It was the first day on record of it raining in July. The sky was dark and grey, the air was wet and hot, and rain poured down in sheets. It was also the day I had to watch my second half get put into the ground.
A row of chairs was set up, but everyone huddled under the safety of their umbrellas, far away from the mud, even Momma and Dad. I sat alone in the front, mud up to my knees, water soaking every pore of my body, the top of my black dress shoved up between my breasts and my chest, the bottom stuck to my thighs, skin tight, and most of all, my eyes were red and puffy, my nose running, my face more crunched up. I'm sure my wails could be heard through the rain, but no one came to me, no one rested a hand on my shoulder, told me it was okay, and gave me hug. It was the mud, it scared them.
The priest talked and talked, but all anyone heard was the rain and my wails. I was on the verge of hyperventilation and when it was over, I could hardly breathe. The edges were fuzzy, and finally workers came to move the chairs, I was the last one to leave. I was still wailing when they came, a man in white walked over.
"I'm sorry miss." He didn't have to tell me. I stood and walked, walked until my feet were raw, walked until my legs cramped up, walked until I couldn't breathe. All through the town, I walked and wailed, people stared, I couldn't see them, I felt them, and every place reminded me of her, every time I stopped and stared and wailed louder.
I found myself in front of her house, small and cosy. Light yellow stucco, white window seal, grey shudders, one car garage, and one story. Two bedrooms, hers in the front, thick white curtains, and her parent's are in the back. Living room, kitchen, dining room on the right, four doors on the left, her room, bathroom, coat closet, parent's room, front door, back door, both in the middle, sliding glass in the back, single white in front, and a screen door with a sun design. Garage off the kitchen, in ground pool out back, Momma's perfect garden, tomatoes, lettuce, watermelon, strawberries, grape vines, orange tree, and the cat that lived there when they moved in ten years ago.
I stood in the walkway, perfectly cut grass on either side, purple azalea bushes line the front of the house, a single willow tree on the right, two aspen's on the left. The crunch of tires got closer; their white Lexus pulls into the garage. Sullen Dad gets out of the driver's seat, crying Momma from shotgun. Dad goes in, Momma stops and stares at me, me staring at the house, her bedroom window, wailing, on my knees. She stands in the rain, her dress starts to stick, her hair starts to drip water, and she whimpers her name over and over, "Lydia, Lydia, Lydia, why? Lydia, please god, why? My baby, Lydia, Lydia…" She stares at me until she begins to yell, "What did she do? She was innocent! She was so young! Why my baby? Why? She never did anything wrong!" She still stares, and my wails begin to blend with her words.
Abruptly she turns and leaves. Front door open, front door closed, her screams bleed through the walls, hours seem to pass, the rain stops, the sun sets behind the dark clouds. Pinks and greens and greys run through the sky until it's just midnight blue and the moon peaks through the angry clouds.
Front door open, Momma emerges, silky black nightgown, bare feet, long wavy caramel hair falls around her face, down her back, so beautiful, face of soft wrinkles, glasses perched on a pert nose, blanket in one hand. She wraps it around me, lifts me from my knees, inside the house, inside the bathroom, peels my clothing off, into the already filled bathtub, water so warm, so welcoming. My wails bounce off the walls, ring in my ears, in Momma's ears.
Her hands in my thick black hair, the smell of her shampoo in my hair, warm water, conditioner, a brush, out of the tub, into a towel, a wet French braid down my back, one of her nightgowns tight against my skin, soft and silky, into her bed, a bed I've slept in so many times it has my smell along with hers stuck to the blankets, sheets, pillows, the mattress. Soft lips on my cheek, and a warm good night, then darkness, the door clicks shut.
Sleep comes fast, tired from so much crying, the sun peaks around the edges of the curtain, bathes the room in a soft yellow, comes through my eyelids a red, for a second I forget who I am, where I am, what is happening, but I remember, the mud, the rain, my wails, Momma's screaming, a warm bath, Lydia is dead.
I don't cry I don't feel anything, happiness, sadness, hurt, nothing, absolutely nothing. The alarm goes off, seven o'clock. Volunteer work at the animal shelter at eight, together, we cleaned dog kennels, fed the rabbits, changed their newspaper, cleaned their litter boxes, fed them and gave them water, washed hundreds of metal dog food bowls, stuffed hundred of smelly blankets, towels, chew toys into an industrial sized washer, wet clean stuff in the dryer, folded and sorted them all, hundreds and hundreds of blankets and towels.
