"Iris! Iris, darling! You have to get up!" A woman squawked in a withered, scratchy voice that comes only with age.
Instead of rising, or at least replying, I buried my head under my pillow, hoping to drown out the distressing sound.
Before I had time to melt into my mattress, a pillow and all seven of my blankets were thrown to the ground. I had nothing to block away sound and sight anymore. My grandmother stood before me, her worn face covered in loose bags of skin. She was a bit on the chubby side with her round body draped in an ocean of black cloth which hung down to her ankles. Her expression was distorted into a mixture of agitation and frustration.
"Iris, it's been over a week," Gran cooed. Her hard features suddenly melted away, and she looked at me with understanding. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love. Everyone does. I loved your mother, too, and your father, of course. I'm old, so everyone I grew up with is either that or dead. It gets worse, sweetie, trust me."
I stared at her, wide eyed and pouting. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Knowing that I'm not the only one that's hurting? Because I know that. The kids in Africa are starving, blah, blah, blah. Or is the moral of the story that I should just feel bad for you and your dead friends? Or that I should just give up because everyone I care about is gunna die and leave me anyways if I don't leave them first? Help me out with this one," I hissed through clenched teeth.
Gran's head shot back, shocked to hear me speak for the first time since she had arrived. I'm super duper good at ignoring the elderly. "Iris!" She gaped as if I had committed some horrible sin.
"I don't care," I stated, holding my head up high. I wasn't entirely sure why I said this or what I was responding to- that is, if I was responding to anything at all. All I know is that it was entirely true. I just don't fudgin' care.
"Iris, I know you're in pain, but you need to get dressed. The funeral is in an hour! We're going to be late!" Gran ordered. She grabbed onto my arms as she spoke, then pulled me onto my wobbling legs. I hadn't gotten out of bed in two days. It would have been longer, but I was slightly opposed to the ideas of both diapers and bed pans.
I swayed from side to side, struggling to remain still. "I think I need to learn how to walk again," I muttered as I stared curiously at my feet, which were clad in holey, florescent orange socks.
"Stop making excuses and go take a shower!" She yelled.
"No."
Gran stood there for a minute, too shocked to speak. "No? No?!"
"No," I repeated slowly. It's a one syllable word. Not too difficult to understand.
"Fine. You can smell all day. Just put on some proper clothes!" Gran instructed.
"That's not what I meant," I corrected. "No, I am not going to the funeral."
Gran shook her head in disbelief. "You are being very disrespectful right now. You don't have to take a shower, or apologize, or want to come- or, heck, you don't even have to brush your hair! But you're coming." She raised a steady hand towards my face, and I'm not even going to lie, I flinched. I thought she was going to hit me, but instead, she held it there for a minute. Then, she rubbed my cheek softly before shutting the door behind her.
I sighed. I began rummaging through my closet, looking for something 'proper' to wear. I don't quite remember what color people are supposed to wear to funerals, so I took a stab in the dark and decided on lime green. I pulled the loose fitting dress over my head, then hugged my chest, feeling the warm wool against my skin. I decided it would look good with hot pink tights, so I put on a pair, removed my socks, and exited my bedroom.
My apartment was still spotted with cardboard boxes. Most of them were emptied then thrown into the trash (I don't know what the elderly have against recycling), but a few remained. Moth’s old couch was gone and replaced with another in better condition. Brand new, wooden picture frames lined every table and counter and were mounted on the walls. The abstract flower case I had given Moth for her birthday one year, the one with the quirky curves and polka dots was gone and replaced with one that was a boring brown. The yellow hand prints still remained on the walls, and I was honestly glad. After everything that was taken away, these still remained. I knew they would be painted over soon, but hopefully by then maybe I won’t care.
"Hey, it's Iris," I heard a gruff voice say as I entered.
My grandfather sat in his favorite black arm chair with his neck twisted around so he could smile at me. His white hair was practically gone, he was covered in wrinkles and weird spots, and he was an absolute twig.
