Changes

The walnut lids of the coffin reflect the August sun, the glare making us squint as, in turn, each coffin is lowered down into the dry, parched ground. My poor brain refuses to register the shocking fact that Dad and little Katie are gone. The tiny box being lowered into the ground slowly moves from view, and moments later in a different plot beside, the same thing happens to the larger coffin.

What had happened? Nobody knew, but it was most likely murder, strangulation the autopsy reports had stated, which sent shivers up and down my spine. Who had done this? Was he going to eliminate mom and me as well? Fear makes me shiver, even though sweat comes from every pore due to the black mourning cloths that are aiding to boil us alive.

"Honey? It's time to go." I turn to Aunt Lorinda and feel ashamed that my eyes are dry when I see her red, swollen ones. I nod and follow, no words can make it past my closed throat.

Mom is a lump on the leather seat behind the driver's, tears floating down her face in mad torrents. I sit beside her and take her cold, clammy hand and stare out the window. It's like I can't comprehend, no matter how hard I attempt to make myself to.

I find myself in my room, staring out the window emotionless. A headache is proceeding to tare apart my brain that I really need to sleep off. I know I should probably clean up the house some and help mom, but I find myself too numb and not wanting to. I realize that the right thing to do would be to support my mom, after all, the hardest person to loose is a child, then a spouse. She's lost both.

Guilt seems to swallow me up, but for reasons I can't tell, it's like I can't face it. I collapse onto my pillow and sleep away my new found miseries.

I awake bathed in sweat, my heart pounding at 200 bpm, minimum. The same nightmare that has followed me ever since that day I found out that it had not been a boating accident, but a purposeful murder. Fear is always the product of this nightmare, and tonight is no exception, the feeling of a clammy hand surrounding my throat is all my brain can imagine happening, making me shake. I realize that sleep is not going to be a possibility anymore and I get up to get myself a cup of peppermint tea. Coincidently, it is storming outside, thick lashes of lightening every so often illuminating the night sky, matching the backdrop of my terrible dream.

The dim hanging island lights illuminate the curling steam on the opposite counter. I pull a white mug with a pastel coloured rainbow from the organized cupboard over the kettle and slip some honey and the tea bag into it, just as the kettle shuts off. Lifting the kettle I begin to pour, relishing the sound of the bubbling water hitting the cup, and then the lights go out. Fear jerks my hand and it splashes onto my other hand. I almost cry out in pain but then catch myself, if mom is sleeping, it's best if she stays sleeping. The water scalds my skin and I fumble across the kitchen to the gold faucet. It's like the pain pulls the plug of my tears.

I attempt to stop the flood of tears cascading my cheeks and miserably fail. The cold water slowly numbs my hand, but don't neglect to notice. I must stop crying. I have to be strong. I get a hold of myself and flip off the tap and then dry my hand and wince. Stumbling through the house, I find my way to the stairs and descend down them to the room under mom and dad's. Now just mom's. I wince at the thought. By feel I manage to make it to my room door across the basement and find my way into bed. I'll have to explain that teacup on the counter in the morning, however, I don't want to worry mom that I wasn't okay, that nightmares and fear and sadness seem to shadow me everywhere, so I'll have to be evasive.

I guess I fell asleep somehow, because I wake up and sun is streaming through my window. I panic. I never sleep in this long to see this. I flip over with a groan and stare at my alarm clock 4:36a.m.. Right. Forgot about the power outage. I slip my skinny legs a very bleached jean skirt, stick a cream over-sized T with an avocado on the front over my head and half tuck it into the front. I don't even bother looking in my reflection, I couldn't care less about it right now. I shove my clear framed classes up my nose and quick slide a brush through my dark chocolate locks. I scamper up the hard varnished stairs and walk into den, grabbing my phone from its charger. 8:00 a.m.. A happy image of Katie and me with ice-cream cones brings me to reality. They're gone. My left hand tightens around my phone in an effort to keep my bubbling emotions in check, and I feel skin burst on the back of my hand. I switch my Apple into the opposite hand and look at the other. Dark red skin covers, or rather, in a broken fashion of blisters and watery stuff, nastily decorates the back of it. I don't comprehend how I didn't feel this earlier, because now I feel it at an incredible intensity. I take deep breaths.

