Infinite Questions

Funeral

"Are you ready?"

She looked up at me with her blue eyes, full of hope. Her innocence was radiant, and I longed for nothing bad to ever happen to her again.

"Yeah." She says.

I pushed the last bobby pin into her hair and turned her around to look into the mirror. The late morning sun reflected off her light hair, giving it a faint glimmer. She looked at herself with an almost hollow expression. I want to know what she's thinking.

"Emery." I hear from behind me. We turn around, and I lock eyes with our Aunt. Her name's Lillian. We call her Lily. She's our Mother's sister.

"Hey." I reply. "Almost done."

I take my little sister's hand and lead her to the doorway. I can see the pain in Lily's eyes. Our Mom was the only family she had left, besides us. But little Dylan, our absent Father, and I, aren't much family. My Dad's been a dead-beat drunk for as long as I can remember. He was never home when I was younger, and when he was he'd sit on the living room couch- bottle of whiskey in his hand, and stare at the TV day in and day out. Dylan would try to talk to him, get him to play with her. But he'd wave her off, say "Maybe next time bud". I had already learned there was no hope, but I let Dylan try, hoping maybe he would be different for his second daughter. The days he was home were almost worse than when he wasn't. Dylan would cry in my arms, and Mom and I would have to comfort her, and tell her it wasn't her fault. She's 8 years old now, and has caught on that although our Father wanted to, he never would be a normal Dad.

Things were fine in our life. I was finishing my junior year, Mom was writing her books, Dylan was finishing second grade. Things were fine until last Friday.

Lily takes Dylan's hand and I watch them disappear down the hallway. I glance at the clock on the wall. 11:00. I stalk back over to the mirror. My eyes scale my reflection. My light blonde hair, from Mom. Green eyes, Dad. My simple black dress is wrinkled, and I smooth my hands down it. I don't recognize myself. I stare into my own eyes. I can't see anything there. Who would? I snap back to reality and realize I started crying. I quickly wipe the tears off, straightening my back. No. You have to be strong. For Dylan. For yourself. No tears.

Back downstairs, we load into Lily's small old car, and head to the funeral.

****

There's not many people here. I don't expect there to be, we've moved many times. Not much time for Mom to make close friends, and the ones she has are far away. I imagine I'll get letters in the following weeks. I do a scan and see the town baker, Mr. Trofield. Mom got muffins every Sunday morning from him. Two coffee cake, one blueberry. And a chocolate chip if Dad was up for breakfast. He's a nice man, Mr. Trofield. He let me photograph his bakery for a project last year. Close friend of our family. I then see Mrs. Wright and her family, our neighbors from down the street. Then the McCoy's, another family on our street. We sit in the front row, the others sit a few rows back. I'm glad they keep their space. I stare up at Mom's picture, her smiling face looking back at me. I suddenly feel nothing. Just blank. I don't want to feel anything. I keep staring, pretending that today's just a normal day. Mom woke me up, we had cereal, and we sat on the porch reading. I don't know how long I've been sitting here with a blank stare, I faintly hear Lily speaking in the background. I think she's giving her speech. I should probably listen. I tune back in, and see her looking at me expectantly. Shit. Did she ask me something? I think she realizes I wasn't paying attention and walks down from the podium to me.

"Do you want to say anything?" No. "I think it'd be a good idea." No. I look at Dylan.

"Okay."