Disclaimer: I don't own the OC, but I DO own the girl in my story.
The rain isn't coming down like I thought it would. I kind of thought that all funerals were supposed to be dark and rainy, like how all of the people feel now that this person is gone. Well, my dad is gone and I feel like it should be raining. In all of those TV shows, they throw on a blue filter and pour buckets of rain on the actors for every fricking funeral scene. But not in real life. In real life it's 85 degrees and sunny. Damn that California sunshine. My mom is crying so hard it looks like someone's been smacking her around. She would smack me upside the back of the head if she knew I thought that. A whack on the head is pretty much her stand-by for misbehavior. Dad would always stick up for me and say "'Resa, she's just 15 and testing her boundaries. At least she's not burning down houses and stealing cars." Then, my mom would give this little sigh of compliance and would shake her head more out of humor than annoyance. I guess my head will be sore a lot more often now. If there's one upside, I finally see the woman in the box. She still looks the same as she does in his pictures, even if she is older. I think I might ask her her name. I'll plead ignorance of course to the fact that I recognize her. I'll just say she's one of the only people that doesn't look familiar and I wanted to ask her how she knows my dad. I won't tell her about how I found a box of photos of her under my dad's bed when I was 11 and I won't tell he that the edges of practically every picture were falling off from being held too often and I won't tell her that I found my dad with one of those pictures the day I came home from school early and that he was leaned against the wall with his head in his hands and I won't tell her how he smacked the ground with his fist and when he lifted his head that he had angry tears running down his face. I won't tell her, because no one but me knows that. Not even he ever knew. I snuck out before he saw me. Well, I guess he probably knows now. As far as I've been told death makes you kind of omnipotent. And I won't tell her any of these things, because I don't really want her to know about my family and if I did, then maybe she'd tell me about her and Dad and how much they loved each other and I really don't want that. I mean it was kind of obvious that my parents weren't really madly in love with each other, at least not on Dad's end, but to find out that he spent their whole marriage in love with some other woman would be too much. Or maybe I have some half-sibling running around, from having an affair with this woman. Skank. I wish. It would be a lot easier if she was just some woman, but I saw those photos. They were in love. In love, like my dad couldn't even manage to fake with my mom. I know that, but I don't want to hear it. Especially now that he's gone. Hopefully that whole romanticizing years past thing will set in and I'll be able to think of my parents being totally happy together and will barely even remember that goddamn box of photos and that would be awfully difficult if I had a heart to heart with the woman he would have rather been with for my whole life. No, I don't think I want to know her name.
"Marissa, would you like to say a few words?" That pastor person has finished his part I guess. I'm not sure I want to talk to all of these people.
"It's Mary." My mom says. She always gets really tweaked when people use my full name, so Dad only called me Marissa when Mom wasn't there. I can never figure out why she dislikes it so much. I always loved my name and so did my dad.