saturday, november 22nd

Faye's funeral was tomorrow. Devan's was the day after.

My mom said I didn't have to go if I didn't feel up to it. If I was too submerged under the ocean of grief awash over me. Not her words; mine. The water was cold, impersonal, uncomfortable. The waves caressed my hair, slowly and gently pulling me under.

I still wanted to go, though. Even though just the thought of seeing their coffins, trying hard not to picture them in them...it made me nauseated. But I had to go. They were my best friends. I didn't even get to say goodbye. The least I could do was show up to their funerals.

And then a pang rattled my chest and a sob crept up my windpipe and lodged itself in my throat. Losing someone that close to you really gives you a sense of how precious time is, how easily it can slip through your fingers. I wasn't trying to be all forty-year-old-man-filled-with-regret-about-how-little-time-he- spent-with-the-people-he-loved. I was serious.

None of us knew the car crash was going to happen; we were just three teenagers hanging out in the safety of my home. Could people tell when bad things were going to happen to them? Did other people have some sort of gut feeling that I didn't have, some sort of tickle in your stomach that told you, Oh, this is not going to be a good day. Waking up that morning didn't feel any different to me than waking up every single morning before that. I couldn't possibly know that that was the day my life was going to change forever.

I stayed in my room the whole day, a very productive way to spend a Saturday. My parents didn't bother me or check up on me, and I appreciated that. They'd been too sympathetic, too comforting, too there these past few days. It wasn't normal for us. I kind of wished they'd go back to being the distant parents that were always on business trips instead of the hovering kind, always there to console and comfort at a moment's notice. It would make things seem like they'd go back to normal, which was all I wanted. Normal. A time before Faye and Devan's death, before all the craziness with school. Normal. What a simple, beautiful word.

I watched a few mind-numbing shows on TV, none of which appealed to me. One was some doctor show about a woman who had to undergo surgery that might kill her, and her saying goodbye to her children and telling them to pursue their dreams and such. Another was an old Disney Channel show that I hadn't watched since I was, like, eight. Then there was one of those shows that I would never understand where two people walked around a house marveling at the interior design. Every show was bland. I tried eating, but everything tasted bland. Everything was bland, dull, gray. Dismal. Miserable. Everything was miserable. I was miserable.

________

My eyelids were still awfully heavy as I pried them open the next morning. I'd slept in my clothes from yesterday, and my hair was an impenetrable bundle of curls, all stuck together, hanging off my head. Droplets of sunlight dripped through the cracks in my blinds. My limbs creaked in protest as I shifted into a sitting position and slid off my bed to roll up the blinds. When I did, the entire flood of sunshine the blinds had been holding back escaped, washing me with impossibly bright rays. I backed up out of the line of blazing light.

It must've been one of those rare November days where the sky was spitting sunlight, flinging it down unto the world, putting people in the mood to get outside, mow their lawn, run around, smell the air, give them a reason to live. That made me hate it even more. Why would the sky plop such a beautiful day upon the earth the day I was going to my best friend's funeral?

I tried to shake off the rest of the tired that clung to me as I trudged over to the closet door where a dress was hung inside of a plastic garment bag. I pulled the zipper down, revealing a knee-length black dress with a halter neckline. It was pretty simple-looking, the only embellishment being the lace on the neckline. Mom probably bought it for me for the funeral. Rubbing my eyes, trying to chase away the tired, I stepped into the bathroom to slip on my dress.

________

I wrinkled my nose as I studied myself in the full-length mirror in my parents' room. It was the only room in the house with a mirror where you could see your whole self. The dress itself was pretty-looking, I guess, but I didn't like seeing myself in it. I looked awkward. I rarely wore dresses, and formal events like school concerts were always a constant squabble with my mom, back-and-forth banter such as:

"You have to wear a dress, honey."

"No Mom, I don't want to!"

"Well you have to, honey, all the girls will be wearing dresses."

"I don't care."

"Don't you want to look pretty like them?"

"No."

"Come on, London, sweetie, don't be a pain."

"I don't want to have to sit with my knees crossed!"

