-Dedicated to @CourageFlavored for all the comments and support! <3 -
The town was still asleep. Dawn was just beginning to break. The faded light carefully reached through the window. I brought my fingers to the ray, hoping to feel a slight warmth. But I still felt a weary, cold, emptiness. Today is the funeral.
I pulled out the short black lace dress Mrs. Colwell , sew for us couple of years ago. Mrs Colwell is an old lady we befriended as tiny beings. She made one for me because i sat there one morning admiring an old photo of hers. For twelve years she always sew two of everything, for both of us; and she will not, again. I did not see myself wearing it to your funeral even in my darkest nightmares. But here i am tying a black ribbon bow knot, all by myself.
I woke up early to avoid the realness, the rush, all the eyes of sympathy reminding me "what a sad day it was for our small town". I opened my window and stepped on to the roof. I have done this plenty of times before. It was always to meet Fiona on our little adventures.
Today, it was to relive it all, before i bring myself to say goodbye. If i had used the main door, my mom would have woken up. She is always disturbed by the slightest sound. I wanted everyone to be asleep. I wanted to be alone.
I saw the sky slowly being painted in orange. A ray of sun came through the leaves of the big oak tree and made me narrow my eyes. I smiled.
"It is the way sun winks hi" I told Fiona once right here,and she had smiled at me with the new gap between her teeth, as she wiped tears off her adorable freckled cheeks, with her tiny palms. Her rich red curls were most beautiful during the orange hours of the day, I told this to her all my life. I brought my palm near upto my chest, and wrinkled the fabric of my dress, as if to lessen the sudden hollow inside the hollow, I felt within.
The big oak tree. I climbed the wooden planks to our tree house. We even had a pass-code to enter, even though it was just the two of us. I spent like an hour up here. Everything was here. Everything. From childhood to teenage obsessions we shared together.
Nothing out of the ordinary, Harry Potter, Wild thornberrys, Last Airbender, Lost, anime, anime, anime, Hannah Montana, Leornado Di Caprio, Hunger games, Josh Duhamel, Vampire Diaries even Shah Rukh Khan, i managed to spread the Indian fandom to her. We were more mainstream than we thought we were, i thought as I smiled. As much as I hated to be alive in this era, there were certain things I sure loved about this generation.
Posters, books, more posters, stickers, file covers, pencil cases, old school bags, photos, matching tshirts we printed, box of 80s highschool movies, 90s music. Old rom coms. My 70s and vintage obsessions didnt make it here. Obviously. This was us, together and for us..
Memories we left from different moments in our lives all around me. I feel her presence here in all these pieces of her. I found a painful comfort in it.
From the treehouse I could see Mrs. Colwell's house across the street. I hang on and slide down the rope with a tyre tied to its end. Exist from our domain. I put my legs through the tire and swung on it for awhile staring at Mrs. Colwells house while memories flooded in..
I could see the 4 year old Fiona with her red curls, and I at the doorstep at Mr and Mrs. Colwell's, holding cookies and colourful cupcakes on a tray and a bunch of yellow daisies. This was a weekly tradition. Mrs. Colwell would open the door and we'd run in. I could almost hear our laughter through time. My own vague, and lonely dimension of memory, no longer shared by anyone. Wed be the ones to eat most of it, along with Sally, the old couple's dog, as a "favour" to keep them away from diabetes. So we'd bring the flowers.
Mrs. Colwell was bright and cheerful. she'd tell us stories when shed babysit us at night sometimes, covered by the cozy blankets she had stitched, patches of tiny floral prints, almost matching the vintage wallpaper on the wall. Yellow flashlight she held, while the great storyteller spoke. We loved when it rained. We loved the fear of thunder.
My attention was caught by a breeze that blew my hair to my face. I stopped swinging and stood up on my feet. My black stockings saved me a shriek i thought, and i started a walk on the pavement following the breeze. The autumn wind dragged the orange leaves through the streets. Autumn. Fiona's season. I always associated autumn with her red hair and orange personality. I guess autumn will always remind me of her. The season she was born, the season she was, she season she died.
Nostalgic like ive been all day as i willfully drowned in flashbacks. We tattooed the town in something like forever, with our little mischief at age seven. Oh how glad I was that we did. I was at the brick towered, towns clock, touching the little hand prints on the cement slab there, when the church bell ding donged. Its time.
