A Simple Kind of Life

Gotta Get Thru This [Daniel Bedingfield]

It snowed that day. Light and frosty—the snowflakes were large but insignificant on the ground. They peppered the sky like glitter, a beautiful swirl of ivory luster weaving in the wind. It decorated the grass, left milky damp stains on coats and jackets. A thin sheet spread over windshields of cars, lined up one after the other along the dirt road. 

 It wasn't very cold, but it snowed. It was a horrible day for snow. In the middle of November, and already it started. And everyone noticed it, commented on it. Oh look, it was snowing. What an unfortunate day for snow. Such a fucking inconvenience.

The snow made Mia feel like she was gliding through a stupor—none of this was real. It didn't feel real—lost in the whirlpool as the breeze sent a small flurry towards her. It encircled her body, as if promising to take her away.

When she was a kid, she would open her mouth to capture the snowflakes on her tongue. But today her lips were sealed. She didn't say anything. She spoke to no one, looking nowhere but down.

The heels of her shoes sank into wet dirt. She saw the snow continue to drizzle gracefully, disappearing when it touched the grass. Dark muddy green engulfed her vision. And she started to count every blade of grass as if she was counting sheep. Glistening moisture soaking in the daylight—and dirt. So much dirt. Freshly dug out pile of fucking dirt.

So much black. Everyone was wearing black. She was wearing black. Mia wished it was her own fucking funeral.

She felt dead. Her heart was beating so faintly the last few days she could have been mistaken for dead. She felt nothing and everything at the same time, wanting to scream every obscenity in a blood curdling cry but also never speak again. She wanted to die so loudly and then just deteriorate in the silent nothingness.

Shallow breaths, a weak pulse—even standing there, her body felt limp. Lifeless. She forced herself to stand. It was miserable being so frail and so quiet. Powerless. Her coat was black and oversized, hanging heavily over her shoulders, the zipper undone. She could feel powdery snow blanket the top of her head and dampen her hair.

And each breath she forced was so cold and crisp that it felt sharp, like a frozen stab to her lungs. The force of the chill swept at her every exposed crevice, delving within her coat, under her dress, embraced the entirety of her face and pricked her nose. Cold and tired and pathetic. It hurt to stand for so long. But she would rather die than admit that to anyone.

Andrew was beside her, hovering over her protectively, but it felt just needy. She needed space to breathe but he was there. He was always there. The last three days there.

It was suffocating how perfect he was, that nothing he did was wrong. The moment the phone slipped from her hand and she broke down into a million pieces—sobbing and screaming and unable to breathe as she inhaled air that wouldn't release—he was so supportive and kind while she did what she was best at doing. Being a fucking bitch. And she couldn't even do that in peace.

Sometimes Mia didn't know why she was angry. The feeling would just come to her, taking her captive and controlling her every thought. And today she was sullen, hostile. She wanted no one to look at her or feel sorry for her or try to make her feel better. She just wanted to fucking disappear.

She could still hear his voice to her on the phone, deep and thick from his German accent. Arguing with her and annoying her like he'd done for most of her life. Mia could still hear her father's voice telling her he loved her. Over the phone. Over the years. When she was a little kid. When she was a grown woman.

And she could hear him saying those words when they lowered his casket into this giant hole in the ground.

Everyone dressed in black, looking like a flock of stupid fancy penguins. Mia hated being here. She hated all the unused chairs behind them gathered in straight rows, hiding under a tent from the weather. She despised the silence as her dad was placed into the dirt. She hated being the center of attention, the only person related by blood, the only proof that he ever existed—she hated this.