What do I do? Obviously I can't just leave my hand how it is, it's not just a normal burn. It looks terrible and gross, and it screams more than what I thought a burn could ever hurt. I walk into the main bathroom knowing there was some burn-type creams or something in the linen closet, but I'm almost scared to touch it and put some of the gloopy cream stuff on. I grab some gauze and lightly wrap a little around my hand starting at the palm and secure it with a small bit of medical tape. Now it looks like I've been to war or something, but whatever. I feel the zing of the touching I've just done to my hand and can't help but wonder what kind of pain dad and Katie went through- I shut those thoughts out. I have to be tough. It's not good to cry.

It's a Saturday so I decide to go for a run. I slipped on my tan platform converse and grab a quick drink. I need too clear my head, it's going to burst soon. I don't have much of an endurance, after all I only run in the summer and it's the beginning of the season, but I'll make a mile or two. I start at a jog and I'm at the end our short street when I realize I haven't even seen mom or told her where I'm going. I spin around and head back for a moment. I won't give mom any extra stress. I open the front door, and I see mom curled on the couch, staring into space with a cup or tea, steam curling upwards from the clay cup. She looks so sad, her face is pale and her eyes are puffy. I want to give her a hug, but I don't want to cry by her. It'll only make things worse I'm sure.

"I'm going for a run, 'kay?" Mom nods but doesn't say anything. I pivot on my heel and quick shut the black door before my eyes erupt in tears. I can't cry. I won't cry.

I take off faster than a jog, almost at a sprint and run. My lungs begin to burn and a side-cramp beckons me to stop. I won't though, because I know that when I do stop, I won't have control of myself. I'll remember everything that I'm pretending I've forgotten. I come into downtown Toronto where business men and women are strutting purposefully down the sidewalks. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, I've got to be nearing two miles. I stumble as my jelly knees start to give out and I hurriedly find the next park bench and collapse. My lungs scream as I gasp for air. Somebody is choking me. I can feel those hand grasp my neck just as all the times I dreamed of it. I scream and lift my hands to my neck as I try to stand and realize my neck is empty. No roughs fingers closing off my last breaths. I must be loosing it.

"Hey are you good?" I look up, nausea swirling around in my empty stomach. A business man in a navy blue suit with a burgundy brief case stands in front of me.

"Yeah." I feel my face heat as when my brain comprehends that I screamed out loud. I stand up quickly and feel those tears that seem always near the surface rise uncontrollably. They drift down my cheeks. I'm so embarrassed. They must think I'm looney. I take off running. I fall backwards as I smack into a business woman who raises her eyebrows at me on the ground. I get back to my feet.

"I'm s-so sorry ma'am." I stutter wiping my face.

"How disrespectful, impudent, obnoxious-"

"Ma'am I suggest you leave this girl alone." I spin around and would have lost my balance again if it wasn't for that guy catches my arm with his free hand. The woman skirts around us and prances off.

"What's going on?" He asks.

"Nothing." I mumble and try to get away.

"What d'you do?" He asked and points at my hand covered in gauze soaked in some kind of fluid.

"I'm fine." I lie.

"Hey, here's this if you ever need it." He pulls a card from his front pocket of the blue suit jacket and hands it to me. I glance at it. Anderson's Child Counselling.

"Nope. I'm fine. I don't need help." I snap as I understand what he thinks is wrong with me.

"I wasn't saying you did, but you can even talk to them if you have something on your mind." I crumple the card into my pocket. I'm okay, I will be, after all I did just have a funeral yesterday. I pretend to look carefree as I saunter casually down the street.

I blend up a strawberry banana fruit smoothie for brunch, not that I feel like eating, but well, ritual a guess. I wanted to pretend that life was normal somewhat, the habit gave stability. I force a smile to see if my tears will go away, and then turn around to get a glass. Mom is in the kitchen staring at me. I shrink back at her cold glare.

"Cold hearted witch." I hear her say. I burst into tears, mom struts toward me and puts an arm around me. She's going to strangle me. She's the murderer. I push her away and sprint as pain seizes my chest. I slam the door and lean against it as she tries to open it. No. Don't come in.

"Laya!" I hear mom say and then I hear her sob. I realize my mistake. I've hurt mom so bad. What is wrong with me? Why am I freaking out about everything that's not even there. I'm too embarrassed to go back to my mom.

Maybe I do need help. I shut that thought out. I'm fine. I need to grow up. After all, it's been a whole four days, I should be able to control myself.

I guess I fell asleep.