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“I’d hardly call a handful of seniors a crowd.”
This was now the second person who didn’t see what I saw. Was I having another break from reality?
I leaned closer to where my cousin Batina was. “What do you think of the turnout for Gram?”
“Considering most people her age are dead? I guess a handful isn’t bad,” Batina said. “By the way, nice service. I certainly wouldn’t have spent the money, but Gram always did like you best.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to ignore the dig as I meandered away, trying to dodge another potential scene. I had much more pressing issues, like figuring out if I was losing my mind.
I continued my way around the site until I was within five feet of a woman probably in her early thirties, who was standing alone. The closer I got, the more alarmed she looked.
“Thank you for coming. How did you know my grandmother?” I asked, pretending that she wasn’t taking a step away from me.
“We worked together back in the day.” She took another step away from me, nearly tripping.
Worked together back in the day? With Gram? This woman wasn’t old enough to have that many days in the rearview.
She was gripping her purse, glancing at some of the other younger people there. I could see from the looks flying back and forth that at least some of these people knew each other.
“Really? That’s great. How many years ago was that?” I tried to move slightly closer without her breaking into a run.
“Oh, must be about fifty years ago now.”
Either I was going crazy, having another break from reality, or everyone else was insane. Could schizophrenia come on suddenly like this? With no warning signs? One day you’re fine and the next you’ve lost your mind and are living in La La Land?
I wanted to press her further, but did I dare? Anything else might damn me to the insane asylum. I might already be standing on the threshold anyway. She might not even be real, so did it matter?
“Fifty years? You look as if you aren’t a day over thirty-five,” I said, couching my suspicion in flattery.
Her lips parted as her eyes narrowed. “You must be kidding, of course,” she said, laughing in a brittle way.
Itwasn’tme. She was lying through her teeth. I was seeing reality and this woman wasn’t happy about it.At all.
“Sure I am,” I said in a tone that left my meaning ambiguous.
“Well, I must be going.”
“Nice of you to come.”
She stepped away, and then stopped beside a few other gatherers. They talked amongst themselves but kept glancing in my direction. Slowly, as if timing their departures, they started to drift off until none of the mysterious younger crowd were left.
Then there were just the few of us left, my cousins and my uncle, who left shortly after, giving my mother barely a glance before he did. No one knew the reason my mother and uncle didn’t speak anymore, but knowing the two of them, it was safe to say the blame lay at both their doors.
I made my way back to my mother, waving her to follow me to the car. She stumbled off the tree she’d been leaning on and started walking.
We’d taken her car, since mine was sitting in an impound lot with a dead transmission. I got in the driver’s seat, waiting for her to make her way over while still sipping from her travel mug.
She got in the car and let out a soft sigh. My mother had two gears: angry and bitter, and fuzzy and concerned. The angry and bitter tended to dominate, but usually somewhere in between being sober and passed-out drunk, her senses got a little fuzzy and she seemed to be genuinely concerned about others. Even to this day, I wasn’t sure who was the real person and who was the booze.
She lifted her hand to touch my face, and I jerked back, every nerve in my body rebelling at being touched. Even sitting was bothering me.
“Sorry. My skin is still irritated.”
She pulled her hand back, her attention growing sharper, or as sharp as it could be given the amount of alcohol she’d probably consumed.
“Are you okay? I know you were closer to Gram than anyone else,” she said, proving my gauge on her mood to be correct.
“I’m just a little rattled by everything.”
