Tag Archives: death

I keep dreaming…

…all these scenarios where Granddaddy never really died, and that he’s back. And they phase me so much.

 

We were at Grammy’s house.
She had cleared out the garage, installed a fireplace with couches surrounding it.
But she was asking if we thought Granddaddy would like it.
He died in 2004.
But he hadn’t – she was explaining.
So Deanna, Mom, and I sat on the bench of a picnic table to the side of the room (no, that doesn’t make sense. It’s a dream. Irrelevant.). Grammy’s hovering, facing the door. (the door’s to our right.)
And we’re all just waiting for him to come home.
And there he is – he just walks right through the door in his coat, smiling, and is just talking about his day like he hasn’t even been gone for the past 5 years (I’m counting it to be 2011, because it’s December).
Deanna stands up – not excitedly, just normally – and goes and helps him with his coat, and hugs him.
But I’m paralyzed.
I can’t even say hello,
or even “look how much taller I’ve grown since you last saw me.”
Or look at him, really.
All I can do is hold my hand over my face,my eyes squinted shut as tightly as possible,
sobbing.
Silently.
One of those cries that you do in a room with thin walls that you don’t want anyone to hear.
And your mascara is in all of your tears and going into your eyes and stinging you.
And the shock that I sink into won’t let me stop.

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Consider My Fingers Crossed.

Crossed for the next two days to pass quickly (Christmas break!).
Crossed for not failing my two tests on Friday (AP History and Honors Chem).
Crossed for  my brain to start functioning again (it’s stopped in anticipation of Christmas break).
Crossed for landing a good role in the Spring musical (the Sound of Music!).
Crossed for a good Winter (not like last year).
Crossed for my Christmas wishes (I’ve got quiet a few).
Crossed for a really great social life during break (Hayley Joy, Deanna, Neal, Danike, movies, cooking, Brent, shopping…).
Crossed for snow days (we haven’t had any yet this year!).
Crossed for my Christmas list (mostly consisting of a ceramic curling iron, gift cards, and books).
Crossed for a good Solo and Ensemble performance (even though it’s in January).
Crossed for raising my grades (Two A’s, but I need to get my two B’s up…).
Crossed for a chance to organize my school notebooks and binders ASAP (all my school stuff is in one three-subject notebook).
Crossed for my varsity jacket (it’s ready, but my mom wont’ give it to me until Christmas – because it’s not like I need a winter coat before then, before halfway through the winter, not like it’s seven degrees farenheit or anything).
Crossed that my mom will be happier this Winter (this time of year has been hard for everyone since her dad died).
Crossed that the people that I can’t get enough of couldn’t get enough of me (it has been improving…).
Crossed for crazy amounts of photo shoots over break (I swear, I’m so itchy for some.)

Crossed for being able to uncross them.

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A Nightmare.

      The girl stepped out of the shack, clad in a long, white nightdress. She stepped onto the cobbleston path leading only to another house. It was dead silent. A large, stone fountain that no longer worked cast a dreadful shadow in the dimly lit path. No stars were out. The only light came from a single, yellowish lamp to the left of the door of the single house ahead of her. The girl didn’t seem to be scared at all, only careful. She was pale – practically colorless – and with light hair that floated down to the middle of her back and pale eyes. When she was near the house, a young man stepped out of the door and put one foot on the porch step. He reached out his hand to help the girl up the stairs and to welcome her.

       From another angle, another woman watched the girl through binoculars. She saw the girl cautiously move down the stone walk. When the young man emerged from the house to greet her, she felt her neck grow hot. She knew this man. Unfortunately for her, all romantic possibilities with him had been torn from her future. She continued to observe the man; he was certainly pleasant to look at – tall, composed, clean shaven, brown hair, dark eyes, also pale. His clothes were simple and near colorless, too. If only the old fountain wasn’t blocking some of her view.

       Everything’s strange, she thought, crouching in the dark above the dreary scene: a path leading from a doorstep of one house directly to another house’s doorstep; there were no side paths branching off of it. What was the point of that? 

       The pale girl smiled gently and took the man’s hand as she floated up the steps, following his lead. He had let go and turned around, no longer welcoming. He went through the door first and reached for something beside the door frame on the inside. The house was peculiar. The first room that you walked into was lined in books on shelves from floor to ceiling. The books were old and dusty. Some were on the floor, bent and lying open. Directly ahead of her, perfectly aligned with the front entrance, was another doorway. This one had no door. She could see through it to another room, also lined entirely with books. Only this one was lit – by candles, maybe. The same yellowish light poured from the room. The doorway was as far to her left on the opposite wall as possible. She could see room after room, all identical, with books and either dark or dimly lit, the doorway in the exact same place on the wall, no doors…

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Weather Fit For The Occasion.

     At almost this same time last year, on a Monday, I was sitting on the porch of my boyfriend-at-the-time. I was sitting on the cold, cement steps, in an oversized hoodie. His arm was round me and my hair was simply and carelessly pulled back. I had on little make up because most of it had been cried away earlier that morning. It was raining and dreary – appropriate weather for the most recent, tragic happenings.

     The Friday before was a regular school day. I had survived my first hour class, Honors English, and had routinely sang through second-hour Chorale. Lunch was as boring and uninteresting as it usually was. I had, again, not brought anything to eat and had, again, half-intentionally, not brought money to buy food. My table consisted of a few girls and fewer guys, all of whom I currently or previously shared choir with, except for one girl, who I met during the musical of the last school year. Three guys and four girls at my table, usually.

     Two of the girls were inseparable – they still are. They were both energetic and loved everything Disney and musicals. The girl I had met in the last school musical had red hair and played the piano. One guy had moved to America from Mexico before his sophomore year. I had met him the year before. Another was a boy I had gone to homecoming of freshman year “with.” Both were in Chorale. One boy was a freshman (who had come into the high school from the same middle school as I had attended), a bass in my choir, and the quietest one at the table. None of us really went out of our way to talk to him, but it wasn’t as if we ignored him or shunned him in any way. For the preceding couple weeks, he had offered to share a part of his lunch or had offered me a dollar or two. That Friday was no exception. He offered me some of his meal, consisting of a bag of chips, a carton of milk, and a burrito. Not particularly being a fan of any of those, I declined gratefully.

     The rest of that day was normal and uneventful. Or, rather, I assume it was uneventful because I don’t particularly remember anything else happening that day, or even the next. On Sunday, the speaker at my church (which was half an hour away from my home) had commented on the death of two local boys that had died in  a car crash. He named them and, at the time, it didn’t cause any bells to ring or any lit light bulbs to appear above my head. When I got home, I checked my Myspace (as I did religiously). When I looked in the bulletin space, I saw bulletin after bulletin entitled “Tim, we will miss you” and “Tim and Josh” and, finally, “RIP Tim and Josh.”

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