"Hello," I greeted him soberly.
I hadn't noticed it before, but my grandmother was kneeling on the blue carpet, scrubbing it viciously. "Look at all these yellow stains! You practically destroyed this home," she scolded.
Gran slowly rose to her feet, gripping her back as she did so. "What’s that you're wearing? What on Earth is that?" She shook her head before looking at her silver watch. "Oh, darn. Look at the time. Hmm, well, I suppose we better get going."
Grand threw her sponge in the sink, then led Grandpa and I out the door. The elevator ride seemed horrendously long, which means it probably lasted a minute or two. After that awkward silence was over, we were rushed into an old, beat up, grey car that I couldn't identify if I tried. As I got in, I could have sworn I saw a dark haired boy watch from an apartment window.
Grandpa was humming along to the jazz music playing on the radio as he drove. Gran was sitting beside him, frantically fixing her hair. Then, she shot a glance at me and where I lay in the back seat.
"Oh, gosh! Gosh. Put your seat belt on, honey! You weren't raised by raccoons, now were you? Now were you? Iris, sweetie, were you?" Gran just kept on babbling on and on, until I had reached the breaking point. I put on the stupid seat belt with a groan.
"Your hair is a rightful mess. Absolutely horrid. No offense, dear," Gran said in an annoyingly sweet voice.
"Oh, c'mon. Leave Iris alone," Grandpa exhaled. “I’m sure she doesn’t even mind looking like a zombie, so why should we?” A zombie? I slept all day, and now I looked like a zombie, too? I was becoming Moth.
"I do! She's my granddaughter, and I think I deserve the right to calmly speak to her and just try to be honest!”
I simply rolled my eyes because I was too drained to start verbally attacking anyone this early in the morning.
She looked at me once again, this time with a genuine frown. "Oh, I'm sorry. I know this is a tough time for you and that it really isn't your fault you look like a zombie," she apologized. I honestly think she was trying to be sincere.
Then, the scream.
"Your shoes! Where are your shoes?"
"Aw, fudgesicle. I guess I forgot to put some on," I admitted. "But whatever! No one will even notice."
I watched as Gran clenched her jaw and Grandpa gave the slightest smile.
"I don't know how your mother managed. You are a handful, and that's a fact," Gran remarked.
"You're a fact," I retorted smugly.
"That doesn't even- ugh. Now, enough nonsense. I want this car turned around. Iris is not showing up at a funeral barefoot along with everything else!"
"Not happening," Grandpa argued. "I don't care if we forgot Iris' shoes or Iris herself, I am not driving all the way back. My bladder has a limit, and I need to use the church restroom as soon as possible."
My grandparents' shabby car pulled into a small, cramped parking lot littered with mini vans, trucks, and even a sports car. Show off. We circled around a few times before giving up and parking three blocks away.
"I am late to my own daughter in law's funeral. Not just a minute late, but twenty. So late, in fact, that I can't even find a parking lot. On top of it all, Iris is dressed as a highlighter and hasn't brushed her teeth in a week," Gran complained shamelessly.
It was December, just a few days away from Christmas, and I didn't even have a jacket on. My feet had felt numb for several minutes by this point and may just fall off at any moment. I winced as my feet stuck to the thin layer of ice every time I tried to lift them. This was going to be a long day.
Gran scurried into two tall, majestic wooden doors and Grandpa followed behind.
"I'm not going in that church," I told them.
"Aw, come on. They're not going to perform an exorcism on you today, I swear!" Gran reasoned... Sorta.
I am really, really close to punching a wall, I thought.
Grandpa sighed. "C'mon, Iris. Don't you want to say good-bye to your mom? What if I didn't show up to your funeral?"
"That's ridiculous. You're gunna die way before me," I remarked, but I entered anyways. Not because I wanted to, but because it was super duper cold outside and the idea of a joint funeral seemed really tacky.
