The scent of fresh flowers was intoxicating, making it almost impossible to breathe as I sit in the last row of the funeral home with my head down, my hands resting in my lap. It’s hard to focus on the words the pastor is saying because I am so unfocused right now. I slowly force myself to look up at the pastor, he’s standing in front of the oak-colored casket, his fingers entwined, resting on top of the wooden podium. The only light that is in the small somewhat cluttered funeral home is a few dozen candles on either side of the casket. The light bounces off the faked-gold statue of the Virgin Mary, making the grey hairs on the Pastor’s head shine as when the sun reflects on a crystal. Behind him are over two dozen flower arrangements on stands, with blossoms of whites, reds and pinks on long stems cascading to the floor. I take a deep breath and look around me; about half of the chairs are occupied with people in black—a depressing sight. I bring my focus back to the floor and I try to swallow the large lump in my throat. I have no idea how I am suppose to feel. Am I supposed to cry like everyone else here? If so, why am I not? Why am I feeling so empty, so numb? Suddenly, I feel something on my shoulder; I move my head slightly to see a hand resting firmly on it. “Are you okay?” asks the familiar voice of my best friend Allie.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out, so I just nod. I don’t really know if I’m okay or not. “Rory, come with me.” she whispers in my ear. I’m not sure why, but I do as she asks. I follow her outside.
It’s cold outside. There’s still snow on the ground from the storm we had a few days ago. I gaze at Allie; she looks very pretty despite the fact that her eyes are red from crying. She sits down on the bench and begins smoothing out the wrinkles on her short black dress. “I never imagined something could be this hard,” she said, not making eye contact with me. I sit down beside her and take her hand in mine.
“I know,” I whisper softly, as I gently move my index finger along the palm of her hand. “I feel so numb,” I tell her as I look up at the dark clouds above us.
“I miss him already,” she says, taking a tissue from her purse and wiping her eyes. “It’s never going to be the same again, is it?”
I don’t say anything. I think about what she just said, this was something I hadn’t thought about. Neither my life, nor anyone else’s in Easton was going to be the same again. I take a deep breath as I feel Allie’s hand on my cheek. “We’ll get through this," she says softly as she forces a smile.
It’s then that I realize it was a tear she had wiped from my cheek.
“What happens now?” I ask as I bite at the metal ring in my lip.
She takes in a deep breath. “I have to go back to Lenten, and I was hoping you would come with me. You can transfer schools and go to UL with me,” she answers, fiddling with a strand of her auburn colored hair.
“I don’t know Allie,” I say as I turn to look at her. “I’ve never lived anywhere but Easton and I definitely cannot leave now.”
“Please Ror, it would mean so much to me,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Chris and Janie will be there too.”
“I don’t think I can leave Easton,” I answer, staring down at the snow on the ground.
“You used to always say how you were going to get out of Easton. Here’s your chance.”
I think for a moment before saying, “But that was before….”
She gives me a sympathetic nod as she rubs her hand against the back of my neck. “But if you come with us, you’ll be around people who can support you. I don’t want you by yourself at a time like this,” she says as she places her purse in her lap.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I mean, I’m at this funeral and I’m taking it okay, aren’t I?” I ask, looking at her.
“You’re taking it a lot better than what I thought, but that’s probably because it hasn’t hit you yet, Rory. I know you don’t like to admit when you’re upset, but honey, it’s okay. It’s okay to cry.”
I close my eyes tightly because I can feel the oncoming tears beginning to form. I’ve been holding them back long enough and the more I continue to repress them, the harder it’s going to be. I hate crying in front of people. I have no problem doing it in the privacy of my room, just not around people. I don’t want them to think low of me or think that by me letting go and showing my emotions, that I am weak. I break down. The emotional wall I had built for protection comes tumbling down. I let go. I can feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, and for the first time, I don’t care if people see me cry. Allie wraps her arms around me, as any good friend would, and holds me tight. “I-I can’t,” I say, as I try to rebuild my wall.
Ally hushes me. “Just let it out.” she whispers soothingly. And I do. I don’t fight it. I don’t try to be strong. I just cry, because crying is all that I feel like doing.
One Year Earlier….
The lights in the bathroom hanging over the sink shined dimly, occasionally flickering as I stood there in front of the mirror. My hands were resting on either side of the sink. My body bent over so the tips of my jaw-length raven bangs slightly touched the bottom of the sink, getting wet from the water coming out of the faucet. Taking a deep breath, I raised my head a little, forcing myself look into the mirror. My eyes glared coldly back at me from the reflection as I wiped the blood from the side of my mouth with the back of my hand. I hated school. I hated the jerks that go there and no matter how many times I got into fights, and no matter how bad the fights got, the school didn’t even seem to care. I filled my hands up with the cold water, bent down so that I was closer to the sink and splashed the water on my face. The water stung for a moment as it hits the open cuts on my right cheek and busted pierced lip. I reached for the towel hanging on the towel ring near the bathtub and dried my face. I turned the faucet off once the sink was nearly half-full and placed the towel into the water.