I wrinkled my nose with distaste, looking in the mirror. The fabric was itchy, I looked like a ghost with my pale skin, and it was too loose at my hips and chest. Yes, this attire was definitely made for a girl with wide hips and breasts, none of which I possessed. Faye was always the dress-wearing kind. I could even picture what she'd say to me if she saw me wearing this. "No. You look ridiculous. Go change into some jeans and a sweatshirt or something." I could even hear her voice.

________

It was cold in the church. Really cold. My arms were speckled with goosebumps and I was trying hard not to make a scene of shivering. I cradled my mustard sweater in my arms for protection. I wished I could put it on, but I was afraid people would look at me funny, a yellow speck in a sea of black.

There were a ton of people here, most of which I recognized. Family members, friends, teachers, neighbors, the whole bunch. Lindsay, blinking too much for it not to signify tears. Bella, her head bent in silent prayer. We were all quiet. Too quiet. You could hear the stiffness of the air within the space.

I tried hard not to glance at the closed casket only a few pews ahead of me, surrounded by a forest of flowers. Instead, I tried to glance anywhere else; the floor, the seats in front of me, the intricate stained-glass windows lining the walls. Anywhere but the casket. Tried not to picture Faye inside of the box, still, lifeless. Because if I did, I'd either start bawling or puke, none of which I could do under the public eye.

I zoned out as the priest stepped up and started a speech about how she was a good person, how she had been died too, too young, how she would've lived a great life. How she'd be missed. All I thought about was how I'd have to face all this tomorrow at Devan's funeral, only with new faces. His parents. His teachers. His friends and neighbors. And I'd have to go through all this again, the trying hard not to cry, the avoiding looking at the casket.

And then it was over. The muffled sobs of Mrs. Maslow brought me back to reality. People were getting up now, getting ready to leave, giving rounds of hugs. Handkerchiefs flashed all around me as people daubed at their eyes, "I'm sorry for your loss"s rang out in the air, along with "She was a good person"s and "I didn't really know her that well"s. I could see Faye's mom, sitting in the front pew, her body shaking with each sob, head in her hands. She was being consoled by family members, I guessed.

Faye's dad left when she was three. I didn't think he showed up today. I didn't think he even knew his only daughter was dead.

________

None of us said anything during the walk out of the church and into the car. None of us spoke on the ride home. And my parents and I were silent as we exited the car and went our separate ways once we were inside.

I tried to ease my mind some by reading, but I was obviously distracted. My eyes skimmed over each word on the page, one part of my brain registering that yes, these were words, these were sentences, but the other part somewhere far, far away.

I tried to concentrate hard on each sentence, breathing it in like I usually did. But I ended up reading the same sentence over and over again, dumbly, no comprehension of the sentence flowing to my brain.

I shut the book in exasperation. If I couldn't get any reading done, I might as well do something else. My first order of business was to change out of my dress.

Once that was taken care of and I was safely tucked into a pair of well-worn, dirt-flecked olive-green jeans and a plain black tee, I decided what to do next. I was too restless to do something like sit down and read a book, and I had nothing to do with all my spare energy. Most people would suggest going out for a run or playing soccer in the yard, but I would grimace. I was pretty much allergic to exercise; I was the kid that faked push-ups in gym class and would turn my bike around if there was an uphill. At this point, I was actually considering going out for a run around the block. Times like these bring out the worst in people.

But then an image of Mrs. Maslow in the front pew, shaking with sobs, flashed in my mind, and I knew what I had to do.

________

Five minutes later and I was currently rummaging through my fridge, finding something I could take over to Faye's house. It was impolite, my mother always told me, to show up at someone else's house uninvited without any kind of food or baked goods to give them. But this was going to be hard. Faye's mom was a hardcore vegan and was always on diets to be thin as a toothpick, so finding something that would meet those criteria would be nearly impossible. My internal debates went a little something like this:

A plate of lasagna? / Um, no. Meat and cheese, stupid.

Hm. Leftover tuna casserole? / Tuna casseroles have TUNA, you idiot.

Oh, how about this spaghetti? / (Sighing) With parmesan cheese, no less.