"They're late. So rude," I heard someone whisper.
"Look at that girl! Does she think this is some sort of joke?"
"Who would invite them? Does Bai even know them?"
The mahogany aisles were almost all full of people, all wearing black and looking totally depressing. I peered around the room, observing the faces streaked in tears and mascara smears. I only recognized a few of these faces. Two aunts, an uncle, and three cousins. I barely even knew them. They hadn’t seen Moth in years. All of these people are crying over Moth as if they knew her better than anyone in the world. But they didn't. I was the only one that understood her. How many of these people could even say they loved her? This is all a display they're putting on. You get an invitation, you have to be part of the show.
I pushed my way through a row, trying to find a seat. "Move!" I hissed at a young woman who was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She shot me a look before scooting over.
The three of us took our seats in the back row. A grey haired man dressed in a suit was speaking from behind a podium, but I didn't catch a word he said. It didn't matter. I knew it was all boring and insincere. The man stood tall and sober in front of the altar, which consisted of a large, marble arch. On either side of it were beautiful portraits of saints in colorful robes and angels with silvery wings. On the two adjacent walls were two amazingly large and definitely pretty darn expensive stain glass windows. One was of Jesus, nailed to a wooden cross, the other of him as an infant sitting on his mother's lap of pale pink fabric. It must have taken so long to paint the minuscule glass chips and arrange them into solid pictures. The sunlight shined through them, brightening the colors.
"I'm going to the bathroom," Grandpa excused himself quietly, snapping me back to reality and reminding me that I wasn't at an art show. I was at my mother's funeral.
"Mhm, you do that." I was immediately shushed.
I looked over at Gran, who was silently crying. I'm sure it was forced. She just didn't want to be known as the insensitive one, just like everyone else.
Grandpa sat back down next to Gran after a few minutes, causing a slight commotion as he did. "So, when's your speech?" He immediately asked me.
“Huh?” I glared at him. What was he on about?
"Silly Iris! Don't you remember? Your speech!" Gran 'reminded' me.
"Have you two lost your marbles?" I sneered
"You said she agreed!" Grandpa directed towards Gran. "She doesn't even know what we're talking about."
"I told you that you had to say a speech. Remember?" Gran pressed as she placed a hand on my knee.
"I see. So, when we 'discussed' this, was I by any chance asleep?" I lifted the hand off of me.
"I don't see how that makes a difference."
I was beyond annoyance as I let my head fall into my lap. Now I had to talk about how much I loved Moth in front of a room full of people.
I'm not entirely sure how much later it was, but it certainly was later. The man at the podium said a few last words, and then I watched as Gran walked up towards him. Her black dress shoes had barely any heel, yet they still managed to click against the tile. It seemed like it was lifetimes later when she arrived at the altar and climbed up the two small steps. She adjusted the microphone to fit her small height then began to speak, finally breaking the ongoing silence.
"Bai Mai," she began in a strong, clear voice. I started to brace myself for the ooey gooey proclamation of love that was about to occur. "Bai Mai. Bai," she repeated, slightly less confident. "A mom. A sister. A friend. A woman. A human being. A daughter. A daughter in law. No! A daughter in law to me1”
I shook my head in disbelief. This was not happening. I stared wide eyed and terrified, waiting for the next batch of word vomit.
"Bai was such a nice person. Very pretty, too. She was a natural blonde. Her hair was more of a gold, actually. Totally gorgeous. I'd kill for it any day. But, hey, who wouldn't?!" She chuckled as she spoke with her hands.
I think I may have heard crickets.
Gran cleared her throat then spoke again. Not a smart move. "Bai was also nice. Did I already mention that? Yes? Well, good. Because I don't want you to forget. She always put herself second, sometimes even third. Now, that's a given. Why? Because you have to be to be a mom. Trust me, I'd know. I’m a giving mother, too. She always looked out for her daughter, and that is why I like her. Mom second, daughter first."
