Nothing left to say / Rocks - Chapter three
Mom and I have been living in our new home for a total of five days, now, and this would be the first time I left the house in those days. It was the day of the funeral and I reluctantly pulled on formal clothes appropriate for this type of event. Mom looked like she was a rescue ship, not with the way she dressed, but with the aura around her like she was going to save some lives today. It was stupid for her to think that she could fix some people just because she had experience with things. I chose not to look at her the whole ride to the place wherever the ceremony was being held, but rather slept. And when I woke up it was raining, again, for the third time today. The woods smell was stronger than ever and the grass turned into mud. It was only sprinkling, but everyone had umbrellas out, some were black to match their attire while others were clear—but none were rainbow. We missed the wake, but made it just in time for the burial of Brady Jennings. Their burial grounds was not what I expected; fake grass that turned into mud, headstones that were shaped like angles and squares, flowers scattered all over the place from the wind blowing them away—it was a normal burial ground. Everyone was dressed in black with white tissues glued under their eyes, nobody was stupid enough to wear heels like me, so I was forced to stay on the cement to prevent sinking into the ground—I was the farthest person away from the ceremony, but that didn't bother me, I'd rather be far away from the anguish people were shedding off their bodies. It looked like Brady was a fairly popular guy; a dozen or so teens showed up around him and cried for him like it would bring him back. I spotted Sam, surrounded by some guys who showed up to help us move boxes and furniture into my house, their heads were bowed down and some held their hands in together as if praying for him, while some cried and looked for ways to escape. I watched Sam; he was watching the movements of a small boy surrounded by a mom and dad—a brother, maybe? So I focused my eyes on him, he was trembling—shaking, really-and his head was buried into the woman next to him, I could tell a part of him died with his brother. The two older couple next to him held hands and let their heads bow down. It was surreal. Being at a funeral of a kid I didn't even know yet knowing exactly what each person was feeling—I was in the boys place not too long ago, but I refused to let myself cry at dads funeral like I did at Nickolas'. I looked around for my mom and she went to introduce herself to the family that was breaking down, probably to console them, tell them her story of burying her own son and husband. I scoffed and looked towards the sky away from the mess forming in front of me. The rain was coming down a little harder now, and I didn't bring an umbrella or hood—just a black knee length dress and a black coat just a bit longer than my dress. Rain didn't bother me, it was the wind that blew it, but I stayed neutral and pulled my hood up to prevent my hair from becoming a wet towel. The chief of the reservation arrived and everyone seemed to just dissolve and get worse, I heard a scream of sorrow rip the throat of a female and someone rush off somewhere—I wasn't looking. I blinked a few times and turned my head to look back at the scene. Sam and the little boy were gone; the mother was almost in the mud from her body not being able to support herself anymore, mother and the man whom I guessed was the woman's husband or boyfriend held the woman up. My mouth dropped a little and I blinked away the sympathy tears that formed in my eyes.
I looked down at the grey cement road and thought of Nico's funeral—I was in the worst possible state of my life, along with Dominic. There was no body to have a wake for; they said he was torn to bits that it wouldn't even look like Nico. Fucking bomb had blown him away and shredded him like cheese. I cursed my family for pushing everyone to be a cop, or detective, or be in the military. I was a mess, my brain was no longer in function and all it was clouded by were tears and memories. I clung to Dominic like my life depended on it, and he clung back because he knew he would never see his twin again—no one would go to his meetings for him, no one would be able to fuck with mom about whose who, and no one would shoo away the clingy girls that wouldn't leave him alone after a one night stand. My eyes were slammed shut and I couldn't bare look at the empty casket they were lowering into the ground, or bare to look at the officer giving my father the folded American flag. The guns that shot into the air made me jump four times until I got used to it, I didn't care if it was a sunny day, a rainy day, Wednesday or Friday—all I cared about was beating myself up for a problem I couldn't fix. I smothered my face in Dominic's chest and I thought I was going to shove my head right through him, but he didn't care. A pain my chest overwhelmed me to the point where I passed out and woke up in the hospital. Julie was pissed off at me, called me an attention whore and yelled at me for taking Nico's last day and making it all about me when no one listened. Domo thanked me for doing something that made him leave—he couldn't stand being there any longer. I took it as everything being my fault and decided that my fainting was half of me dying. And when dad died the other half of me died, too, but I didn't need to faint for that to happen.
My hands were starting to twitch and I felt myself getting cold, and looking out at the funeral I could tell me being here was a waste of energy. I stood there fighting with my inner self, turning to walk away than turning back to the funeral—to support people I didn't know and relive so many memories, or leave and smoke a cigarette to blow out the emotions in my body. I finally decided and turned to walk down the crumbling road. My heels clicked as I walked down a road that I could see would eventually become a dirt path and I since I knew I could not go into the dirt road, I walked until the edge. I was far away from the depressing atmosphere and the screams and cries of pain; I leaned my head back and sighed. I reached into my bag that hung on my shoulder and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights and my lighter—it was a bad habit, and I knew it, but I didn't care. As soon as an old friend peer pressured me into smoking one after my brother passed away—which I was in a too vulnerable state to say no to-I was hooked. The way the nicotine made my chest feel like it was on fire and how I could release all my emotions with a blow of smoke made me feel empowered, like I beat death's burden it put on people's lives. Eventually, I got bored of just feeling smoke in my chest that I started smoking more to make myself sprint towards Death's grasp.
