bright colors will always make you feel better
I sat there and read this book that I don't know the name or author of because the pages that once contained that information were smudged from water and time over the years. The phone rang and jerked me away from the fifth paragraph of the ninth chapter...my favorite part. I walked slowly to the phone with irritation and scanned the caller I.D. to prepare myself for whom I was about to speak to. It was my aunt. I hesitated on picking up the phone and thought it best to just let the machine get it. But something told me to answer.
I could hear the tears before I even put the phone to my ear. I spoke with caution, "Hello?" And that one word was the signal for my aunt to lose it. An ear piercing scream said more than I needed to assume. "What's wrong? What's wrong?!" I kept asking. I felt like a broken record when she finally spoke understandable words.
"Oh god! Jenny, OH GOD!! Jenny I can't believe this has happened!!!"
"What? What has happened? STOP CRYING AND TELL ME!"
"Jenny, oh god, Jenny! It's John...John...oh god Jenny! He's dead!!"
I threw the phone as if it had burned me. I could still hear my aunt screaming for some help from god across the room. I felt so many things in that one moment. I felt insane, sick, depressed, unreal, angry, lost, hopeful in some way that it wasn't true. But the phone that sat in the corner proved that it was real and it was true.
I had attempted to climb the stairs up to my room to my bed and see if I could wake up from this dream. But it wasn't a dream and I only made it to the fourth step before I broke down screaming and echo the world would have never even heard since John could not. I sat there clinging to the carpet hoping that it would provide me the comfort that was currently absent.
Three days later my alarm clock went off but I couldn't hear it. I took a freezing cold shower but I could not feel it. I ate dry toast but I could not taste it.
I put on that awefully depressing black dress with an itchy black jacket and ugly black shoes. My mother came down the stairs. She desended slowly as if nervous from a million eyes upon her. She hugged me. She was wearing too much perfume and it made my eyes water. My father wore an uncomfortable black suite. The one he always wore to some depressing event, funerals, christmas dinner, weddings...
We rode to the church and listened to silence. Neither of us had the energy to turn the radio on. At the ceremony I listened to people talk about him and praise him in a way that seemed to be insulting to his profound existance. I bloked out the pastor's coments on how John would be in heaven since John and I would always joke about such an illusion created to be used as a crutch for the lonely.
It ended with a moment of silence in memory of him. Then they closed the casket making his death even more absolute.
At the burrial I was asked to say a few words about John since I was so close to him. I looked around at the women with smeared mascara and the men checking their watches to make sure they weren't late for other, more important affairs. I declined the offer stating that what they were asking me to do would be insulting to John and it would not justify his death in a positive way and that I thought it was wrong.
My aunt hasn't spoken to me since...
I could hear the tears before I even put the phone to my ear. I spoke with caution, "Hello?" And that one word was the signal for my aunt to lose it. An ear piercing scream said more than I needed to assume. "What's wrong? What's wrong?!" I kept asking. I felt like a broken record when she finally spoke understandable words.
"Oh god! Jenny, OH GOD!! Jenny I can't believe this has happened!!!"
"What? What has happened? STOP CRYING AND TELL ME!"
"Jenny, oh god, Jenny! It's John...John...oh god Jenny! He's dead!!"
I threw the phone as if it had burned me. I could still hear my aunt screaming for some help from god across the room. I felt so many things in that one moment. I felt insane, sick, depressed, unreal, angry, lost, hopeful in some way that it wasn't true. But the phone that sat in the corner proved that it was real and it was true.
I had attempted to climb the stairs up to my room to my bed and see if I could wake up from this dream. But it wasn't a dream and I only made it to the fourth step before I broke down screaming and echo the world would have never even heard since John could not. I sat there clinging to the carpet hoping that it would provide me the comfort that was currently absent.
Three days later my alarm clock went off but I couldn't hear it. I took a freezing cold shower but I could not feel it. I ate dry toast but I could not taste it.
I put on that awefully depressing black dress with an itchy black jacket and ugly black shoes. My mother came down the stairs. She desended slowly as if nervous from a million eyes upon her. She hugged me. She was wearing too much perfume and it made my eyes water. My father wore an uncomfortable black suite. The one he always wore to some depressing event, funerals, christmas dinner, weddings...
We rode to the church and listened to silence. Neither of us had the energy to turn the radio on. At the ceremony I listened to people talk about him and praise him in a way that seemed to be insulting to his profound existance. I bloked out the pastor's coments on how John would be in heaven since John and I would always joke about such an illusion created to be used as a crutch for the lonely.
It ended with a moment of silence in memory of him. Then they closed the casket making his death even more absolute.
At the burrial I was asked to say a few words about John since I was so close to him. I looked around at the women with smeared mascara and the men checking their watches to make sure they weren't late for other, more important affairs. I declined the offer stating that what they were asking me to do would be insulting to John and it would not justify his death in a positive way and that I thought it was wrong.
My aunt hasn't spoken to me since...