The Quiet That Follows

She feels dull–characterless amidst those surrounding her. There is no play of words to vindicate the inhumanity she strangely finds warmth in. Still, for now, she pleads for it to linger, just long enough to get through this funeral.

Capri weakly fights through her stoic demeanor, attempting to mirror the emotions of those around her. Being perceived as a heartless daughter doesn't disturb her, but her grandmother would despise it, a lecture she'd rather spare herself.

We expect vital things from those who bring us into this world. We see the parent, but ignore the average man or woman behind the parenting facade. Our childlike gaze doesn't yet understand—even into adulthood—that fault lives within each of us, every single day, including our dearest mothers and fathers. Our pure imagination is confused followed by disillusionment once their defects become clear. All that remains is the painful question within us: why?

Capri never had the chance to figure it out. She was busy with a pill in her hand during her teenage years—and by the time her sobriety journey began, her father was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma.

His weak movements. His slurred words. Still mentally vivid, even when death finally set him free. She suffered too—and with that, the resentment grew. Her own needs became trivial. The times he called her a terrible daughter, in the depths of his agony, were too many to count.

Physical pain can alter a personality. You say things you don't mean. You hurt those closest to you. You need a release. And when there isn't one, it consumes you like wildfire sweeping through dry grass—breeding desperation, anger, and cruelty.

She scans every face in the house, feeling the weight of the guilt around her. Her gaze lingers on the weeping ones. Only ten of the thirty faces are familiar. She's certain most in attendance are from her grandmother's church.

Eyes drifting idly, Capri bridges the visual gap between her grandmother and herself. A face that seconds ago, mirrored the emotions Capri lacked.

The funeral had been over for an hour now. However, Marlena, her grandmother, strives in moments where all attention is focused on her. So, quickly after the casket was lowered, she invited everyone to her home.

Capri stares as Marlena walks towards her. She's coated in black as the day calls for, and wearing her finest diamonds. She's in a love affair with the idea of a perfect appearance–an adequate church goer.

"You've left me to speak to all on my own. I was looking for you."

"I just arrived twenty minutes ago."

Capri grabs the cup of coffee her grandmother hands to her. A small "thank you" slips out.

"I invited everyone long before you decided to show up late.”

"I'm only showing my face today because you asked me to. You know I don't like funerals so I'll divide my time for the day as I please."

Marlena pinches Capri's right forearm. She quickly pulls away.

"You said you would stop that when I was 12. I'm 29."

"I lied. How's the coffee? There's nutmeg in it."

Capri doesn't answer. She lifts her gaze from the swirling dark liquid in her cup to scan the room again. She spots three familiar faces. Helena and Bianca Marques stand beside Christopher Pinto, who—if Capri remembers correctly—had recently become a father.

"Oh." Marlena whispers. "Who's that?"

Capri's gaze shifts slightly to her right, settling on a figure she'd initially missed. The man wore dark blue navy pants, black dress shoes, and a wooden watch that complemented the brown sweater. The buzzcut gave him a rigid, striking presence–commanding enough to catch her attention.

"I've never seen him before." Marlena adds.

Capri registers her grandmother's words. Noting that she's just as clueless.

"Should we introduce ourselves?" Her grandmother hints.

Capri quickly shakes her head, dismissing the suggestion. Her intrigue fades, replaced by unease at the idea of approaching the stranger. "No. Plus, you always overshare."

Marlena waves off the comment and promptly ignores Capri, turning her attention to a friend who's interrupted to compliment her jewelry. Capri sighs quietly, relieved to be freed from the dragging conversation—though in its wake, her thoughts linger on the stranger.

She stares at the clock above the fridge. 6:45 p.m. Her hands are smeared with refuse from stuffing the trash into a black bag.

She's been hiding in the kitchen, doing her best to stay busy—wondering when this miserable day will finally end.

The black night settles over the kitchen. With winter knocking at their door, the days are shorter. Two hours have passed and Capri considers feigning illness. To add to her misfortune, she also lives with her grandmother.

Living with Marlena is an experience that can improve your resilience—when you're strong enough to endure the critics and the passive-aggressiveness.

Marlena's childhood was anything but ordinary. She moved between countries, working on farms with her parents. In these adventures, Marlena learned to speak seven languages: Portuguese, English, Spanish, Russian, German, Polish, and French. Her fluency in these dialects eventually led her to work as a translator for twenty years. She then settled in her home country of Portugal, where she created her own method for language learning—an approach that spread throughout Europe and made waves in the United States, ultimately improving her financial situation.

Capri spoke four. Portuguese, English, Spanish, and french. Her grandmother wasn't the kindest in helping her learn but her methods were effective. Capri currently works in one of Marlena's language learning schools as a teacher, a career now spanning eight years. She's content but her mind often drifts to thoughts of another life. She isn't sure what that looks like yet.

The heavy trash bag hits the door frame of the back entrance. She struggles to get it out, trying her best to make as little noise as possible. As she exits further out the door, the voices from inside faint into the background, replaced by the soft murmur of the evening air. She pushes the bulky bag onto the stone wall, kicking it twice to keep it in place.

"No need to abuse the bag."

Capri snaps her head to her right, her front still facing the home. The sound was unmistakable, meaning someone is out here.

The figure steps out from behind the tall cork oak tree. There stands the man from earlier. He has a lighter in one hand and a lit cigarette between his lips. He notices her staring at it and quickly holds it, offering her a hit.

"I'm okay." Capri wiggles her left toe hidden in her shoe, unable to stop herself from fidgeting.

"Try not to stay out here for too long. Mamá will eventually smell the smoke."

"I'll try to finish it quickly."

He gives her a small smile then exhales the smoke, his eye-contact never faltering.

"You're the daughter of the guy who passed. Right?"

Capri tenses at his casual tone, uneased by the difference in his approach compared to the others.

"Is this your way of making friends?"

"I never said I wanted to be your friend."

The blunt retort catches her off guard. She licks her lips, coating them before taking a brief moment to think. She wonders what kind of reaction he's looking to get from her.

"Don't toss the cigarette on the ground, please. I don't feel like getting blamed for it." She decides it's best to get herself out of this conversation before her curiosity overpowers. With her last reply, she promptly turns around and heads inside.