I am frozen. Like two cold hands rose from beneath the surface, rose from the dead to the sound of the church bell, and grabbed my feet. I cannot move.
A minute or two passed and I started towards the town's church. The cold autumn breeze flowing through my wavy black hair and silky black dress, added a nice touch of melancholy to how I already felt like my heart was collapsing piece by piece as I took each step. The orange maple leaves made me feel a touch of her presence, simultaneously it was like the cherry on top, on top of my shattering heart.
Its like I'm barely holding a door closed, as a million memories and sorrow pushing it trying to break out. It feels like the door is on the verge of breaking and everything will fall onto me, and those invisible hands will drag me down this time. Im not going to think about it.
I walked inside last. Just before the service. I walked down the aisle and i felt all eyes on me, like i was the bride they were waiting for. Except everything felt dead. Black instead of white. A coffin instead of a groom. Eyes of sorrow instead of smiles. Whispers of pity instead of compliments. I walked into my best friend's funeral. She is dead, she really is dead.
I sat on the third row. I couldn't face her parents it will be all too real. I avoided landing my eyes on blurry vision of two coffins that laid before us. I avoided the two frames. I focused on the podium and the podium only. A person sat next to me and held my hand. "Im so sorry darling" Its Mrs. Colwell. I recognized her voice. I looked down at the wrinkled soft hand that clutched mine with all its strength. I wanted to look up, look her in the eyes, and say something, but i couldn't. That was another form of confrontation. Somehow everything was.
I have come into terms with pretending its not really happening. Like this will all be over soon and I will wake up. I didnt know how else to go on. I avoided thinking about it. About what will never happen again. This was how i had the state of mind to attend it in the first place, to put on a calm presence, straight face, acting strong. "Courage" one might say. It was cowardice to me. I felt like i was hiding. Oh how glad I was the coffin was shut. I would have been hysterical if not.
I had refused to write an Eulogy. I just could not bring myself to. The very thought of me trying to express my feelings, made me feel like id be crushed into million pieces. Its the confrontation i've been trying to avoid. My memories and feelings had been locked up behind that door about to break. Someone is banging on it now. Im closing it shut, im pushing it shut. And to let it open, on purpose? And then to read it out loud? Im sorry Fiona i cannot.
I survived nearly 20 minutes of the church service till the priest quoted the bible. "Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned" –Romans 5:12-13. I could not sit there a second longer.I stood up, I saw my mom turning her head from the edge of my eye. I walked out.
I tried my best to lower my pace and not stomp away . I was squeezing my dress in hand, wrinkling it more. I was headed straight to the sunday's school playground.
I reached the back of building with bricked walls and I halted as I saw him seated on a bench before the mesh that marked the border of church land. My movement caught his attention. He looked up and gazed at me, blankly. A millisecond later I dragged my eyes from an eye lock to the tarred ground, and walked slowly towards the swings. I sat on an empty swing. The couple of swings Fiona and I played on every sunday.
The bench he was seated was on to my left. I let my shoes move back forth gently on the tared floor covered by wet maple leaves. There was a slight almost no rhythm on the swing that lasted a moment. We sat there silently. Lost in our own thoughts. There was comfort in that moment. A silence amidst chaos.
***
In the cemetery, only rain was missing to make the scene more melancholy. But clouds rolled in, the sky wasn't all bright. I couldnt stand the sad scent of the stupid flowers. Do these people even know her? Her favourites were Sundaze Blaze. It was after Mr. Colwell had picked one up somewhere and gifted it to her on her 6th birthday, which conveniently fell on a Sunday, that her obsession began. I shouldve brought one. Mr. Colwell would've if he had been alive. Even though I did not believe it to be true I liked to imagine Mr. Colwell welcoming her with a Sundaze Blaze themed celebration somewhere, as we moaned her in this graveyard, surrounded by this stupid smell.
Everyone's attention fixed on the two new mounds of dirt, while the priest continues reading eloquently from his bible, again. Cold wind runs through the back of my hair. The ladies hold onto their fancy black hats and the black silk fabrics trying to fly. If the nine year old Fiona and I were here, we'd say something superstitious like "that's the dead waving goodbye", except she is not here and this is her funeral.
