Before You Say Goodbye

34

I've always loved black.

I usually prefer to buy more black clothes in comparison to clothes of other colors. Yet, somehow, none of the hundred black clothes I owned seemed appropriate to wear today. A few were too stylish, a few were too black, a few were dull, a few seemed inappropriate. Nothing in my closet seemed good enough.

That was the reason I was here, standing in front of my mirror wearing a borrowed dress from my mom's closet. The dress was a little big for me, not that I cared. I haven't been able to bring myself to care about anything since that day. On a deeper level, I knew I was miserable and confused and fuming, but on the surface level, I was numb. I didn't feel anything. Either that, or I didn't know how to express what I was feeling, or if I was even feeling anything.

As I stepped onto my porch, I noticed for the first time how dark it had gotten outside. Mom waited for me by her car, a worried look on her face as her eyes landed on me. That has been the only look I've been capable of drawing from her since that day Noah and Roman had dropped Piper and me home from the hospital.

Ezra had dropped Terry home and had also invited Roman along since he lived right next door. Roman had turned down his offer though, said he wanted to ride with me. The drive home was fuzzy, I don't remember anything and if anyone had talked to me then, I had no idea about that. Halfway through the ride, I had also fallen asleep, the exhaustion of the day taking over me. Noah had to practically carry me inside my home. Mom, who didn't have any idea what was wrong – she thought we were having fun on the beach – had freaked out the moment she saw me unconscious in a boy's arms. It took him a few minutes to calm her down and to explain to her what had happened and assure her I was just exhausted and asleep.

From that day forward, even though I'd tried telling her so many times that I was fine, mom wouldn't believe me. She always kept her eyes on me, insisted that I be in the kitchen with her when she cooked, and even when I went to sleep, she always wanted my bedroom door open. I didn't fight her on that – I knew if I did, she'd probably have that door removed. I would never underestimate her.

I shook my head, climbing down the porch steps. "I can go on my own, mom. You don't have to drive me."

"But I want to. I want to be there," she placed a hand over my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

I knew she was waiting for me to have a mental breakdown of some sort. Every time I try to convince her that wasn't going to happen, she convinces herself that's exactly what's going to happen. She was scared for me. And, I understood that. So, I let her drive me to the funeral. I let her walk with me to where Terry and Lucy had been waiting for us. I let her sit next to me. And even though we were one of the first ones in the funeral home, we sat in the last row.

Only a few minutes after we got here, it was pouring cats and dogs outside. I read it somewhere how rain on a funeral day meant that the deceased would go to Heaven. I remembered also reading that some people believed that rain during a funeral meant God was also crying along with us, mourning our loss. I don't know if I believed any of that, but what I did believe was a life too young had ended – and my best friend didn't deserve to go the way she did. With so much pain, both physically and emotionally.

Terry and I held hands as we just sat there, not noticing anything happening around – not noticing the broken man at the front of the place, not noticing the priest talking to him. As we sat there, Terry and I noticed only each other's pain.

I could hear mom and Lucy talking, but I could feel their attention on Terry and me. They were trying to estimate how much damage Sophia's action had done to us. I don't know how they can estimate that when we by ourselves don't know the extent of the damage.