His Song

Chapter 28: Grieving and the Consequences

Brendan's P.O.V. (still)

I wake up on the Saturday after Mom's funeral around 2 p.m. I just wanted to lay in bed all day. Luckily I didn't have much homework because the teachers were trying to take it easy on me. (Except Mrs. Braune because she was probably like, "Oh, I don't care if his mom died bleh bleh bleh.")

The school let me be out all week. Brianna was bringing home my homework and showing me the new lessons so the stress wasn't building up on me when I get back to school on Monday. I mean, there is Study Hall, but I decided to use it to go to teachers when I need help on a lesson I missed.

I wonder how Dad was trying to tell this to the front office. (If I'm out due to the death of a family member, the absence gets waived and not counted to my records.) Did he get all choked up? Did the office believe him completely and felt sorry for us? Better yet, did they not believe him and wanted to see her dead body because they knew I was out a lot? (Ha ha! Ferris Bueller anyone?) Well, I was out a lot because I made stupid mistakes to get myself wound up in the hospital.

Dad was at work today, and won't get back until late tonight. The company he works for (some accounting place in Jeffersonville) wouldn't give him enough time off to grieve.

I go downstairs and try to find something to eat.

After a ten minute search through cabinets and the fridge, I decided that nothing sounded good to me. I haven't eaten a good meal since Tuesday because I've been feeling sick to my stomach. Is it a side affect of grieving?

I walk into the living room and plop on the couch. I turn on the TV and the news was on already so I watched that. Today's news consisted of: a shooting in Louisville, Ebola, a robbery in Jeffersonville, the Jodi Arias case, Ebola, meth lab bust, Ebola, Ebola, oh, and I forgot to mention Ebola.

As I'm watching the mindless television, I realize that it has gotten to the point of my living that I don't break down and sob when I talk about Mom. I just tear up a little.

The news is so boring. I shut the TV off and walk back upstairs to my room. I should take a shower. Haven't taken one of those since Tuesday either. I know, that's gross.

The past week was full of mourning, grieving, homework, and a little bit of Brianna. Once, I think Thursday, she asked me, "When's the last time you took a shower? You're pretty rancid." So now I need to bathe.

I go into the bathroom and turn on the water to get it to the perfect hot temperature.

In the shower, no one just takes a shower. They think about life. They including me. I mean come on, I can't be the only one.

Standing in the hot water has me thinking: Is Dad ever going to get remarried? Is she going to be super nice, or is she going to be a bitch? Will she have a kid? Hopefully it's not a teenage girl. I don't want her to be hip-to-hip with me when I already have a girlfriend.

After I get out and get dressed, I go back into my cave, A.K.A. my bedroom.

I grab the guitar Tyler got me and plug it into the amp my grandparents gave me. I turn the amp down so I don't shake the whole house. The guitar is perfectly tuned.

I play some random chords then played ones that I could fit together to recognize a song. I start singing along to the attempted cover.

"Are you ready for a firefight

"'Cause the devil's got your number tonight

"They say we're never leaving this place alive

"But if we sing these words we'll never die"

The feel of the guitar. The sound of the amplifier.