I held the cancer stick between my lips and brought the lighter up to my face, flicking the wheel down it clicked but the wind was blowing too hard for it to start a flame. Turning my back in the direction away from the wind, I held my hand up and flicked the wheel again. Finally, the flame stood straight up and ignited the start of my cigarette. I looked the flame and felt the muscles in my face relax, my body rolling off all the stress and emotions that I liked to think I rarely felt. I threw the lighter back in my bag and turned around towards the direction of the funeral. A body was walking towards me, but I could have cared less—I figured it was my mother sending someone out to get me so I could be near her. I sucked in the fumed from the smoke and held them into my chest until it burned, and then a little longer; I felt my lungs expand and resist against the unfamiliar gas. I finally blew out when I felt my head go light and I tilted my head back and watched the smoke mingle in the air and make shapes. I saw leaves falling from something, and soon my mind was tranced back to another funeral.
It was dads and I stood by his tombstone. The ceremonies and covering of his ground had ended and I was the only one left on the deserted land. Mom couldn't stand to be there anymore and she went home in a taxi, Domo and Julie were out in Iraq during that time and Alex couldn't catch a flight—Q didn't even know he died since no one could tell him since he ran away from our family when he was sixteen—automatically being disowned. I wasn't crying, I was already dead and dead people don't have tears when bad things are happening—only after the fact does water rush to their eyes. I just stood there and felt everything in me leave, like the wind could blow me away, but it really only blew my hair. Relatives left flowers outside his coffin, while I left my sunflowers inside with him, and the only thing I could think about is how they will rot with him and in some sick way it comforted me that there would be something there that would understand what he was going through, doing the same exact thing he was—but it wasn't like he was in his body anymore to feel it. His name was carved ever so elegantly with a long curvy B and H and a stupid "loving husband, father, and defender of crimes," I wanted to scream. If he was such a good "defender" he wouldn't have died and if I was such a good daughter I wouldn't have caused his death.
I pulled myself out of the memory and blinked my sight back. I felt my knees shaking and my mind warp itself around the memories floating through my body, but I tried my best to cover them up as the body—a man, I now noticed—came closer to me. My cigarette had burnt itself halfway out and I hurried to finish it, and on my last hit I held my breath and enjoyed the feeling of the burn. I threw the bud on the ground and squished it with my heel, "smoking kills," a smoky voice fell in whisper with the wind.
I snorted and automatically opened my mouth to ignite a fire, "thanks doctor Oz. I don't watch commercials or read the pack or listen to every fucking asshole on the planet who thinks that me knowing that little fact will stop me." Pain leaving my chest, anger filled it spot. Standing beside me was now the man and instantly I knew who he was—the guy who helped me move in, the one who questioned my music taste and offended me with my age. I pointed my finger at him and squished up my face as if trying to recall his name but couldn't. It seemed he didn't understand what the hell I was doing with my body, so I had to spell it out, "you helped my family move in…"
He nodded and looked around the forest, "yeah." We stood in silence for a beat, and it looked like he was battling something in his head. One side must have one, because he cleared his throat, "Paul… my name… is Paul." He furrowed his eyebrows and kicked himself internally; something weird was going on with him.
I forced a toothy smile, "Mati." I nodded my head and looked around, awkward hung heavy in the air. It seemed like neither of us were able to keep a conversation nor in the mood. He was peculiar, looking at him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders hunched forward—a position that I could tell was not normal for him—and his hands were in his black tuxedo pants—a feeling unusual to him by the way his hands fiddled in his pockets—I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes, if he was just going to stand there, I better be the man and say something. "Did you know him?" I turned my face to fully look at him, my eyes wide and clear, he turned to look away from me, into the woods like something else was going on or he was thinking about something deeply. The way his eyebrows furrowed the slightest and wrinkled on his forehead grew stronger and the way he bit inside his lip, I knew I hit something hard—or said something that made him think hard.
"Yeah," he paused and thought of things, or maybe he was forcing the words out of him—I couldn't tell. "He was like a brother to me, he was like a brother to all of the guys there," he threw his head back in the direction of the burial grounds. "He didn't deserve what happened to him, it wasn't even his fault," he must have said something he shouldn't have because he snapped his head in my eyes and widened his pupils.
"Oh," I rose my eyebrows, choosing to ignore the shocked look on his face. "The feeling goes away," I lied, "you know, the one where you blame things on yourself or the people around you. You learn that it was just life—or Death, rather." My lie tasted rather metallic and the hypocrisy oozed from my forehead.
He let out a humorous sigh and the left side of his mouth twitched up, "you're a shit liar."
"Oh, yeah?" I tilted my head to the side and pursed my lips in displeasure, "what do you know about lies?"
"Too much," he whispered and let the wind carry off to another place, he looked to the ground. We stayed in a comforting silence for a while and let the rumbling thunder in the distance hold our conversation. I enjoyed the fact neither of us were asking questions. "Your eyes give away your emotions," he said suddenly, making me turn my head to him and furrowed my eyebrows. "That's how I knew you lied, your eyes are… different." He looked like he had more to say, but he stopped himself short.
"What am I feeling now?" I asked—because I didn't know.
He darted his tongue out and wet his lips—he had great lips, I noticed. "You're sad," he didn't look away this time; he stared right into my eyes and waited for reaction.
I took some time to think about it, maybe I should have shrugged it off, or maybe I should have just said yeah and left it at that, but I'm too damn conceited and proud, "we're at a funeral, how else should I feel. Aren't you sad?"
He shook his head and smirked, as if he realized something about me—or him. "Yeah," he didn't seem to want to talk about his feeling anymore, because he abruptly changed the conversation—or ended it. "It's over; you should get home with your mom… and quit smoking." He turned around and started walking back to the funeral. I stood there for a while longer to prove a point that nobody tells me what to do, and enjoyed the music the wind was playing. I let my eyes wander around and peer into the forest—maybe it was magical, like a Sanctuary for fairies. God, that was stupid of me to think, and after a little chuckle at myself I walked back to the funeral. Mom was waiting for me by the grass and scolded me for walking away—she grounded me.
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