DAZED AND CONFUSED | VANCE HOPPER

.Chapter 09.

THE FUNERAL HOME FLOOR was red, patterned in black flowers and vines. We were here because we needed to pick a casket. Instead, my mother was smoking a cigarette outside, sobbing. I'm stuck inside, holding it together. For her, for myself, for Emmaline.

"Miss," the embalmer asked me, rather impatiently. "The service is going to be closed-casket, correct?"

I shrugged. "You are the ones who are suppose to know that. I haven't got the slightest idea."

The man nodded and raked a hand through his white hair. "What style casket are you thinking of getting? We have a selection of children's caskets on the back wall."

I paced over to where he pointed, examining the ten or so cases they had on display. "The blue one, with the white flowers painted on it. H-her favorite color was..." I tried to hold all my emotions in, bottle them up and throw them away. I sucked in a heavy beath. "That blue. She loved daisies."

"That one is $250, miss." He acknowledged, eyeballing me.

I nodded and balled my fists. "I can read. I'm not poor. She's getting that damned casket."

"Yes ma'am," he said, taking a pen from his pocket to cross out the price tag on the casket. "And the flower arrangements?"

"Daisies." I said, playing with the belt that hooped around my jeans.

He nodded. "We will get that fixed for you. I'm sorry for you and your mother's loss,"

"You know what account to charge, right?" I cut him off, turning towards the door.

"Miss I-" he began, but I walked out, slamming the door behind me.

My mother was sitting on the hood of her truck, smoking her cigarette, tears falling in a constellation across her cheeks. She wiped them and forced a smile up at me. "You picked everything out?"

I bobbed my head solemnly. "I did."

She reached out to hug me, but retracted her arms quickly. "If only you would have stayed for breakfast, and hung out with us yesterday, Vivian, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybebwe would be at home right now, eating lunch!"

My face twisted into a sour expression, and I could feel the pain and anger rising in my throat, filling my thoughts with red. I thought about hurting my mother. I thought about what would have happened if I'd stayed, and not followed Vance. I thought about what would've happened if I stayed in New Jersey, but mostly, I thought of the overwhelming guilt stabbing at my heart.

"Ma I-" I looked at her, helplessly. My mother is not okay. Mentally, she's twisted. So am I. So is my father. We're all crazy now.

"No, no. You did this. You have the sick mind of your father! If only you would have stayed and not run off with that... that boy." She cried, stomping on her cigarette.

Tears welled in my eyes. "Mom... I didn't... it's not my fault."

"It is! That man hit your sister, but because you weren't home she rode her bike by herself!" She hollered, getting into her truck.

"Ma please!" I flapped my hands through the air, trying to suppress the tears 

Without another word, she drove off, leaving me alone in the funeral home parking lot.

There was a woman who walked out of the funeral home, dressed in a black pantsuit, that just stared at me, put a finger over her lips and went inside. Her icey glare lingered on my skin and I shivered, creeped out and exhausted. I wish this wasn't real.

I looked down at my shoes, one black converse, one white, both evenly beat up, and began to walk. I explored the downtown area, window shopping, and people watching.

People were watching me too. Not even a week in town, and people know me by name. They feel bad for me. They whispered as I walked by, and offered me their condolences, parting ways for me to make my way through. There was one boy, in particular, who stared at me, with with wide, curiously terrified eyes, his little sister holding his arm tightly. They kept there voices low as I passed, talking to each other.

I haven't seen Vance since the police sent him home. Either he didn’t like to hang out downtown with the rest of the highschoolers, or he wasn't welcome. Maybe it was both.

This town wss supposed to be a fresh start, and it is. A terrible fresh start. Brutal and police-involved. Nothing is ever going to be the same, or close to the same.