Gran scratched at her elbow before taking a bow. Some little kid in the front row even gave a wimpy clap of the hands.
"Thank you!" Gran beamed, then, rather awkwardly, pulled a slip of paper out of her purse after several failed attempts. "But I am not done. My husband has asked for me to say a few words for him. So, here they are."
I shot a look at Grandpa, who was frowning.
"Bai married my son. She was very... What does that say?" Gran paused, then squinted at the paper. "Honey, your D is backwards. Anyways, it says she was a very good cook. She made tasty apple pie and it was... Tasty. Once she patched up a hole in my slacks." Gran pursed her lips. "Your turn, Iris!" Then she limped off the stage.
"You wrote that?" I asked.
Grandpa sighed. His face was red. "Yes."
I gulped back my last fear, then approached the altar. This was my chance to get out every last thought. This was my chance to say everything I wanted to during this service. This was my chance to be heard.
I pushed my way through the crowd of people sitting in my row, stepped on several feet, then stumbled up the aisle. Suddenly, a pair of outstretched legs had me flying. I flopped onto the floor and I face planted with a loud bang.
"Get up!" I heard Gran hiss from the back.
I quickly bounced up onto my feet, brushed the dirt off my outfit, and wiped the blood from my nose. Then, I continued my duck footed march as if nothing had happened. And, according to the height of my chin, maybe nothing had.
I finally had reached the wooden podium. I tapped at the microphone, the result being static. That silenced both the giggles and whispers.
"So, uh, this lady you're all mourning over... She's my moth. Err- mom." The voices erupted around me once again, but I was determined to ignore them.
"I know Moth better than any of you. She doesn't want fake friends pretending to miss her. She doesn't want her body to sleep in the fanciest casket money can buy. She doesn't want her funeral to take place beside stained glass windows. She wants to live on. She doesn't want everyone to say good-bye because it's not over yet. She still has me. She can watch me, she can live through me in a way and I can live through her in another.
"Moth wants to be happy. That's why she did what she did. Once you're dead, there's no boundaries, no fears, no worries. Only happiness. So, um, stop crying over her because you know it's not for her. It's for you. You cry for my moth to improve your self-image and to label yourself as 'caring' and 'sensitive'. If I may say so myself, that's pretty fudged up."
I paused, observing all the disgusting, nameless faces surrounding me.
"H-how many?" I stuttered. "How many of you loved her? Not even the majority, I'm sure of that. Your lives grew apart from hers once she grew, too. You all forgot about her. You forgot that she cared about you and that she made you laugh. I never forgot her, even when she wouldn't get out of bed. I love Moth.
"If you loved her, too, you wouldn't take her away from me and destroy a family. You wouldn't bury her in dirt. You'd let her live on, even if her body grew cold, her skin fell off in flakes, or her bones became weak and melted into dust." My voice cracked.
"Moth wasn't a victim of death. She chose it because she wanted happiness. It's an escape in the form of perfection. She chose it because she knew she'd rather be a silent observer of live for all eternity than live... Than live... W-with me. But she was wrong. With me, she could do more than observe. She could interact, I guess, but minus the hardships of life. But you all took that away from her so you could see her in a coffin."
I peered down at my shoe-less feet. My face felt damp, but I'm not sure if the reason for that was blood or tears or sweat.
"So, what I guess I'm saying is that if everyone really loved Moth, you'd want her to be happy. Even when she's not here to thank you and fill your sick heart with pride, you should still aim to make sure she'll never be sad again.
"You don't love her. None of you. I don't even think I know what love is, or if it's even real. But I'm flinging the word around anyways because, right now, I'm assuming it does. If it didn't, I wouldn't feel so broken. Not for me, but for my moth and my puppet. Yet, you all claim you love her as well. But it doesn't seem like it. So, either none of us has ever loved, or you're all full of... Full of... Lies."