I moved slowly to the bathroom door and shut it before undoing the buttons on my red button-up collared shirt. I took it off and threw it aside, then slowly returning to the sink and looking at my reflection. The whole right side of my shoulder is bloody and covered in small cuts like I had been dragged across an unpaved road. I took the towel out of the water, wrung it out, and then placed it on my shoulder. The touch of the wet cotton made me wince at first, but then I adjusted to the pain and started carefully cleaning away the blood. High school might not have been so bad if I hadn’t been put through so much hell on a daily basis. On the days I wasn’t getting the crap beat out of me, I was being constantly tormented in class, or between class periods. Over time I had sort of taught myself to live with it, I had been dealing with since the fifth grade.
It was a mystery to me. Why did I continue going to school when things had gotten as bad as they had? knew it was not because I was great in school; I got average grades. I was normally quiet and didn’t talk to anyone during class. There was only one person who I actually trusted, and that was my best friend Allie. She was smart, funny, and friendly with everyone unless you gave her reason to hate you. Because of me, a majority of the school was on her hate list. I may not have said anything when people were giving me a hard time, just because I dealt with it and chose to ignore it, but if Allie heard it, or heard about it, she would not rest until she had let them have a piece of her mind.
The blood all cleaned up, I put the towel back into the sink, and pulled on a black wife-beater, so my wound could breathe. I knew the touch of cotton would most likely make it sting a lot. I let out a heavy sigh as I pushed my bangs out of my face and walked out of the bathroom, down the hall. The small two-bedroom house that I lived in with my mother and her boyfriend was dark, mostly because I kept the lights off to save electricity, otherwise that was just more money wasted, and that we really didn’t have to spend on bills. I made my way to the kitchen, took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. The apartment had a tiny kitchen that you’d be lucky if you could fit two people in at the same time, and a small living room with much of the space taken up by the couch and TV that was sitting on top of an upside down milk crate. I rolled my eyes thinking about how I wished my mother would have stopped wasting her money on her alcohol and maybe had taken better care of her home. But I know that was something that was most likely to never happen. I took a sip of my water and headed back down the hallway to my room.
My mother had never really been a mother to me. She had never congratulated me, let alone acknowledged when I came home with good grades. She never supported me in anything I did or attempted to do. When I got sick, I took care of myself. What happened today would be a fair example. Once I was in my room, I shut the door, set the glass on top of the dresser and turned on the radio. I sat on my bed and started doing my homework. I thought I might as well get a head start on it since I didn’t have anything else to do.
I glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedside table; it said 7:30 in big read numbers that hurt your eyes if you stared at it for too long. I finished answering the last question to my history assignment then placed all my school work back into my messenger bag. I heard the front door of the apartment open, the door hitting the wall hard as if it were forced open. I rolled my eyes; from experience, I knew my mother was most likely in a bad mood. After putting my binder back in my bag, I set everything on the floor and propped it up against the bedside dresser. My room was small, but clean. A collage of my favorite posters, ranging from Atreyu to Slipknot, covered the once white walls. I got up and walked over to the door, opening it slowly and leaning against the doorframe, cautiously stuck my head outside the door to see what was going on.
My mother was standing in front of the opened door, her blonde hair pulled back in a unkempt ponytail, her hands on her hips, a cigarette between her fingers as she tapped her foot impatiently as her boyfriend Dave walked in holding a paper grocery bag. “What the hell took you so long to bring one damn bag inside?” she said, taking a drag from the cigarette.
He didn’t respond, he just took the bag into the kitchen calmly and set it on the kitchen counter. I could tell this pissed my mother off, because she rolled her eyes at him and threw her arms down to her side as if she had asked him something that needed an answer. She glanced down the hallway and I felt her eyes meet mine. My heart skipped a beat as she took a few steps towards the hallway and flicked the light on. The sudden burst of light filled the hallway and hurt my eyes since I had been sitting in the dark for the last few hours. It took them a few seconds to adjust to the light.
“What happened to you?” she sneered, crossing her arms irritably. “She’s slipping, she actually asked what happened. Perhaps her maternal instincts are kicking in after all,” I said to myself with sarcasm.
“Nothing that you’d care to hear,” I answered, leaning against the doorframe and crossing my arms over my chest imitating her.
She shook her head. “I told you,” she said under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear. “I told you what the kids in school would do when they found out you were a fag.”
The sound of that three-letter word hit me like a big yellow school bus, making my heart beat increase. I took a deep breath to try to calm myself down, but it didn’t help much since I could feel my fists clenching. “That has nothing to do with it,” I said, between gritted teeth.
She smiled, and I could tell by that smile that she thought that she was right. I bit down on the metal ring in my lip, wincing slightly because I had forgotten about my busted lip, keeping my eyes on her as she walk over to the counter, which I could still see from the hallway. She grabbed a small brown paper bag and pulled out a small bottle of vodka. “I’m sure your father would be so proud,” she said sarcastically while unscrewing the cap of the bottle and then took a swig.
