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In my case, Nick and Cole kept Six-Pack running, while Alisha, Emma, and Bella came to help Amanda and me with the arrangements for the funeral. Amanda has stayed close by me without fail, attempting to lessen my immensity of grief; yet I’m still emotionless after days of agony. I’ve trapped my emotions because if they are released, it won’t just be me who’s hurt.
The sound of Amanda’s gentle voice rouses me from my trance, and I turn to meet her gaze.
“Brian? It’s your turn to speak.”
I nod, and after a long sigh, I rise and grab the microphone, standing next to my mom’s coffin. “Thank you all for being here,” I begin, my eyes sweeping the room and taking in the large crowd who have come to pay their respects to my mom. I’m not surprised; she was the kindest person on the planet, maybe even in the universe. I focus on her coffin as the stares of the crowd become unbearable.
“Dad used to call you Wonder Woman in a five-foot human body. He said you were a vibrant, unselfish, patient, heartwarming angel walking this earth. And I agree. You, Mom, were the most amazing woman I’ve ever got the honor to meet and love. You made an effort to connect with everyone you met and you always saw the best in every person. Your warm smile and unconditional devotion made me who I am today.”
I glide a hand through my hair. “You and Dad would often tell me, ‘Can’t never did anything for anyone.’ You were supportive of my dreams and ambitions, and together we had great conversations and brainstorm sessions when I was setting up Six-Pack. Whenever I encountered an obstacle, you said to me, ‘Brian, when life gets difficult, persist and show the world your best self.’”
My fingertips trace the rough wood of the coffin beneath them. No matter how many days have gone by, this still feels like a dream, a bad one.
“You also taught me to be candidly honest. So here is my plain truth: I fucking hate the fact that you’re dead, Mom. How will I cope without your weekly phone calls, wherein we talk about nothing and everything? How am I supposed to go without your wise advice and respectful ways of setting me straight when you think I’m acting like a fool?” My throat constricts as my chest tightens. “I don’t want to learn how to continue without you. I don’t want to miss you cupping my face and kissing me on my cheek the second I walk into your house, even though I hated it when I was a teenager.” A faint smile glides over my face as my heart fills with nostalgia. “But I guess this is the universe being a bitch by throwing another bomb and demolishing my life when it finally made sense. The only silver lining to your passing is that you’re back with Dad—the love of your life. “
I gaze into her blue eyes in the framed picture and sigh. “Thank you both for being the best mom a kid could have asked for. I am going to miss you so much.”
My chest rises and falls with a powerful wave of emotion that threatens to swallow me whole as I return the microphone and walk back to my seat.
Every memory of my parents, no matter how good or bad, feels like needles tearing into my soul. My emotions are not like a delicate jasmine flower but like my heart, a live grenade, ready to lose its safety pin and explode.
After the service, we arrive at Six-Pack, where Olga and the other members of ‘the lonely women’s club’ have laid out an array of refreshments. I dutifully greet every single person who comes to speak with me, each handshake a reminder of the harsh truth. When the last person leaves, I flee to my office and lock the door behind me. Usually, I love the silence in my office, but now it amplifies my repressed emotions as they reverberate in my head like a discordant symphony I cannot escape. I sink into my leather armchair, feeling like a pressure cooker about to burst.
“Brian?” Amanda’s voice calls out. “Are you here?”
The worry in her voice is fuel to my troubled mind.
“I need to be alone for a while.”
“O-okay.” Her footsteps disappear, and I push my chair back to the cabinet behind me.
A fair amount of amber liquid fills my tumbler, and five seconds later, I stare at the empty glass while enjoying the burn. I fill my next cup and down it like a professional.
After my fifth or sixth drink, or maybe more, the nagging voices inside of my head blur into the background, but of course, my fucked-up brain picks up the slack by tormenting me by playing back the memories of the doctor’s appointment and Amanda’s tears before I walked away from her in the park.
My sweet, perfect goddess deserves better than a kid with a fucked-up heart like mine. She will hate me if that happens. As much as I love her, I can’t have her.
Resting my head on my desk after I lay my arms on its surface to use them as a pillow, I let out a heavy puff of air.Why can’t the pain stop?
Hoping it will help, I close my eyes, but as soon as my eyelids meet, I become a prisoner of my mind, as it tortures me by showing a slideshow of disturbing, painful mental pictures of my dead parents. Then it strikes me with an image of Amanda looking at me with tears running down and her voice echoing as she says, “It’s all your fault. You killed our child.”
A loud knock, followed by a distinct voice, pulls me out of my mental confinement for a moment. “Brian, come on, open the door,” Cole says.
I stay silent, looking at the door.
“Come on, show Amanda that you’re okay,” Nick demands. He knows she’s my weak spot. I exhale a deep breath and spin my chair back, the loud thud of it crashing against the cabinet reverberating through the room. A moment later, a shrill clang echoes out as an empty bottle shatters on the ground.
“Brian?” Amanda’s voice quivers with worry.
“Go home. I-I’m fine,” I mumble, resting my head on the desk again. Moments later, I hear a key jiggle in the lock, then footsteps racing toward me.
“Brian?” Amanda’s trembling voice questions.
“Go home,” I mumble, not lifting my head.
Amanda steps closer, picking up my tumbler from the side of the desk. “How many did you have?”
“Not enough,” I grumble, pounding my fist on my head. “All I want is quiet in here.”
