When we were wallflowers

1

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you for coming."

"How are they holding up?"

"Is there anything you need?"

The voices of the past it was like they could never go away. Our papa sat watching the casket. He had not cried at all, and it scared me. This dream has been a common occurrence since the funeral.

~
"Alfred, wake the hell up!" Matthew spoke. I had already been awake. I was facing away under the covers. "Do I have to?" I asked. "Yes, because the movers will be here, and papa made breakfast," he spoke. I groaned and finally threw off the covers. "Fine, but I'm doing this for him, not you," I laughed. "Whatever! Just hurry up," he spoke. Matthew left the room, and I took a deep breath in.

We were packing up the rest of our things today, and we would be leaving for the states. We had lived in England our whole lives, Matthew and me. Our papa thought that a new scenery would be healthy for us.

I looked over to the picture frame by my bed and smiled. It was on the floor, just like my mattress. We were nearly finished packing, so there wasn't much left. "Good morning, dad," I smiled. It was a family photo that we took last year. I remember how our dad wanted us to match clothes, and I kept complaining about it. I was too embarrassed to match with Matthew and our parents.

I wish I didn't complain so much.

I began to put my glasses on, and I started to walk to the kitchen. It would be a long day today, but tomorrow was our flight.

"Morning," I spoke.

"Good morning, child," my papa spoke. He kissed my head and urged me to sit at the table. "You look tired. Did you stay up late again?" He added. "No, not really," I spoke. I sat across from Matthew, who was eating his food and scrolling on his phone.

I stayed up late, but how could I not? Every time I went to sleep, I would either dream about the funeral or THAT night.

My papa placed food in front of me, and I felt a little sick. Was this depression I was feeling? Everything will never be the same. "What is wrong? Don't you like my pancakes?" Papa pretended to cry. "I think it's missing something," Matthew started. I looked at him and shook my head. "Please don't!"

"Yes!"

"Matthew! No!"

"Matthew! Yes!" He laughed. He grabbed the bottle of syrup and began to pour some on my plate. However, he poured a lot, and my pancakes were drenched. I rolled my eyes at him and began to eat the food. "Honestly," papa laughed.

"HEY! SORRY TO BARGE IN!" A voice called. My eyes widened, and Matthew and I looked at each other. "Ah! Gilbert! You should have told me you were coming!" Papa stood up and went to hug him.

Gilbert and our parents have known each other for years, along with their other friend Antonio. Gilbert always insisted we call him uncle.

Every.

Single.

Time.

"Hey, kiddos! Are you excited to see the United States?" He asked. "Hey, Uncle Gilbert, and I doubt it would be as great as people make it seem," Matthew spoke. "They offered me a good job, Mattie! You should be proud of your papa!" Our papa went to Matthew and began to run his face in Matthew's hair.

"What about you, Alfred?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm excited! Woohoo!" I said unenthusiastically. "Hmm? You won't even call me by my name! How sad!" Gilbert began to rub his face in my hair, and I got annoyed. "Gilbert!"

"That's not my name! It is U-N-C-L-E! Uncle! Gilbert!"

"No! I already have too many Uncles and an Aunt! Those spots are taken!" I spoke. I was not in the mood today. "Oh, how cruel! I guess you got Arthur's personality," he said.

My eyes widened, and suddenly everyone went silent. I looked at Matthew, and we both looked down, sad. "Oh... I'm so sorry, and I didn't mean to—..."

"Don't worry! Everything is fine!" Papa smiled. He had not cried once... as far as I knew. He didn't cry at the funeral or the hospital, and he won't now. I know he loved our dad, but I wondered why he would not cry. He always smiled at us and promised to take care of us. It's been nearly a year.

"Join us for breakfast!" Papa cheered. I looked over to Matthew, who looked sad. I kicked his foot under the table, and he looked up at me, confused. It made me sad seeing him this way, and I don't ever want him to be sad.

I smiled at him and handed him a piece of my pancake. "This is ninety percent syrup, and you should have it," I laughed. He rolled his eyes at me and took the piece. "You are lucky I am hungry," he laughed. "Antonio wished he could be here, but he can't! But he wanted me to tell you that we will visit you all in America! My wife will come too! We are all excited," Gilbert smiled. "I'm sure; just let us know ahead of time so we can all do something together," papa responded.

The conversation began to lighten up, and we all laughed and talked. Yet, on schedule, that feeling of guilt came back. I looked at the seat my dad always sat in, and it was empty. Our papa still set up the tableware for him. I had no clue why he still did it, but I wouldn't ever tell him to stop.

It felt illegal to laugh and have fun knowing he wasn't here anymore. "Alfred, Matthew, are you both excited to make friends?" Gilbert asked. "Yeah, it could be fun. However, I think Alfred might make more friends, and he is outgoing," Matthew laughed. "Ah! But I would never leave you hanging," I smiled.

I hope papa was right; all we needed was a change in scenery.