Continued from… Brianna ( Part 1)
Weeks later, precariously learning to use crutches, I went home and died my hair as close to my natural blond as possible. Then I bagged up everything that made me think of who I had been–Zack–and I filled the dumpster.Weak, I went to the emptiness of my room and put on the black dress in the back of my closet. I hobbled fifteen minutes to the gas station, bought a motorcycle key chain and hobbled back home on painful armpits to wait.I waited so long I thought there was hope, instead it was the crunching of the gravel as my mom pulled into the drive. I went down stairs gathering up all my energy to say , ” Take me to see him.”
The graveyard was quaint and silent. ” Stay here please,” I said as I walked the path looking for his stone.I saw a fresher patch of grass and knew. I did not look at the name as I placed the motorcycle key chain on top and kissed the coldness of reality.And then I laughed, uncontrollably tears running down my face, sorrow so bitter. And I laughed. Then I got up. Still. I leaned in and softly said ” I miss that old time rock and roll.” And turning I hobbled away from him.
The next few weeks were spent shopping for new clothes and new memories. In my new mother approved wardrobe I only found loneliness and grief . I tried to enjoy the endless list of activities my mom planned to keep me busy but coffee is simply bitter without a spoonful of sugar.I spat out any attempt she had of making me forget the joy that had once possessed me. ” Ree– I thought we might go blueberry picking today—- Ree?— Ree, come on you can’t sit in bed another day. Get up! Maybe we can make a pie later.” ” Okay,” I mumbled, indifferent to the promise of pie.
I dropped the blueberries into the pale one by one, listening for the light plop sound, just so I knew they all made it in safely. ” Ree, this bush is practically begging to be picked. Come help me.” ” It’s quieter over here” ” Okay, but make sure you are getting the good ones. No small or green berries.” ” Yes Mom,” I called back , irritated at having my peace shattered.
Half an hour later we were pulling out of the drive again, past hands grasping for berries on the high branches and greedy children eating from the buckets faster than their parents could pick.I reached forwards, turning the radio up louder, drowning out the lull of sadness, the echo of his laugh. And green meshed with green and blue became muddied, driving past my past, the swirl of time
my eyelids slide shut to the twang of loss.
(To be continued…)
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-Wishing you the brightest of days,Eva
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”