There are ways of dying that do not end with a funeral. Types of deaths you can't see, feel or smell. Because death, just like love, has a mind of its own and some things can't be prevented.
What started as an innocent high school quest in search o...
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Turns out that Collin doesn't join us. I can't help but feel relieved at that one little turn of events, thanking the universe that Sarah's attempt at being purposely petty and vindictive didn't work out after all.
But the internal joy doesn't last for long. And when Collin does appear at our table, probably thirty minutes later, offering an explanation, "Sorry. I had to drop Jade off first and got stuck in the traffic," more to Sarah (because she's the one that invited him here in the first place) and my grandparents, and Sarah's mouth pulls into a smug smirk directed at me as Collin plops down into his wooden chair, directly opposite me (of fucking course), I feel like flipping the table over.
I'm aware of all the eyes casually landing on me in the next few seconds, as if to check on me whether I'm capable of holding my shit together in this predicament, and something about the notion makes me slowly uncurl my clenched fists under the table and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can keep my cool and avoid losing it again like I did at the cemetery.
It's going to take a lot of biting my tongue perhaps, but I can do it. I'm not going to give Sarah the satisfaction of getting under my skin with her little stunt and I don't particularly desire to pour a bucket of even more humiliation over myself in front of Cassidy and Rose. Not to mention, I don't want to put my grandparents into an unnecessarily uncomfortable position of having to pick sides.
I can be civilized. Or pretend to be, anyway. I just have to push everything – every grudge and angered, disappointed, hurt, bitter emotion—out of my brain for the remaining time of this awkward-as-hell-and-not-making-any-sense gathering.
Which. . . should be fairly easy considering the still-lingering effect of the Zolpidem pill I took before the start of the funeral, but somehow, it's not as easy as it should. Like I thought it would be.
Staying quiet as much as possible seems like the only safe option but then I have nothing to do, nothing to look at except the polished surface of the table and the glasses of water, Coke, juice and sodas everyone ordered so far while we wait for the food. And that's precisely how I end up glancing at Sarah, who doesn't look so smug anymore and is working her jaw back and forth angrily with her eyes firmly set on some non-particular spot on the table as well. I look away before she can notice my stare, only to end up at an even worse candidate. Collin.
Our eyes connect only briefly because the waiter – looking a lot like an edgy, artsy college student with several piercings adorning his face -- appears then, carrying our orders and setting them out as he scurries around the table. The "thank you's" are said and then he clears his throat and looks pointedly at Collin. "Uhm, anything I can get you?"
Collin shifts a little in his seat, nearly coming off as if he didn't like to be the center of (my?) attention all of a sudden as he glances at me, then back to the waiter, "A glass of orange juice would be nice." THAT GODDAMN WORD AGAIN! "And some . . ." he swipes his eyes over the table hastily, pointing somewhere in the direction of the plates set in front of my grandparents, clearly having no clue that the sweet dish is called Paczkis. "Whatever they're having."
