I caught myself again. Wishing that this was all just a bad dream. I knew that it wasn't, that this was real, but I did it anyway. It was like the hope that kept me alive . . . And I desperately needed to crush it.
Everyone was waiting for me. They all wore black, their faces held solemn expressions. Their heads were bowed and their roses frayed in the wind. It was just like a never-ending dream that I happened to be the star of.
Though I never looked away from the coffin, I could feel their stares pouring into my back. I felt like eventually everyone's eyes would see right through me and I would be gone, too. It didn't seem like such a horrible fate.
I watched silently as the plain steel box, a box that held the dearest thing to me, was lowered into the ground and then unceremoniously covered with dirt. As the hole was being filled, onlookers from the church sang.
When everything was done - the coffin underground, the songs over - they all turned to me, expecting a show they would never forget. I refused to give them one. I refused to be pitied. Calmly, I walked up to the mound of dirt that now marked my mother's final resting place and set a single black rose on top, then turned and walked back towards the limo.
I didn't feel like the long, lonely ride back so I just started running. I had no clue where I was going - I didn't have anywhere to go, but I couldn't stay here any longer or I myself would be consumed whole. It was all too much for me.
The cold air was harsh on my lungs and my shoes kept falling off. After so long, I just left them behind. The hem of my skirt was starting to unravel from brushing up against so many trees and my pantyhose looked like spider webs, rips branching out in random places. I didn't care.
I had been running for about forty minutes in no particular direction and eventually ended up at the edge of town. I looked around for something, for anything, and my gaze fell on the bridge.
The bridge was infamous for it's deaths. Many were accidental, kids who were just playing around and fell over and into the water a hundred feet below, others were on purpose. Suicides.
I walked over to it, clinging to the rusty steel like it was my last lifeline, the last thing keeping me here. And I realized, it was.
I stared at the water below, not really seeing it but all of the possibilities. Had this been how those few kids who had jumped felt, just before the end? Had they not been just desperate, but curious? The thoughts raced with confusion.
"Hey, what are you doing?" I vaguely heard a voice call from somewhere behind me. I turned around to see a boy about my age staring at me, his eyes seeming to not see me, but those possibilities, too. I turned back around, not knowing the answer myself. There was only one thing I knew for sure, without a doubt.
I was Austin Lynn Jakubs. Officially alone in the world.
"It's okay, just stay calm and don't move," the boy said slowly, his eyes noticing when my grip on the rail loosened. I was calm. Too calm, in fact.
I raised both hands to the bar, lifting myself up onto the top, where I could stand.
"Wait! Don't do anything!" the boy called, this time closer. His voice was high, paniced.
"It's okay, you can go now," I said softly. I didn't know why, but I felt like I should at least give the boy comfort that this was what I wanted.
"No, just stay where you are," he said again, this time right behind me. I knew that if I had any chance of jumping, I would have to do now. I didn't, though. Something held me back. Some part in the back of my mind that didn't want it to be over yet.
"Okay . . . " I heard just before I felt someone's arms snaked around my waist and being jerked back, onto the ground. The crashing waves were suddenly replaced with the cool, gray morning. I felt the his hot breath trinkle in my ear. "Okay, you're alright now," he said from underneath me. He still hadn't let go of my waist.
"No, I'm not," I said almost too softly for him to hear before finally breaking down and letting my tears fall. Everything came undone right then.
When I was little, my mother used to hold my while I cried. It was usually at night, when I couldn't hide from the fact that I missed my father, who had abandoned us.
She would walk in without a sound and I would suddenly feel her arms around me, her face buried in my hair. I would scoot over and she would set me on her lap, rocking us back and forth in the dark until I feel asleep.
For some reason, that was all I could think about as the boy held me while I cried. He didn't say anything, just let me scream into his chest as he rocked us slowly back and forth.
"It was an accident. A fucking car accident," I kept repeating. That was all that had been on my mind at the funeral. The only thing that I had thought about the night that I found out. She had swerved to miss a dog and died.
After what seemed like an eternity I stopped. I didn't feel any better, I just stopped. No more tears would fall. I didn't want to let go, though.
Here I was, crying in the arms of some stranger on the day of my mother's funeral. What was wrong with me? I felt like . . . laughing. So I did.
I laughed almost as much as I had cried, my face still buried into the crook of his neck. When I finally stopped I just sat there, not knowing what else to do. Not knowing what else I could do. Eventually, though, it had to end. I knew I couldn't sit here forever with this strange boy. It had to end, like everything else.
I slowly raised my head from it's place on his shoulder and looked at him, not caring that I was acting crazy.
"I-I'm sorry," I said, hiccupping. He didn't say anything, just stared at me with those deep brown eyes. They reminded me of my mother's, though her eyes had been sky blue. They held sorrow in them, just like hers. The pain of a thousand years.
He nodded, but didn't let go. I was thankful for that.
I'm not sure exactly what happened after that . . . The next thing I remember I was lying on someone else's bed in an unfamiliar room. There were quiet murmers from a room over that I could hear, though they were distorted through the walls.
I involuntarily let out a whimper. The dark . . . it seemed so cold to me.
"H-Hello?" I called out, my voice rough. The voices stopped and I heard footsteps walking until the door opened, light flooding into the room. I squinted my eyes, suddenly missing the dark.
"You're awake," the same voice from before, at the bridge, said, coming closer.
"Where am I-I?" I asked, my throat sore with thirst.
"You're at my house . . . You passed out and I brought you here," he said, staring intensely at me. I nodded, trying to think. I couldn't. The last thing I remembered was him saying it'd be okay. Which, it obviously was not.
"I-I … " Taking a deep breath I started again. "I don't have anywhere to go," I whispered, looking away and at the hall behind him. He nodded to himself again and turned around briskly, walking back into the hall and into what I assumed to be the next room.
The voices started again, ending abruptly just before he walked back in, his lips pursed.
"What happened? There's a police officer here - my mom called him - and he says that you were supposed to be with your grandfather … ?" he left the question open, raising his eyebrows at me. I sighed, running a hand through my knotty hair.
"My mother's funeral was today. I was supposed to ride back in the limo to the funeral home before meeting my grandfather. Instead, I ran and then you found me," I explained, tired of drawing this out. He stared at me with an unreadable expression before softening his eyes and stepping forward a bit.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, licking his lips nervously.
I didn't say anything. What could I say, anyways? That is was alright? That would flat out be a lie. I was sick of not being honest - I was sick of everything.