“Dad wouldn’t have cared either way.” I relaxed my palms, releasing my fists “Unlike you, he actually cared,” I said defiantly. Stomping back into my room, I slammed the door and locked it.
“You ungrateful little….” I heard her scream before I turned up the volume on my radio to tune her out. I could hear her yelling from behind the door as she pounded violently on it. Most of what she was saying was inaudible, but I could make out a few things: like: I should show respect towards her because she is my mother; and she puts a roof over my head, and that I should be grateful that she’s allowing a ‘fag’ to still live in her house.
I lay on my bed, my pillow held close to my chest my eyes squeezed shut, trying hard not to focus on anything. Not my mother pounding and yelling at my door, or the pain in my shoulder. I just didn’t want to feel anything or hear anything right then. I felt a tear seep through my closed eyelids and make its way steadily down my face. Why can’t things be the way they were before? Why can’t my dad still be alive? Maybe then, just maybe, my life wouldn’t be as shitty.
The blaring alarm clock startled me awake. I was still laying in bed fully dressed in the fetal position with the pillow against my chest. I got out of bed, my whole body felt like lead. I was so sore from yesterday’s beating. I somehow managed to make it over to my closet and pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and some local, trying-to-make-it-big- band shirt. I stood in front of the mirror by my dresser, quickly ran the brush through my hair and spraying it with hairspray. I opened the first drawer of the dresser and rustled through things. I usually kept random things that I used in my first drawer like pens, papers, things that weren’t clothing. Finally, I found my eyeliner. I leaned closer to the mirror so I could put it on without having to try to do this multiple times. I hoped the liner would make my black eye not so noticeable.
For a guy I thought I was pretty average. I was 5’10, which I guess was an okay height. I have blue eyes and short black hair except for my long bangs and my only flaw, in my opinion, was that I am really skinny. I took after my dad a lot, or at least that was what I heard from people. I reminded them of my father.
When I finally got the eyeliner on, I grabbed my messenger bag from the floor and quietly opened my bedroom door. I knew if I woke my mother, I would never hear the end of it. So, I tiptoed out of my room, closing the door quietly behind me then quickened my pace down the hallway to the front door and ran out as fast as I could. When I was around the corner of the apartment complex, I could finally breathe again. I took a deep breath and relaxed the muscles in my body. Two blocks away from my apartment complex was a parked dark blue Ford Focus. I walked over to the passenger side of the car as the window rolled down.
Allie smiled at me from the passenger’s side, her huge dark shaded sunglasses covered up half of her face but they made her look like a movie star. “Hey there, sexy,” she said, clicking a button to unlock the door. I opened it and climbed into the car.
“Hey Allie. What’s up?” All my worry and pain slipped away as soon as I saw Allie. It was as if she had this way of sucking all the negativity out of my life.
“Not much. Just picking your ass up to take it to school,” she said, sliding the sunglasses on top off her head, pushing back her auburn hair and winking at me. I smiled softly. “So, Friday night, Jordan and I, and a few others are going to hang, you in?”
Jordan is her football playing jock of a boyfriend who she has been on and off with for the past four years. They were currently on make-up number 10.
“Nah. I have other plans,” I answered, placing my messenger bag in my lap and she pulled the car away from the curb and back onto the street.
She raised an eyebrow as she rolled the windows up and turned the air conditioner on. “Oh really? And you failed to mention this to me, how?”
“Slipped my mind.” I answered, shrugging. “I don’t know, I just forgot.”
She laughed and glanced at me. “So who is more important than me that you’d rather hang out with them?” she asked playfully.
I shook my head at her and laughed. “I have a date with Ayden.”
“Ah, lover boy, I see. Well I guess he is a little more important than hanging out with your best buds,” she said, hitting me playfully on the shoulder.
Ayden was this guy that I liked and Allie knew it, so when ever I mentioned his name around her she started giving me a hard time about it. “He is not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend,” I answered quickly. Although I had kissed him a few times in ways that I personally felt were a ‘more than a friend’ type of kiss.
“Uh huh.” She responded, pulling into the student parking lot at Lincoln High. “A friend who you secretly want to hook up with.” She turned off the engine and got out of the car.
I got out as well, throwing my bag over my good shoulder. “I do not,” I answered as I followed her towards the main building of the school.
She stopped in front of me and looked at me. “Right,” she said, throwing one arm around my shoulder. “Anyways, he’d be crazy if he didn’t like you sweetie, you are totally gorgeous. And that shiner makes you even more sexy,” she said, referring to my black eye.
“Ha ha.” I said shaking my head at her.
She threw her purse over her right shoulder and walked ahead of me. “Well babe, I better get, or I will be late for geometry. Ciao baby,” she said, blowing a kiss to me and disappearing into the mass of students entering the building. I took a deep breath and I leaned against the Lincoln High School sign that was in front of the school. Two more days of school and then I had the weekend. Although I was not quite sure if I would had rather been at school or home. But who knows, maybe my day with Ayden would make up for the rest of my crappy week.