I don't move, I don't turn it off, I let it ring and ring and ring until it turns off by itself. Scratching at the door, her cat, the one that came with the house, who loved her so much it cried when she didn't come home two days ago. The door opens, Momma lets him in, bed dips, he slips under the blanket, soft and warm crawling up my body, curls up next to my stomach, soft and warm and he purrs happy.
Momma stays in the doorway, staring at me, opens her mouth to talk, closes it, sighs, opens it and finally speaks, "Your mom called last night. I told her you're safe." She didn't say fine, I'm not fine, she's not fine, she wants to say more, but the door closes and all I hear is footsteps into the kitchen, fridge opens, hip bangs against the door, containers clank against each other, milk carton is set on the counter, fridge closes. His soft purrs, his nails dig into my side, sharp, painful, cupboard opens, bowl clanks on the counter, cupboard shuts on its own, wood against wood. Cereal in the bowl, milk next, the top clicks off, seconds later back on, fridge open, hip, clank of containers, milk safe inside, fridge closes, drawer open, spoon scraped against another, drawer shuts. I sigh, it feels normal, its normal sounds, but missing everything.
I'm not awaken with tickles on my side, giggles as she ducks under the covers, bites me, and comes back up, smiling, giggling, so happy, always so happy, dimples so deep I could stick my finger in them, eyes lit up, like emeralds, round, big, full of life, a round nose scrunched in a funny face, mouth wide, full lips stretched, voted best smile, waves and waves of strawberry blonde, falling around her shoulders, too long bangs hiding her eyes.
Wrestling match until we fall to the ground with a thud, fingers travel, up nightgowns, handfuls of hair, black or strawberry, mouths connect, sparks travel from tongue to tongue, soft moans, and then an interrupting knock on the door. Untangle long legs, mine fair, perfectly smooth skin, not a blemish, not a spot, hers milky white, freckled here and there, light brown, hardly noticeable.
A single tear escapes my eye, trails down the side of my face, into my ear, into my hair. Alternative, wet kisses on my stomach, nightgown pushed up, or left off, never put on, bare skin, I wake moaning, pushing thighs together, kisses stop, green eyes meet mine, that smile, and by the time she's done with me I fall back to sleep exhausted.
Momma has work, Dad was work, I have work, Momma eats, Dad showers, I lay in her bed crying with no sound, silently, mourning. Days pass, mourning, silently crying, walking and walking, wailing at certain places, my Mom calls Momma every day, every day, kneeling in the walkway, no more rain, just heat, blazing heat, a mother pulls out a plastic pool, her three toddlers splash around, giggling, mother stares at me collapsed in the walkway, wailing, she knows, she doesn't complain, Momma bathes me, lays me in her bed, days and days.
My mom comes, early morning, the cat lays curled next to me on her bed, purring, nails in my side. She sets the car keys on the dining table, takes a seat. Momma offers coffee, she accepts, coffee maker gurgles, spewing coffee into a pot, the smell of hazelnut wafers into her room, into my nostrils, my stomach growls, I lay crying. They don't talk Momma and Mom, Dad showers for work, cupboard opens, two mugs clink on the counter, and cupboard shuts, wood against wood. Coffee splashes, "Here you are," Momma, "Thank you," Mom, more silence.
"I'm sorry." Mom sips her coffee, black, no cream, no sugar, bitter hazelnut, always likes that, bitter, like her life story, dead Momma, no dad, foster home after foster home, sexually abused, rape child, me, only fifteen, bitter, very bitter.
Momma sighs, sips her coffee, half cream, half coffee, no sugar, so very creamy. She thinks for a long time, I get out of bed, open door, close door, stand in front of it, staring, crying, Momma and Mom look. Mom with her young face hardened, Momma with her beautifully aged face, soft, warm hazel eyes connect with mine.
I don't move, Mom looks away, doesn't like crying, doesn't tolerate it, forbids it, Momma gives me a sad smile, motions to come over, sit on her large lap, it's warm, Mom opens her mouth to talk, "Allison, I think it's time you came home. You've been here for ten days, it's over life has to go on. Your boss keeps calling me, you have to go back and keep volunteering." She doesn't care. I dig my fingers into Momma's soft sides, it's over it's over, what is over? Soft fingers unbraid my hair, curls of black around my shoulders, soft fingers through my hair, twirling fingers, wrapping curls, then release, making it more curled, so soothing.