I let my mind wander off with the wind, to escape it all. I wanted to find Fiona in my memories. Instead my eyes found the other pair that were drifting away. We had a moment of a gaze. He slightly, curled up one side of his lips into a smirk. Almost unnoticeable, wait. was that a smile, if so it was a sad one..I looked down at my old black shoes. Why do I keep doing that whenever I see him. Ugh. Like the stupid shy girl from a movie. I realized as I continued to stupidly gaze at my feet, Jordan's existence makes me feel not so alone in pain, by us being alone simultaneously. I wondered if he felt the same as I slowly removed my dumb gaze off my feet to look up. Next few moments answered my question as we wore an equal gaze fixed on each other. There was no sympathy in the way he looked. We felt the same. Both of us knew it. No words spoken. We just knew. A silent understanding amidst so much misunderstanding?
It was all over. The day i dreaded has finally ended. I had survived. No tears shed. No breakdowns. I felt guilty, afraid, incomplete and hollow. I had been staring at Fiona's chat I wanted tell her everything that happened today. Complain about how they got her the wrong flowers. Like that one time they confused it with Calendulas on her 13th surprise birthday party and I was furious complaining to Mr Colwell about how careless they were and that he should've been the one to bring the flowers.
I turned this way and the other, struggling to rest on my bed, couldn't. It's like I had unfinished business. Maybe I was afraid to close my eyes tonight. I sat down on my bed, and lowered the sheets i had prepared to sleep in. I was filled with a sudden urge to see Jordan. That very moment. And I knew where to find him.
For the second time today, i snuck out of the window,in my shorts and a black, old, baggy, 70's rock band t shirt. I wanted to find something that did not remind me of Fiona in anyway. But why am I leaving in shorts? I wouldn't have hesitated to leave in sweatpants as a shield against the autumn winds reminding "winter is coming". I stepped on to the roof, that moment I think I froze, I was frozen in time, in the cold and in the darkness.I heard that's how the dead felt. That's how Fiona felt. I wanted to in a way be there for her. And feel what she felt. Quite stupid, was desperately in need of a connection to her. Any connection. I shrieked as cold night wind reached my bare legs. Bad idea. I grabbed the blanket on my window sill and tucked it in backpack. I could hear insects from the trees beyond the backyard. I look up to see friendly sun replaced by the moon.
I rode my bike shivering in the cold wind. The sounds of nocturnal creatures grow louder and louder. Or maybe its my mind. I hope wherever she is there arent any insects. And then it struck me. She is probably being eaten by them right now, six feet below the surface, at St. Augustine's cemetery. Quite a dark thought for a girl cycling alone nearing midnight. What was I thinking.
I think I can hear an owl. Cursing myself. This was a bad idea, wearing shorts, and sneaking out in the middle of the night to see thug Jordan. Bad idea. Bad idea.I try to focus on the moon following me. "Moon is so lonely, it seeks a friend." I used to explain Fiona. I smile at the round object, reflecting light, far above earth. I am lonely.
I finally reached school. The moon awaits me. I could see a dark figure on the building. Through the street light. I can see cigarette smoke. I take the narrow stairs next to the building, that led me straight to the rooftop. Ive never been here before. The spot for the junkies. Who wouldve thought. He heard the steps on the metal but he refused to turn. He didn't care. Of Course he didn't. I think about changing my mind and going back home.
Instead I walk towards him. And sit next to him. Our feet dangling off the edge of the unguarded rooftop. I look up at the stars. It for a moment looked like a normal night. They created an illusion, like nothing has changed and everything was okay. Maybe up there it was. Down here everything was a mess. My heart, my life, my choice to come here. Further down, Fiona ...my thought was interrupted when he stretched his arm towards me with a lit cigarette inches away from my face. I am guessing he is offering me one. I think of refusing. Ive never smoked before. But i'm shivering. I look at him while I take my first cigarette, he is staring at the sky too. I wonder what he is thinking. . We speak no words. Just silence. I guess thats what I came here looking for. Im addicted to the comfort in our silence.
After twenty minutes had passed, I finally say, "I want to run away." He doesn't reply, or respond in anyway. I had not expected a response. We sat there smoking all night, staring at the starry night sky, lost in our silence. The moon wasn't lonely tonight. We were all lonely together.