Silence reverberated off the tall, elegant walls and rang in my ears. The room was so large and open, yet I felt so trapped. Maybe everyone was quiet because they were letting the words soak in or because they were filled with thoughts of repenting. Maybe I had opened someone's eyes today, I thought. Just maybe I did.
"You twisted, demented, insensitive child!" A deep, strong voice condemned, and I could almost see the needle popping the still, emptiness of sound that existed just seconds before.
I lifted my head, slowly, and straight ahead was a man, standing in a sea of the sitting. He was tall and topped with curls of brown on his head and his chin. He was my uncle.
One more person rose. She was short with cropped strawberry blonde hair, and she was his husband, she was Moth's sister. "Now I understand," she castigated, her expression deadly. "You're the reason she did what she did."
One by one, just like that, everyone lifted themselves to their feet, like a wave of black that was determined to wash over me, drown me. The shouts danced around me, coming from every direction.
"Just leave!"
"You should be ashamed!"
"It should have been you!"
They just kept on slamming me, time after time, overlapping until I couldn't distinguish one sentence from another. I peered through the open spaces between arms and torsos and one leg and another. Gran and grandfather were still sitting in the back row. Their positions were upright and unnatural, their faces stern and unreadable. I wonder if they planned it, looking so identical and so out of place in the world.
I watched, my jaw almost hitting the floor, as a flash of brown spiraled towards me. My eyes shut and my body jumped backwards just a tad. However, the shoe only brushed my shoulder before hitting the floor. I picked it up, rubbing my fingers across the leather as the chaos continued untouched.
There was still good in the world. Someone had seen my barefoot feet, still stinging from the frozen sidewalk, and had decided to change that. "Thank you," I breathed as my face regained its pink pigment and a grin spread across my face. It didn't even matter that this single shoe was so smelly and ugly.
Hold your moose... Why only one shoe?
Almost on cue, other objects were being plummeted at my body. Crumpled paper and mismatched mittens and empty baby bottles. Darn. I should have seen that one coming a mile away.
I kicked the podium, most likely giving myself a pretty solid bruise, then sprinted off. I pushed my way through the crowd, then ran out the doors and into the streets. My feet slid across ice, a few horns honked, but I continued until I had reached the other side.
My head leaned across the rust colored bricks of a café, and my body slid to the sidewalk. I gripped my head and shut my eyes, hoping to make the nausea go away. I felt like I may pass into unconsciousness and never wake up again.
This was a new feeling I wasn't familiar with- hopelessness. Absolute unhappiness. I was in an infinite tunnel, with a nonexistent light at the end. It wasn't out of reach, it was out of reality. Yet, I knew this feeling. It was like déjà vu.
I wrapped my arms around my legs, trying to warm my shivering flesh, bitten and scarred by cold. I held back the sobs, hid them in my throat, but they were a barrier, blocking out all air.
A glass door opened, and a teenage boy with a small layer of yellow hair stepped out. His face was round and child like. He was wearing a spotless green apron, and he just stared at me for a minute, but I immediately looked away. Finally, he spoke, so I didn't have to listen to my attempts of gaining oxygen any longer.
"Come in."
I didn't want to enter the stupid café, but I was still afraid I'd freeze to death or something. So, I marched in and collapsed onto a red booth in the emptiest area of all.
"Want something to eat?" He asked.
"N-no," I choked.
"What about to drink?"
"Leave me alone!" I snapped.
"It seems like you need someone to talk to," the boy observed.
"Not you. I hate you!"
He chuckled, his face turning a deep red. "You don't even know me! God, you must be really pissed at someone."
I scowled at the baby faced fool. "If you don't shut up, I'll get someone to piss on you, too!" I shouted.
The boy's eyes shot around the room, seeing the audience we now had. "Wait, what?" He questioned, bewildered.
"What?" I repeated, confused myself at his confusion.
He shook his head, also shaking away his puzzled expression as well. "I'm getting you something to drink. Don't worry, it's on me. Just pick something. Anything."
