I knew leaving my mom's funeral would probably be the dumbest and most selfish decision of my life but in the moment it felt like the only thing to do.
"My dad is going to kill me."
Leah sighs, "Just blame it on me," she says rolling over to face me, "he's gotta understand."
"Somehow I doubt it."
Leah and I have been hanging out in my room for over an hour now watching Friends in silence. I am thankful she isn't prying me for conversation but rather allowing me to just sit in my feelings. I know my dad and Jake are going to be back soon, accompanied by all the people...and I don't know how I am going to face them. This day has gone from bad to worse from the moment I opened my eyes. From the moment my dad asked me to wear this stupid dress. My fingers run along the length of black lace that covers my body. The black lace that is bound tightly across my chest restricting my breath, dresses are not something I am fond of... but it would make her happy he said, because that's what she always wanted he said-- me in a dress. I suddenly feel like there's a million ants crawling along my skin, biting me, eating away at my flesh. I need to take this off, I sit up and reach for the zipper but it won't budge. My fingers cramp as they pull and tug at the stupid fabric. The delicate lace lethal in its binding.
"I really need to take this stupid thing off."
"I think it's pretty—" She shrugs, but stops as I glare at her.
I writhe around bumping my elbow into the wall and knocking the alarm clock off my nightstand. Sweat beads along the side of my face and drips down my back. My skin is so itchy I'm suffocating and I just want it off...I need it off...because I can't breathe and I can't move and if I don't get it off right now I might, I might, "Leah help me!"
"Hey, hey, calm down its okay" Leah says rising from my bed.
"Get it off of me, get it off now, please!"
"I'm trying, but it's stuck—" she says pausing, "one sec I'll be right back," then disappears.
"LEAH!"
Shallow breaths squeeze my ribcage. Will I be stuck like this forever...will the dress and I become one...will I—
"Here," she says, and runs toward me holding a pair of scissors.
"Woah, are you serious?"
"It's the only way if you really want it off, and if you hate it so much does it really matter?"
"No it doesn't matter, do what you have to do."
The scissors rip and pull through the lace with an unpleasant crunching sound and it makes my stomach turn, but within moments I feel the fabric give and the front of the dress slacks away from my chest. I grab it with vengeance and pull it from my body just as hear a car door shut out front.
Leah walks over to my window pulling back my curtain, "Their here."
"Great."
"Take your time, get dressed I'll distract," she gives me her most mischievous grin and I couldn't be more thankful in this moment that she is here.
Chatter fills the house, the smell of food wafts up the stairs making my mouth water, but not in a good way. My stomach keeps dipping in and out, one minute hollow the next explosive. I pull a hoodie from my closet and put on black leggings, I stop to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror deciding to throw my hair into a ponytail. If I am going to do this, I am going to do this feeling like myself.
The kitchen is full of guests from the funeral, I spot my dad in the far corner unwrapping platters of meat and cheese. I meekly make my through the crowd hoping to further avoid him but he sees me and waves me over. And I am once again on display.
Eyes bore into my flesh, prying so invasively they might actually be able to see my heart thundering behind my chest. A few hands rub my back as I pass, I keep my head down I don't want to make eye contact with anyone's sympathy.
I walk up next to my dad silently and reach for the platter he's just finished unwrapping. Our shoulders brush. I can't bring myself to look at him, and it seems he can't look at me either.
"Dad..."
"We'll talk about it later okay? We have guests, and...your brother, he...well he could use his big sister right now."
Hot liquid burns from the pit of my stomach into my throat, and I look frantically for Jake, he's sitting in the far corner of the family room alone, staring off into space.
The distance seems daunting, so many people to pass through, too many eyes and hands....but for him I'll do it. Head down I forge my way, "Katy..." a random hand reaches for mine...I keep walking, "Oh my sweet dear,"...the words tumble into me, "she's having a really hard time,"...it gets harder and harder to put one foot in front of the other, "poor thing..." just keep going, just keep going, keep going, keep going... finally I make it to him. When he sees me he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and tugs the string so tight I can barely see his face anymore, but I can see his eyes. His eyes that are red, his eyes that hold so much disappointment for me.
"Jake, I'm sorry."
"mmhmm"
"Please, look at me," but he turns away, "don't do that, of all people you should know, you know how much this sucks, how hard—"
"How hard?" he hisses from under his breath, "how hard was it for you when you just took off and left me there? Was it hard when you missed them lowering her casket into the ground?" His head shakes back and forth, "I'll never forget that sound..." a tear falls down his cheek, "I've been hugged by so many people today I want to rip my skin off."
