It had been two weeks since the Pigman's death and Lorraine and I had hardly spoken since. The situation seemed to affect her much more than it affected me, though Lorraine had always been paranoid about these kinds of things so I didn't know what to make of her actions. I, on the other hand, had decided that it was not worth my time to pursue an alcoholic lifestyle just like my old bore. I've been handling it pretty well these past couple of days, but sometimes when I come home from school, a nice drink is all that comes to mind. I didn't know why, but my psychologist says that kind of thing is common for people like me. After the death of Mr. Pignati, I'd begun seeing a psychologist to "cope with my problems" as the bore put it. I thought the idea was stupid at first, but then after a couple sessions, I really started to notice an improvement in my lifestyle.
In the few times Lorraine and I talked at the funeral, she explained to me how her mother had an outburst when she found out about the party and how she was in a lot of trouble. She started off by explaining to me how her mother never really understood her situation and that - in shorter terms - she finally expressed how she felt towards her mother. When she asked me how I felt, I was at a loss of words and just mentioned to her that I had stopped drinking. Though Lorraine seemed proud of me for my accomplishment, she still seemed to be looming over the Pigmans death. I can still remember the polished, wooden coffin, with its brass latches clamped shut, keeping us from seeing Mr. Pignati's lifeless face. I didn't want to tear up in front of Lorraine, though I could tell she was fighting tears back as well. It was all so overwhelming for the both of us and I had trouble grasping the idea that the man who had been more of a father than my own had passed away in an instant. Not even the abundance of fortune we inherited from Mr. Pignati could suppress my feelings of sorrow.
After the funeral, Lorraine wanted to head down to Tony's to grab a soda and talk about all the possible ways we could spend the money, but I declined the offer. I still had too many thoughts and emotions swirling around in my head, without a place or proper grip in my mind. When I reached the front of my house, I stopped outside the path leading up to the doorway. It seemed like the walkway just stretched on forever, like an endless passage leading up to the sanitation quarantine I called home. Though at that moment, I wasn't sure what home really was for me. Was it the place where I was raised but neglected to be nurtured? Or was it the place that made me feel cared for? The place that I could go almost everyday and feel safe, talking to people who actually cared about my well being. As began making my way down the path and into my house, I thought of all the pleasant times when Lorraine, Mr. Pignati, and I joked around and made each other laugh, and all the cool brain games Mr. Pignati had shown us. I realized that my life would never be the same without Mr. Pignati's presence to cheer it up. He had made me feel like I had purpose in this world, and I will never be able to repay him for his generosity. When I went to open the door to my house, just before walking in, I turned around.
"Thank you Mr. Pignati." I whispered, as if somehow, Mr. Pignati could hear me from the depths of heaven. I cracked the door open wide enough for me to slip through, not wanting the wind to blow a clutter of leaves through the opening. Then shut the door just was swiftly as I had opened it, with my derangement of thoughts now fitting snugly into place.