We Die No Matter What

~chapter one~

We all die in the end...

That's something I've always known, but something I didn't know was how loud the sound of silence is. You feel as though you can hear everything and nothing at the same time. 

I knew that one day my mother would die, because, well, we all do. I just never expected it to happen as soon as it did. 

I had walked into the living room of our small apartment and saw her lying face down on the floor. I was only 9, so I just thought she had fallen asleep. But when I went to wake her up to ask her what we would be having for dinner, she didn't move. I rolled her over onto her side and my entire world stopped. 

Everything went silent. 

So deafeningly silent.

All I could hear was the loud beat of my heart.

Beat, beat, pause. Beat, beat, pause. 

My heartbeat was the only thing grounding me to reality, until even its sound faded. 

I don't remember what happened after that. Once my one tie to reality had broken I blacked out. The police officer, who explained to me what my new living options were, told me that I went into a fit of rage, screaming and crying and breaking anything and everything I came across. She said that the neighbor heard me and called the police, and once they arrived I had to be restrained so I couldn't hurt anyone or myself. 

Of course I remember absolutely none of that. 

I didn't regain control over my body again until many hours later when I woke up in a cop's office. He asked me lots of questions about my life, my mom, and other relatives. 

I don't remember much of the conversation, but it went something like this.

"Emeline, do you know why you're here"

"Mhm"

"Why?"

"My mom died."

"How did she die?"

"I don't know."

"Would you mind if I asked you some questions about your mother?"

"I guess not."

"Okay, what was she like?"

"Um... she was funny and loved me a lot."

"Yeah? Was she a good mom?"

"I mean, I guess. Yeah."

"What do you mean 'I guess,' was she not a good mom all the time?"

"What? No she was. I just mean that I have nothing to compare it to."

"Okay, and what about your dad? Was he in your life?"

"No."

"Do you have any grandparents, aunts, uncles or cousins?"

"My mom has a sister."

"Grandparents?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in touch with them?"

"Used to be."

"What made you lose connection with them?"

"I don't know."

"Did your mom get along with her parents and sister?"

"I don't know."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know. I'm done answering questions. Please stop."

"Okay, I'm sorry."

After that we sat in silence, the only sound being the sound of the keyboard strokes as he typed away on the computer in front of him. I didn't mind that sound, though, I was able to focus on it completely and forget about everything. This became my coping mechanism, focusing on sounds and forgetting my surroundings and my shit life. I became so good at it that in order for someone to snap me back to reality they would have to shake me, and sometimes even then that didn't work.

I had become so locked into the sounds of the keyboard that when he stopped typing and stared at me I began crying. Fat, wet tears streamed down my face until I couldn't breath and almost passed out. 

The cop didn't know what to do, so he just handed me a box of tissues and rubbed my back as I finished crying. Thinking about this moment I want to laugh, not because of how awful he was at comforting a nine-year-old, but at how dumb I probably looked crying just because he had stopped typing.

Once I had calmed down he had told me he found where my grandparents and aunt lived and was going to call them and see if any of them would be willing to take me in so I wouldn't have to be put into foster care. To be honest, I didn't really care if they said yes to taking me in, at least foster care would be a fresh start. The last time I had seen my aunt I thought she was my mom and got confused when my real mother walked into the room, so living with an exact replica of my dead mom didn't sound too appealing. Also, I had never met my grandparents, but I assumed they looked somewhat similar to my mom since they were the ones who created her, so living with them wasn't ideal either.

I guess luckily for me, none of them wanted me.

My grandparents said they were too old to raise another kid, and my aunt said she didn't have the time or resources for a kid. 

I wasn't upset when I was told that I would be going into foster care, I just shrugged and said "Cool, can I bring my stuff?" My reaction flabbergasted them so much that they quickly helped me pack my belongings in case I planned to change my mind. I didn't.

I got luckier than most kids who enter foster care and got placed with a nice couple who lived on a quiet street with other kids my age nearby. They, Linda and Gary, quickly enrolled me in school and introduced me to other kids in the neighborhood. I didn't like any of the kids except for one boy, Elliot. He wasn't like the other kids I had met, he didn't cower behind his mom as I was being introduced and instead walked right up to me, gave me a toothy grin, shook my hand, then giggled which made me giggle. 

Elliot became my first ever best friend, and my last.