My hand reaches for his arm and he flinches, "I'm sorry, I...I just couldn't Jake...I just...I'm so sorry," my voice shakes with fear.
"You just left Katy, you left us, you left me."
"I know, and I didn't want to leave you but, I couldn't breathe Jake, I couldn't even look at it."
"I couldn't either, but I didn't leave, I said goodbye."
The words goodbye taunt me. Words that mean so much and so little, words I didn't get to say while she was alive so what difference did it make now that she was gone?
I nod, accept that he won't look at me, won't speak to me, but I don't move. I'm not leaving him. I won't leave him again. I sit on the floor next to his feet pulling my knees to my chest. The uneasiness in my body flutters anxiously and I don't know how I am going to make it through the next hour. How I can possibly endure the torture of whatever this is, how am I supposed to talk to these people who will tell me their sorry for my loss and only ask me questions about things I don't want to talk about. I stare out at them, stuffing their faces, drinking my dad's alcohol, and it all feels so wrong. This isn't how it's supposed to be, how it should be. She's supposed to be here. It's a rainy Saturday afternoon, she should be here snuggled up in her favorite chair reading her book. Instead some woman I don't know sits there, she picks up the moss green blanket like its garbage and tosses it into the basket on the floor. Something inside of me begins to unravel. Everyone is touching her things, moving her things, picking up pictures, staring into our life, placing them down in the wrong spot. Stop touching her stuff.
I watch in slow motion as the woman in the chair reaches for the book on the end table, her book...the one she was reading...the last book she ever read. She flips it over then opens it to the bookmarked page, she smiles and runs her finger along the homemade pink and blue Mother's day gift... the one my mom used to save her page since I was in the fourth grade. Small puffs of air escape my mouth as my nostrils beg the air around me for more but there isn't enough oxygen in this room because there are too many people...too many people...too many. I just want everyone to leave...leave...please just leave...the more I look around the more I see my memory being tainted and I can't breathe. I can't breathe and now I can't see because there are tears.
"Katy?"
Jakes voice sounds muffled, like he's talking underwater...or maybe I am underwater, I am dizzy and I am angry and I am...walking.
Walking toward the lady in the chair, my hands reach for the book and rip it from her, her eyes stare at me in shock and I stare at her behind a fog of blurriness. My cheeks heat beneath the flame of my blood rushing, rushing fast in my head in my body in my heart.
"This is her book!" I yell, breathing heavily.
The lady gasps.
"Her book, her blanket, her chair!" I spin around, staring wildly at everyone. My head shakes back and forth as the fury bubbles up and breaks free, the unraveling unraveled, the chink in my armor fully shattered and exposed.
"Everyone stop, stop touching her things, just stop!"...I pick up her blanket, squeeze it tightly to my chest, "stop staring...." I choke on sobs that pour uncontrollably, "stop—"
"Katy, Katy sweetie," I feel my dad's hands around my shoulders, but I've disappeared, and I can't get back. My body trembles beneath his arms and I crumble into the pieces I've been so desperately trying to hold together all day.
My dad walks me to the couch and wraps me in my mother's blanket, he leans down and kisses my forehead. My body shivers violently, I let it take over...I didn't try to stop it this time and it opened something, a gateway, a portal, a weakness. I hear him quietly asking the guests to leave, no one dares look at me now. Instead they avert their eyes as they pass me by, afraid of the girl who might turn on them.
Jake pulls his hood back, I hear his breath exhale loudly almost in frustration. Then gets up from his chair and scoots in next to me on the couch. I adjust the blanket so that it covers him too.
"You know, if you wanted my attention that bad all you had to do was say..." he says lightly nudging me.
I try to smile but I'm too exhausted, "I tried..." I say, barely audible.
"I know, I'm sorry too."
I rest my head on his shoulder and he doesn't flinch instead his head leans into mine, thirteen-years-old and he towers over me.
Moments pass before Leah comes into the room, "Got room for one more?"
"Always," I lift the blanket and she scoots in on the other side of me, and rests her head on my other shoulder.
We sit for a while until Leah breaks the silence, "Well," she clears her throat, "you really know how to clear a room..."
I feel Jakes arm smack her from behind my head.
"Sorry, that was rude," she corrects herself, "but are you okay?"
"Yeah," I whisper, "just really tired."
And I know they're just trying to make me laugh, to make light of the situation. Trying to act like what just happened is no big deal. That I didn't just completely lose my mind in front of everyone, but I know there was nothing okay about what just happened, that what I felt was controlling and uncontrollable, unhinged and freeing, high and low and absolutely terrifying.
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