As the large, streaky and blurred cloud starts to cover the sun, hope springs in me that I might not have to be here much longer. But a strong wind with a muffled whistle blows away the cloud and with it any hope of having this event rained over.
It's sunny again. Whatever few patches of clouds I saw before, they all have been swept away, leaving behind a white sky with a tinge of blue. Everything appears clearer and brighter again. I even see a flock of birds flying towards East.
Disappointed, I take my mind off the weather and pay attention to what my friend, Leslie, is saying. She squats down beside me. Her faded voice starts to sound crystal clear now, along with the rustles of her red dress, caused by the humid wind.
"That's your mate?" she asks, pointing towards a group of kids my age down at the left.
"Yeah."
"And that's your other mate?" she says, still pointing at the same group.
" Yeah."
"And the girl beside them is the other girl they're mated with?"
"Yeah."
"You're fucked," she says in her unmistakeable southern accent. Sometimes she swears and sounds normal; Sometimes she speaks normal and sounds like she's swearing.
"Yeah," I repeat.
"Your mates are smokin' hot."
"Hmm."
"And she's sexy as hell."
"I get it. You can stop now."
She remains silent for a second. And for that second, my ears adjust to the inflow of voices from the ground around us. But soon Leslie gains back my attention with, "They're probably talking about having a threesome, leaving you out."
I sigh.
"What do you think?" she says, not giving me a break.
"I think I should find a way to bring you back from dead and kill you."
Leslie's dimpled cheeks puff up like a resting dough as she laughs. The sunshine glistens on top of her golden blonde hair that the strong wind fails to mess up. I've always wondered about it — how light can fall and create shadows on spirits, too. It's one of the many questions, along with why I can see ghosts, that I haven't found an answer to yet, and probably never will.
"Belle, come down. They are serving," mom says from somewhere inside the building. I don't know how she can just shout into the space thinking her voice will reach me somehow — but it always work.
I turn to Leslie to say I'm leaving. But she's gone first. I press my lips tighter in irritation. She loves to be the first one to leave. Probably that's why she left this world first among us friends, too. Not that she had a say in when she could get sick with cancer.
I stand up and dust my pants, while also trying not be blown away by the gale, and carefully vacate the terrace to get down.
Back on the yard, I quickly find the buffet and fill up my plate with a couple of buttered toasted buns, a steaming cup of gravy, a slice of rhubarb pudding, a scoop of risotto, and two big chunks of broccoli for show so mom doesn't catch sight of my plate and say in front of everyone to include my veggies. Once I'm done eating, those broccolis will be responsibly disposed.
With my nutritionally balanced assortment of food I search among the crowd for Khloe and Sandy. I thought only middle-aged and senior women, along with their kids who are forced to accompany them, would ever attend an event like this, but much to my chagrin everyone is here.
