Tailored Hats, Cats and White Rabbits Original

33// "I'm Late For A Very Important Date"

33// "I'm Late For A Very Important Date"

Don't drive angry, don't drive angry, don't drive angry. But I was angry. And I was driving. Sandra Wilders had practically called the cops by the time I finally told her that I would leave the house. White knuckles. Tight lipped. Fury pulsing in my like a second heartbeat. This was wrong. This is wrong. Lies...all lies. How was I going to get Alisa out of there? How? How?!

My foot slammed on the break in the middle of a deserted road. My head hit the steering wheel harshly and pain shot down my shoulder and arms. Why the fuck was this happening? How was I supposed to go on like this? I can't. I won't. I felt my teeth grind together and my face got wet as I hadn't even realised that I was crying. Shoulders shaking, breathing became a chore and I felt the voices slip back into my mind.

Life began to appear like a washing up sink. The more plates and problems that was washed in the water, the filthier and cloudier it got, the filthier and cloudier life got. Soon the water would become a sludge of leftovers and tossed away problems, soon you would have to find the plug in the mess of it all and let it all flush away. But that was my problem, I couldn't bring myself to shove my hands into my problems. For fear of it all resurfacing, for fear of my hands getting dirty.

Lifting my head up to look across the dashboard I saw that I was in front of a cemetery. Well I think it was a cemetery, my vision was blurry with tears so I just saw a run of green and tall trees. Slouching back into the seat my eyes cleared up and I saw that the sign engraved on the stone wall beside the drive that I was currently parked in, read 'Eastward's Cemetery'. I knew this place. I remember it like I was yesterday. But it was six months ago. Not that long really.

Suddenly the door was open and I was walking under the stone entrance. The light breeze that cemeteries always possessed blew my hair into my face, chilling the tears on my cheeks. How had I managed to drive here? I hadn't even noticed. Silently I walked through the lanes and lanes of aging gravestones with names and scriptures engraved on them, coupled with bright flowers and even some pieces of paper that loved ones had written. It was always something that Mom and I had done together, come here every now and then to walk through the soldiers gravestones who had given their life for our country's freedom.

Hands by my side I walked through the rows and rows of deceased people that I had never known. There was always some sort of vulnerability about reading gravestones, it make me somehow wonder if the person who owned the grave could see strangers read a snapshot of their life. It was both beautiful and devastating the amount of gravestones that were before me.

Glancing up from the ground I peered across the rows to see a small cluster of people huddled together, mainly dressed in black holding tissues to their faces, crying for their family. I remember when that was Mom and I. It had been us and a few family friends who had remembered him, even some of his army friends who had seen him die.

"We're sorry for your loss Mrs Lantara" they all said, "he was a brilliant soldier and a fierce friend" but that was all they could say before they crumbled into sobs.

My feet wandered to the gravestone which was still very new. It was that short of speckled grey that made you think of cookies and cream ice-cream, gold letters wrote across the front, a large cluster of poppies that blew violently against the wind.