I thought for a minute, before realizing that a floral scented napkin wrapped around a glass shimmering like diamonds filled with bubbling cream soda and perfectly cubed, equally sized ice and a pink bendy straw with a paper flamingo could really cheer me up right now. So, that's what I told him.
"Uh, we don't have that," he admitted.
I was motionless for several seconds. "O-oh. Th-that-" I began before I started crying hysterically and my body began to shake.
"I-I'm sorry! But maybe I can get you a glass of water and pour some cream into it?" He quickly offered, as his hands began shooting around, looking for some way to help.
I swallowed a sob and wiped away the last of my tears. "Sparkling water?"
"Sorry. Tap."
And then more tears.
Golly, so this is what it's like to be so emotional.
"Does anyone have any sparkling water with them at the moment?" The boy yelled frantically at the other customers. They all ignored him of course, though.
"I guess tap is fine," I bargained between weeps, not wanting to be a burden or anything like that.
The boy ran off immediately, and then arrived moments later baring a clear, plastic cup filled to the brim with water. He set it on the table, then waited.
I pulled the cup to my chapped lips with two shaking hands. I tilted it slightly, just enough for the water to gently press itself to my mouth and then pile down my throat, chilling the flames within. "Thanks," I breathed once my lips separated from the half empty glass.
"You're not wearing shoes," he said. "Did you know that?"
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll light you on fire!” I warned.
Then, a woman with chocolate skin and shiny, caramel hair spotted with colorful barrettes and wearing a white sweater walked up, looking like an ice cream sundae. She tapped the baby faced boy on the shoulder, then pulled him over towards a coffee maker.
They both threw frowns at me, then the boy headed back in my direction. "Um, hi," he greeted, awkwardly.
"How do you do?"
"Oh, fine. I'm fine. Fine. But my boss wants you to leave and stuff, so... Sorry. Apparently you've already scared off several customers with heavy wallets."
I shrugged. It wasn't like it was the first time I've gotten kicked out of a café. "Sure. I'll probably just see if there's any rose bushes I can sit in."
"Will I see you and your frost bitten toes again?" The boy beamed at me. Why must the world always feel the need to point out naked feet?
"No," I stated, and then waltzed over to a table with a grey haired man. I plucked the cup of iced tea from his hand, then chucked it over at Ms. Ice Cream Sundae.
However, her clothes didn’t dampen and her hair wasn’t darkened or dripping. Her shape suddenly melted away, and an assortment of colors splashed together, and then onto the floor. I looked down at the chipped, brown tiles, and, sitting above them, was a fancy little glass bowl. Inside of it was a single, small scoop of vanilla ice cream, topped with hot fudge, caramel, and sprinkles.
I picked up the ice cream and began shoveling it into my mouth, stopping only to let out the occasional fit of giggles.
"Hey, look, the girl who likes pink flamingo bendy straws is actually laughing! It's a miracle!" The baby faced boy teased.
I stuck my tongue out of him as I grabbed my plastic cup off the small, round table, and threw its contents at the unexpecting boy. Just like the girl, he sloshed to the floor in the form of liquid color. I lifted the pink faced baby doll off the ground, then rocked it back and forth as I carried it and my dessert out the door. I smiled as I listened to the harmony of infuriated screams. Now I began by search for a rose bush to sit in, so I could bury myself and my new friends in its branches.
I was a few blocks away and about to settle for a surprisingly large tree when I heard a familiar voice call my name.
Once its sound became louder, more pronounced, it also became more unsure.
I spun around to find myself staring at Grandpa.
"You're smiling. You can't be Iris," he concluded as he began to back away, hands up in surrender.
What I had just been through could lighten any mood. I set the empty bowl onto the sidewalk, then placed the head of the baby doll inside.
"You're right. I'm her clone," I shrilled, skipping over to him.
"The good one, I see." Grandpa held out his bony arm, and then we walked to the car together, arms linked and beaming.