August 29th 2009, 1:20pm.

I smooth out my knee length black dress and run a hand through my neat ponytail. Today is the day of Francesca's funeral, and it's being held outside in the cemetery. I turn around and walk a little distance until I reach a church; I see my mom and Carol talking about something, with a few more friends and family gathering around. Everyone is dressed in black, and it's so sad to see them look so depressed.

Not too long after, the hearse pulls in. As more people begin sitting down on the chairs, I look up at the sky and stare at the dark grey clouds. I sure hope it doesn't rain, today is depressing enough without everybody getting soaked. They take the coffin out of the car, and my heart is instantly broken. It's a small white coffin, perfect fit for Francesca's petite body. It has white roses on it with a few sunflowers in between them; her favorite. My attention goes towards the priest who walks in front of the visitors. I've written a little speech for Francesca, and I'm waiting for it to be my turn to speak. I'm nervous, but I felt that this was the right thing to do. Mom said I didn't need to, but I wanted to.

"Carmella," the priest began, "had nothing but good things to say about her grandmother Francesca. She had a huge impact on her life, and she loved her grandmother very much. Carmella..."

The priest motioned for me to come up to the front, and so I did. I started walking slowly, and my legs wouldn't let me go any faster, they're already all shaken up. God forbid I fall. I take out my little speech cards and watch everyone look at me in dead silence. Well, now what?

"She wasn't my grandmother," is the first thing I said. Instantly I felt like an idiot, that's not even important right now. The priest just nods.

"Francesca Palovavick," I started my speech, "gave me the feeling of what it was like to have a grandmother when I didn't have one. She told me stories, shared her expe-" I started to choke up on this part, remembering the story she told me before she died. Almost a month later and I'm still contemplating if she was serious or just delusional, "experiences." I managed to continue. I pushed all the tears back with everything I had in me. Don't cry, stop crying, don't cry, not now. I kept telling myself.

"I was the only one in her hospital room before she, umm, yeah." I hated using those kinds of words, especially when I'm trying to express something important. Right now, I don't think "umm, yeah" will look really good on my profession with public speaking. "She was speaking to me. She looked really happy, until...until she d-died."

I wasn't good at writing speeches for funerals; it was my first time writing and saying one too. I finished off with the cliché "I miss you, we all will" then people clapped and I sat back down. At least I got that over with. I don't think I'll want to do that again.

After a little while of speeches and silences, I watched as they lowered Francesca's coffin into the ground. I heard sniffles, and even a few sobs. I jumped out of my seat along with some other people, and just watched. Watched the lowering machine lower the casket into the ground ten feet underneath my feet, watched as the dirt came raining down onto it, watched as they patched up the last set of dirt to go on top. And I cried. I cried and I couldn't stop.

Shortly after the ceremony ended, everyone is giving Carol and my mom their condolences. Some are leaving, and some are also placing flowers on the grave. I sat and watched on a little bench outside the church, when my mom came and sat down next to me and hugged me. I was probably going to cry again, but enough is enough and I didn't feel like using up more tissues and wiping my eyes and making them red, and I felt a headache brewing.

"You did great honey," she said. "Let's go home."

I just nodded. I really had nothing else to say. I picked up my little black clutch and waited for my mom to say goodbye to Carol and the others, until we went home.

♔

Without changing out of the clothes I wore at the funeral, I sat lying down on my bed, just thinking about Francesca. I closed my eyes and I started to flashback to when she was dying. All the stuff she's said to me still hurts. I don't know whether I should tell my mom or not, as she probably won't believe me, but I decided to give it a shot anyway.

I made my way downstairs and found my mom sitting on the couch in ordinarily comfortable clothes. She looks upset. Now's not the time. I turn around and make my way upstairs until she says, "Hey."

I spin around and say, "Hi." I feel awkward.

"Did you want to tell me something?"

"No," I lied. "I'm just going to take a shower now." But before I could make my way back up the stairs, she grabs my hand and sighs.

"Look, honey. It's up to you, but I think it would be a smart idea to tell me what Francesca told you before she died."

I feel my throat close up in nervousness. I knew she would probably want to know sooner or later.

"Mom...I think she was crazy," I say.

"And why would you think that?"

"Because she told me some stuff at the hospital that I don't even think I can comprehend."

She chuckles a little bit and says, "Sweetie, she was old. Maybe she just-"

"But even if you were there, you wouldn't believe some of the things that she said!" I blurted out.

She furrows her eyebrows a little and asks, "And what are those things?"

"Things about how she was a maid in Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch! Things about how she got fired because she was bribed into doing something out of someone else's selfishness! Things about how her life went down the drain after that! Drain," I shouted.

"Carmella, sweetheart calm down please," she said. "Look, I know you're upset, but I'm sure there was a good reason as to why Francesca didn't want you to know about that."

"Then why? Tell me why she kept this from me my entire life! She told me so many stories before but not this one? Why would she do this?" I went from sad to angry after half an hour of the funeral. This was just unbelievable to me.

"Carmella," she began sounding frustrated now.

But I don't let her finish. I stomped up the stairs and slammed my door. I don't know why I'm so angry about something that happened to a woman I'm not related to. I guess it's because I've known her my entire life, and she feels so much like family.

I rip my dress off, take my hair out of the uncomfortable ponytail and change into at-shirt and jeans. I sit on my bed and bang my head repeatedly on the window.Tears start to pour out of my eyes, and I'm now sad again. I can't say I blame Francesca or my mom at all, but rather the fact that if I could change history,if I was around when things were real difficult for Francesca, things would have been a lot different. I kept banging my head on the window until I fell asleep. Maybe things will be better tomorrow.

'