clear as day she lied. She lied to me.
"Why would she lie?" I mutter as the reality of the situation crashes around me. This can't be happening.
Why, Mama?
Why did you name me after him but then keep me from him?
Why didn't you tell me sooner?
Why the hell is this happening now?
"I don't know," Stella admits as she wraps her arms around me. I don't take comfort in this hug, though. I can't feel anything as my mind is whirling with a million questions that will never be answered.
A million questions, but one is so prominent it screams at me. Who am I? If I don't even know who my father is, how do I know who I am? How do I know anything about myself?
"You want me to google him?" Stella asks and my head nods before she even finishes the sentence.
I need to know who he is.
I need to know who I am.
"Holy fuck," she curses as she scrolls through her phone. Adrenaline rushes through me and blood pumps through my ears so loudly I can't hear anything else as I yank the cell phone out of her hands to read the screen. She moves behind me to read over my shoulder, but I nearly drop the phone as I read the headline.
Vice president of outlaw biker gang, Christopher Townsend, under investigation for the murder of a city councilman
What the fucking hell?
My eyes follow the pages as I skim the article. This was almost ten years ago, maybe he's changed since then. Maybe he's not the vice present anymore.
I go back to the search screen, endlessly scrolling as I beg the screen to show me something I can use to prove he's a good person. He has to be a good person, right? Unfortauntely, I get my answer in the form of another headline.
Franklin's largest biker club supports community fundraiser under the new leadership of President Christopher Townsend
My heart is pounding in disbelief and confusion at this newfound information. Why, Mama? Is he a bad person?
Before I can question anymore of my mama's reasonings, Stella's voice catches my attention and the words rolling off her tongue makes my heart stop, "shit, if I was Mama I wouldn't want you around him either," she lets out a harsh chuckle with the shake of her head as her eyes continue scanning an article which details all of his past crimes.
"How can you say that?" My voice comes out soft, and timid, like I'm once again a small child.
"Come on, Chris, you can obviously see from this right here he's bad news. Mama made the right call." She states with a simple shrug of her shoulders as though the decision to hide who my father is is the same as deciding whether or not we should have ice cream before dinner.
"She didn't have to lie about it, though," I defend. Maybe he is bad news. Maybe Mama did make the right decision. But didn't I have a right to know? Didn't I deserve to hear this from her?
"I know, but she probably thought she'd have more time," she says as she squeezes my shoulder in support.
More time. God, what I would do for more time right now.
"Why do you think she did it?" I ask, trying to make sense of this senseless scenario.
Why, Mama?
God, I wish you could answer me right now.
"I don't know," she shrugs. "He probably hit her or something." No sympathy is found in her voice as she talks about the man who is definitely maybe my father.
"You think?" I ask as my throat constricts. Is this why she lied? Was she running from him? Did I remind her of him?
Oh God, this is why she didn't want me to ride a motorcycle. This is why she flipped out when I bought my bike. She didn't want me to accidentally run into him or his club. I guess I'm more like him than I even realized.
"I don't know, Chris, but I know Mama and she would never have done this if there was any other way," she says as she wipes away a single tear I had no idea escaped my eye. "She's gone now, but we have to trust her. She made the right call."
We have to trust her. How? How can I trust her when I don't know why she did it?
"Give me that phone," I say as I snatch the phone out of her hand and continue reading the many news articles written about him. He has charges for assault and battery and about a million more they couldn't make stick. Finally, my eyes land on his mug shot and it nearly takes my breath away. Is this my father? Is this his face? I stare at him as I try to find similarities in our features. Do we have the same nose? Are our eyes the same shade? Is he as stubborn as me? There are so many things I don't know. So many things I don't think I'll ever find out.
Is Stella right? Do I have to trust Mama?
I continue scrolling until I land on a business license. He owns a bar. A bar only 15 miles away from the apartment we are standing in right now. He's less than 20 minutes away from me. Has he been there the whole time?
"Chris," Stella says with a warning tone as she realizes what I am staring at on the screen.
"He owns a bar," I verbalize. "The Devil's Right Hand Saloon." That's the name of his biker club, so this is a biker bar, right? Can I just walk into a biker bar? It may be my only chance to see him.
"Chrissy, you can't go there," she says with panic underlining her voice.
"I know," I say, but I'm not convincing. Maybe I just need to see him. Maybe that will convince me not to open this can of worms. Maybe I'll discover that he's a horrible person and the question will be answered for me.
"Chrissy, he's a Goddamn gang leader!" She shrieks as she yanks her phone out of my hand and grips each of my biceps as she gently shakes me. "You cannot go to that bar."
I don't answer her, though. I don't know what the hell I need to do, but I know that I can't promise her that.
"Please, Chrissy, I can't lose you too," she says with a broken voice. "Promise me you won't go to that bar."
"I promise you won't lose me," I say as I wrap my arms around. She pulls me into one of her famous bear hugs as I look over her shoulder, staring at the blue piece of paper signed by the fucking state of Georgia. That single piece of paper just ruined my entire life. Or maybe, it saved it.