"Not yet, you haven't been here, you haven't seen…" Momma pleads with her, I return to her room, under her blanket, with the cat, he digs his nails in me, purrs, wails, through the walls, bleeding down the walls, into every pore, the cat cries too, no more purrs, her scent is fading, no longer sticking to the walls, pillows, blankets, sheets, mattress, cat, carpet, desk, chair, bean bag, air, slowly it fades.
"She is my daughter! Not yours! Your daughter is dead!" Mom yells, I hear through my wails, it only makes them louder. Door opens, Mom stands furious, staring with hard eyes, she doesn't care, "Allison get up, you don't live here, this is not your house, Lydia is dead, you are no longer to come here, and that is final." She really doesn't care, she pulls the covers off, pulls me off the bed, I fall to the ground with a thud, I don't care, I wail louder and louder, the cat crawls on top of me, clings, nails dug into my skin, cries with me.
"I think that maybe you're overreacting a bit. Her best friend, her girlfriend, lover, just died. Why must you be so unsympathetic?" Momma stands in the doorway, sad, unwilling to give up.
"Thank you, but this is my daughter, if you don't like my parenting then you can just go fuck yourself." Momma gasps, takes a step back at Mom's language, she stands over me, tall, beautiful, hard, bitter, brown hair short, dark eyes hard. My eyes close, too tired to be open, wails turn to hyperventilation, I can't breathe, edges turn blurry, and like that everything turns black. Aware but asleep, in-between, falling, scared, I can't move, but I'm aware, I feel my hands, try to move them, try to stay awake, I'm terrified, what happens if I let go? Just let myself fall? I'm too scared though, but it's too strong and I fall, but I don't find out what happens, because I'm no longer aware.
Lydia wakes me up with kisses, but it's not really, she's not alive anymore, I'm going crazy, but it's like she's here, kissing me, and she's happy, her emerald eyes sparkle, her dimples are showing, but I know it's not really her. The room is dark, the cat is curled next to me, purring, nails in me, and it's so quiet. But I hear her giggles, nibbles at me, laughing, but really it's only silence. Alarm reads two in the morning and I fall again, scared, trying to move my arm, I see but my eyes are closed, my arm moves across me, like a ghost, but it doesn't really, it doesn't move at all, and I fall.
August is here, Mom never comes back, she doesn't call, Momma bathes me every night, after I come home, wailing, walking aimlessly, collapsed in the walkway. Mother across the street starts to get mad, she talks to Momma, I sit at the dining table, picking at a plate of peach slices, cut up, tiny, Momma fed me, but she was in the doorway, the mother angrily talking. "You just have to understand." Momma tells everyone who complains, and when the door closes she wails, she acts strong, but she cries with me, stops going to work, gets fired, argues with Dad, he who is strong, works overtime everyday, and Momma sits feeding me like a baby while she cries.
School starts; Momma dresses me up pretty, puts make-up on me, does my hair in a fancy braid, drives me to school, and leaves me on the front steps all alone. I want to cry, but I don't, I walk to the office, ask for my schedule, no smile, no expression, blank tone, I don't have the energy to try. People rush over to talk to me, to comfort me, but they really didn't know, only Momma, Dad, Mom, only they knew that we were in love, familiar faces all day come up to me, no names as far as I know, I don't care to remember, familiar teachers, Momma is right out side, waiting, drives home, and the wailing starts again.
Weeks, people stop trying, lonely lunches, locked in the bathroom, wailing, biting rolls of fresh toilet paper rolls, fifth and sixth period, mascara running down my cheeks, Momma stops putting make-up on me, just dresses me, does my hair, drives me to school. Janitor starts to complain about the toilet paper, so I lay in the field, face down, screaming into the grass, ripping it out in fistfuls. They complain so I leave and never come back.
I walk and walk, in a yellow sundress, white salt water's, black hair curly around my face, down my back. Wailing, my feet began to bleed, day turned to night, and I was still at the funeral, watching the casket get put into the ground, but it was mine. No one sat at the chairs, it was raining, but it was rainy season, March, and Momma wailed, Mom put on her face, Dad stopped talking, the cat cried, clawing the bed, but my scent began to fade, no longer in the walls, the chair, the mattress, pillows, sheets, blankets. The cat died, of cancer, of old age, but life went on.