The Sixth Sense

Chapter Six: Change

Chapter Six: Change

September 18, exactly 4:20 that afternoon, my dad's plane crashed down, and I don't know why, but that day, my dad didn't survive. September 18, the nightmare of my life.

It's almost two weeks after that terrible day. We aren't getting any better. My mom received a bunch of Mass cards when she came to work again. But things had change. Whenever she directs a scene, she would stare blankly in space, forgetting everyone beside her. She now often eats lunch alone in her office and mostly, her co- workers find her crying inside the ladies bathroom. When she's at home, nothing had changed either. I often hear her low sobs at night. And I could still catch her staring at a blank space. It hurts me to see my mom, who's so beautiful can be so fragile. I know I need to talk to her, or someone else. I know I'm not good with this stuff but she really needs someone to talk to. So I decided to confront her one evening, when she got back home from work.

I sat down on the couch in our living room, that night we got back from Orlando. I'm not quite sure what to say to her, so I kept my voice even and calm. Our front door slowly opened, and my mom appeared, carrying a box. I stood up and caught the box right out of her hands.

"Oh, sorry," my mom said. I brought the box to the coffee table and sat down on the couch again.

"What's all these?" I asked her while opening the box.

"It's your dad's things," my mom answered. She appeared coming out from the kitchen, "I had them deliver to me." I looked at her. She was smitten, practically finding dad's memories in that box.

I opened the box and the first thing I saw was all of dad's shirts folded neatly inside. I gently picked them up and placed them beside me. His shirts were properly folded; you can't see any waves and untidy folds. And he still had that shirt we gave to him last Christmas; the one that says "Best Dad." And then under the pile of shirts were his tea cozies, his mugs, soldier figurines and our family picture.

I didn't take anything else but the picture. It was placed in a frame; it was taken years ago I think, because I look younger, so does Bryony. It was taken in the Universal Studio, outside that big globe. We were taking a vacation back then and we got to see many celebrities. I think I was about 13 years old. My dad was with us, we were so happy.

Sadness devoured me like rush of a thousand knives piercing through my heart, letting me be eaten by the dark dank never ending colorless feeling. The thought of once more we get our family picture taken, it will never be complete. One person dies, we all die with him' like in the picture frame. I couldn't bear to not see our dad just disappear in the picture, no.

My mom sat beside me. I didn't know how many minutes I have been staring at the picture, my mom yanked it off my hands. "You should just get a move on Bri," she said as she stood the frame on the coffee table. I looked at her.

"What?"

"Your dad," she said as she grabbed one of his shirts and muffled it. "He's not coming back."

"I know," I answered. "It's just that, it came too quickly for me. I'm just sixteen."

"Oh, I've directed many films just like our story," she said "But I never knew that it would happen and we're not prepared for it." I didn't say a word. I'm the one who was planning to confront her, but instead, I was the one being confronted. "You and Bryony are way too young to lose a father. I don't know what I'm going to do," her voice was not pleading instead she was just stating it with a poker face.

"I could get a job," I told her "And when I turn eighteen I could just apply to the army," my mom laughed, breaking her poker face.

"You don't apply to the army, you join them. And being eighteen doesn't really give you the opportunity for the job, you need to go to college first," she told me. "Why the hell you want to be in the army any way?"