~~Prologue~~
I stared out of the car window at the bushes and trees as they flew by. The sky was bright and not a cloud dimmed the bright blue air. It was a perfect day to be out enjoying this summer, but where was I? Trapped in the back seat of a mini-van; the ceiling so close I had to slouch in order to keep my hair from looking like a bird's nest.
Not only was this whole vacation a drag, but what's worse? We had to return to Los Angeles just to go to a funeral. I was normally very solemn and understanding about death the reason comes later, but this funeral was for my Grandmother, the old, creepy lady everyone tried to avoid talking to at reunions You can't deny it: everyone has AT LEAST one of those… The word in the family and occasionally on Facebook was that she was crazy, believing in mythical beings and other worlds. She used to say that when she was my age she got caught up with being an adult and let all her beliefs go, and because of that her family died. She said when she met my grandfather he reminded her of a good friend she had named Caspian, and then it all came back or according to my parents, that's when what little remained left.
I must digress and mention I've always been caring when it comes to death. My best friend's father passed away last June, and it crushed her and her family. I spent the night for about a week straight before I felt as if I could go home and she would be okay, and I still think it was too soon. Death is a part of life wait…wha-, but it doesn't make it any easier. One needs to be surrounded by friends for it to be bearable, and even then it's hard.
What does one do, though, when a person who has no immediate family who cares about her dies? My father took the news with shock, but I wouldn't say grief. He knew she was getting old, but he felt as if death did her a favor. I didn't share these feelings at all, even if I myself wasn't too fond of my grandmother, but nothing could change my stubborn father's mind.
I knew my grandmother only slightly. We visited her on her birthday, the day my grandfather died, and every other major holiday (excluding Canadian Boxing Day [December 26th], Cinco de Mayo [May 5th], and National Yo-Yo Day [June 10th]). She always said I reminded her of her little sister, Lucy. She said when Lucy died (she was 16, almost 17 when she passed), that I looked exactly like her. I took this as a compliment, but it also kinda creeped me out. I wasn't too fond of being told I looked like a girl when she died…somewhat unsettling.
We presently arrived at the funeral home and met the rest of the relatives. The infamous Scrubbs, looking as repulsive as ever; the Pole family (how they even knew my grandmother I never found out); and even the Kirke family joined the Pevensies (my grandmother's family) and Hendersons (my grandfather's family) in coming out to give their last farewells.
I crept in and slipped into the back pew of the auditorium. I felt no desire to actually see my grandmother, as I knew I couldn't have stomached it. In order to explain why, I must take you back ten years to when I was seven:
"Chanalia!" My mother rushed to my aid, practically throwing the book she once held in her hands across the porch. "Are you okay?" She asked once she assumed she was in ear-shot.
I would have answered, but I was too busy dying at the moment. You see, I was riding my bike at the time, taking every precaution to not wreck while flying down the steep street. I was reaching the bottom when it happened: car came soaring over the top of the opposite hill, even catching some air. It slammed back to earth about a hundred yards in front of me and continued its trajectory— towards me. I tried to hurry and turn, but my inexperience rendered it useless. I began to teeter, the handle-bars shook vigorously, and finally I fell. In my good sense I tried to stop myself, but I was too late: my head smacked the concrete, and the car kept coming.
Three hours later I was in the operating room in the local LA hospital; I had brain damage. The doctors said it was minor and surgery would 'hopefully fix it', and considering for the past 10 years for the most part I haven't suffered worse than some pretty bad migraines, I suppose it did.
The girl in the car, however, faired far worse. She fought for her life for the next three days, but she lost. The doctors said she pretty much died in the car wreck. She jerked the wheel at the last minute, causing the car to roll twice. The car crashed into our neighbor's tree, sparing her from rolling more. The sudden stop sent her crashing through the driver's side window, and the result was she was paralyzed from the neck down. She had cuts on most of her body from the various metal and glass pieces she slammed into, crashed through, or rolled on, and the blood loss from the lacerations killed her.
In her defense, the police determined the car had a manufacturer defect and the gas petal stuck. She told police before she died that she had turned the vehicle off at the top of the hill, but the slope of the hill prevented her from slowing down in time. She told herself no matter what, she wouldn't take anyone's life, even if that meant taking her own, and that's just what she did. I had never met her, in fact to this day I can't tell you what she looks like, but I know her name: Crystal Dayne. I often regret never telling her 'thank you' for saving my life, and if in heaven I see her, the first thing I'll do is just that.
Three random things resulted from that day: (1) when I hit my head on the road I burst something in my left eye. I underwent some surgery, and they ended up having to replace my iris, so now I have one blue eye and one green, (2) also from my hitting my head, I have Synesthesia. Pretty much it means two of the senses are connected; in my case it means when I hear certain noises I see lights (kind of like the dots you see after a camera flash), (3) and now for the reason I didn't want to say goodbye to my grandmother: I was responsible for someone's death.
I can still remember it: the road, my clothes, and my hair were died crimson red. I wasn't sure if it was my blood or hers, and I didn't want to find out. When I came back from oblivion I felt overwhelming guilt. To this day whenever I hear that someone died in a car wreck I break down crying. I can't stand anything to do with car crashes, but it always seems they find their way to me.
So back to the funeral home, my sitting in the back pew, and the various family members (some repulsive and some non-) giving their last farewells. The various munchkins (my word for kids between the ages of 3-12) ran around, half of them my brothers and sisters, wreaking havoc on an unexpected populace. I sunk lower in my chair, aware of the embarrassment and also the growing feeling of a bad memory creeping up on me. This was going to be a long afternoon…
A.N.: So in closing, I don't want to say anything about the story, I just want to say I don't find anything funny in death in general, no matter how much I poke and prod at Susan's. I have had many family members pass, and the majority of those recently. So for you flamers out there who may have been getting ready to…flame? I know the pain and sorrow just as much as you do…