Ice cream sandwiches? / MILK.

Um...how about this coffee cake? / Excuse me, exactly how many calories do you think those have?

In the end, I decided the safest decision would be nothing short of an apple. Just an apple. Organic Honeycrisp, completely vegan and devoid of any harmful substances like trans fat or sodium.

After washing the apple and peeling the sticker off, I clomped upstairs in my Converse All-Stars to let my parents know where I was headed. They were probably in the bedroom, watching TV or something. When I arrived at the top of the stairs, I was greeted with a closed bedroom door.

And voices. Worried ones.

Well? Has it started? Mom's muffled voice sounded through the door.

I don't know, the voice of my dad responded, sounding frustrated. He won't say anything. He's mad, I can tell. He doesn't want to do this.

Well, he'd better not screw this up, answered the brusque voice of my mother.

A pause emerged, giving me time to wonder what they could mean. Who was this "he" they were talking about? What didn't he want to do? What shouldn't he screw up? And what had assumedly started?

Those words were familiar. The words inside my head. The voice in my dream. It's started already. I'm sorry. Arrow's voice. Arrow. Was he, whoever he was, tied into all of this somehow?

I knew I should throw open the door and ask my parents what exactly they were talking about. But instead, I used all my willpower to turn away from the door, softly creep down the stairs and slide out the front door, still gripping the apple with a burning passion.

Wait. I needed something else. Slipping back inside, I grabbed the soft heap of mustard yellow crumpled on the couch, slipped it on, and made my way out of the house.

________

It's started again. I'm sorry. I trampled the pavement under my feet as I made my way to Mrs. Maslow's house, still clutching the Honeycrisp apple. My mind kept repeating those words, turning them over and over in my brain. Mashing them up. Making them do somersaults.

It's started again. I'm sorry. I turned the corner on Ridge Street, reminding myself to put one foot in front of the other. To keep walking, keep walking, don't stop walking...

Right foot, left foot.

It's started again.

Right foot. Left.

I'm sorry.

Right. Left. Right...

It's started again. I'm sorry.

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore my heart whamming against my chest as my brain furiously repeated the words, rolled them over and over inside my head. I blew out my breath and looked down, trying to focus on my shoes, my feet walking at a faster tempo down the road.

Right left right left right...

I'm sorry...it's started again...

Rightleftrightleftrightleftright...

Again...it's started...I'm sorry.

Then I was standing at Mrs. Maslow's doorstep, still holding an apple, my heartbeat gradually slowing down. Barely registering this, it took me a moment to remember what I was here for. Once I'd calmed down, taken a shaky breath, calmed down some more, I raised my finger to the doorbell and gently pushed.

Was I ready to face the familiarity of Faye's house? The place my former best friend had grown up, where I, too, had spent most of my time? To see Faye's room, probably empty and every trace of her lost, swept from existence? As if she'd never been there in the first place?

Footsteps, clearly sandaled, approached the door. Well, I guessed I had to be ready now. The door swung open.

Mrs. Maslow had lost her usual glow; her vibrant black hair had faded and dulled, her slimness was now gauntness, the bags under her eyes not hidden by her usual makeup. Her eyes were red and puffy as if they had let loose a lot of tears, which they probably had. "London?" Her voice came out as a croak.

Opening my mouth, devoid of words, I tried to explain the apple. But she wasn't looking at me. Her pale grey eyes, identical to Faye's, were fixed on my sweater.

"Faye knitted that for you," she commented, a sob leaking into her voice.

I nodded, my eyes slowly soaking with tears themselves.

"Faye was always really bad at knitting," she said, before bursting into tears. I nodded, feeling my cheeks turn wet, and she ushered me inside. 

✽   ✽   ✽

"It's started again. I'm sorry." What could that mean?

What were London's parents talking about behind their closed bedroom door? More importantly, who were they talking about? 

Could this have any connection with the strange things that were happening in the previous chapters?

I'll update soon, once chapters 7-9 are finished and edited. Remember to vote on this chapter! :))) 

XOXO ~brooklynrose~