How it came to this

The Funeral

I lay naked on the bed with my sister's black dress beside me.  It calls to me begging for my touch.  I am paralyzed in this moment unwilling to move.

"Amara." Mom calls.  "You need to hurry or we'll late."

I am instantly numbed by this revelation.  My hair is still damp from my shower.

I take my sister's dress in my hands and notice a few hair strands on it.  I peel one off and revel in this moment.  I do not wish to go downstairs.  I do not wish to admit what has happened.

I am a sloth as I force myself up and out of bed.  The strand of hair locked between my fingers.  I slip on her dress. (I prefer boys close over feminine.)  The straps are tight on my shoulders, her dress billowing on my knees.  

I am stone as I make my way down the steps to my mom.  She waits impatiently at the end her mascara already slightly streaking down her cheeks.  As I approach she sees me her eyes are dead like mine yet red and puffy.

"We have 15 minutes to get to the funeral home."  She says as though the words are foul on her tongue.

I stare at her black heels.

"Did you hear me Amara?" Mom asks.  "Amara." She snaps her fingers to wake me from my trance.

I have hoped I would never have to relive this day and yet here I am.  The second worst day of my life.

Today I get to stare at my dear sister's lifeless body as it begins to rot and decay.

I snap from my reverie.

"Fuck this."  I say with poison on my tongue.

Mom recoils as though I had slapped her.

"You watch your mouth Amy."  Now is my turn to recoil as my sister's nickname for me has rolled off of her tongue.

Still, I am angry.  I shoot daggers at her and bump her shoulders as I stroll past her. 

I feel the sting in my eyes and instantly wish the burning away, wish the pain away.  Life after Allie's death has left me either angry, in pain, or numb.  Every emotion I do my best to bottle up and send out at another.  My message in a bottle.

Still, I feel Allie's hair between my fingers.  I take a sniff of her dress and it.....still.....smells like her.

Dad is in the kitchen sipping his morning coffee.  I had never seen him cry before but as the police came and told us what had happened I watched this man whom I've come to loathe fall to pieces and weep for his dead daughter.

"Mom said it's time to go."  I say nonchalant.

"I know, grab your coat."  He mumbles, closes his eyes, and breathes deeply before letting the air out.

Allie is dead.  I am in shock.  I have yet to cry for her at this time.  I am numb.

I proceed to grab my black winter coat with no closing pockets and open the door to the outside.  The air is cold as it hits my cheeks winter nearly here.  The leaves are fire on the trees some scattered and decaying.

Do not make me relive this.  I think to myself.  I cannot do this.

But, against my own will I am led to that Mitsubishi Galant, that I have nicknamed aqua.  Powder blue.

As I open the car door I notice a barrette of my dear sister Allie's on the floor, this I too pick up, her strands of browns and purple hair locked in it.

Without a purse, I must carry this weight with a clenched fist.  Her scent of Love potion perfume is just a hint of her, the strands pieces of her I can never get back.