PRECIPICE [h.s.]

Chapter Eight

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Starry, starry night

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Swirling clouds in violet haze

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Harry's P.O.V.

September 3rd 1997

For the third time today, the phone rang, and it was my mother calling once again. "Harry! I'm leaving without you! You better not be even a minute late tonight!"

It was finally the night of the investment dinner that my mom has been on me about nonstop. This was it. The beginning of the end. I had been to plenty of these dinners before, but then it was just training. It was a way for her to show me off like I was a toy. I was only allowed to speak when spoken to, and give short answers. I was about to become one of them. If I had to be reminded one more time that I was, "a representation of the company," I was going to just run off into the woods never to be heard from again.

I tried to tie my tie for a third time but once again I got distracted, letting my mind drift somewhere else.

She takes care of herself, she can wait if she wants.

"Get over here and let me fix that."

Augustine was in the apartment helping me get ready. I had plenty of practice getting ready for these things, but she said I needed a support system, or rather, someone to complain about my mom to. She was right. And I was grateful.

"You look good, kid. Don't let her get you down."

I wore an all black suit, with a black button shirt and a maroon tie. The tie was to match my mother's dress. A way of symbolizing that we were a team. I wore all black on purpose. This was the funeral of my youth and happiness.

The digital clock on my nightstand read 6:30pm. Like a knee jerk reaction my brain thought about Jaime's work schedule. It's a Saturday which means she's probably already at work, most likely closing for Monica tonight. Maybe one day I will be able to look at the clock and not try to think of where she was. I look at the drawer of my nightstand. The small piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it sat there.

I haven't looked at it since I got home and put it in there. I really just wanted to hear her voice again, but I had to leave her alone. I would only be hurting myself. She was happy, living her life. It is not her fault that I got attached. I was moving on slowly, if at all. A huge part of me was not ready to accept that the summer was over.

Every day I was closer to living my life without her infecting every one of my thoughts. Another day closer to tasting sugar and not thinking of her. Another day closer to hearing Billy Joel and not immediately thinking of her. Another day closer to drinking vodka and not thinking of her tongue on mine. Another day closer to closure. I had spent too much time once again daydreaming about Jaime. I headed out, hoping that I wasn't going to be late, knowing that I was.

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I would've sworn the tie around my neck was sentient and trying to choke me. The room is filled with the smells of perfumes that are too expensive for how awful and pungent they smell. I must be the youngest person here.

I'm surrounded by old white men who aged about as well as the yogurt in the back of my fridge, and their significantly younger wives. I wanted nothing more than to be in my bed asleep, but I was here to represent my mother. Like a broken record in my head. I am here to represent my mother.