The Supernova Effect

Chapter 28

Nahmari

My parents have been pressuring me to go a funeral of some old family friend for two days now, and I had no idea why. In all honesty I didn't want to go and sit in a place filled with so much sorrow for hours. But I knew I didn't have a choice, they were going to make me go either way. I couldn't wait for summer to end and I move into my college dorms they were not going to be able to boss me around no more.

"Mar mar!" My little brother, legend yells running into my room dressed in an all black suit.

"Yes?" I say, bending down to be at his height level, he was already ten but short for his age.

"Daddy said you better be ready or he's gonna get you." He teases.

"Tell daddy he ain't bout nun."

"What did you say lil girl?" James, My dad asks as he walks into my room.

"Nothing, come on legend let's go." I say quickly, grabbing his hand.

"You lucky your mom's waiting in the car I would have showed you what I'm bout."

"Please come on old man, or do you need your walker?" I tease.

"Oh so you got jokes now?"

"I was always the comedian of the family." I smirk.

"Let's go before I jack you up."

The funeral service was held at a Baptist church name Mount Zion, I remember this church from my childhood, my family and I used to go here every Sunday before the Preacher and his wife died in a car accident.

The building looked a little different from when I was younger due to its age. Its weathered white clapboard pealed gently beneath the weight of years of me and the Preacher's son running around and hiding behind them. The steeple—leaning slightly but still proud—reached toward the sky, crowned with a simple iron cross that caught the golden afternoon light.

I walk slowly up the wide wooden steps taking in all the nostalgia. As we walked inside, the usher handed us an obituary. It read "in loving memory of Dorsey Marie Jensen" and my eyes go wide with realization once I see her picture. She was the mother of the Preacher; I would always call her Miss D I never knew her real name.

Miss D, always sat at the front of the church with a big colorful church hat and was always dressed in her Sunday best. She would hand me and her grandsons' candies if we were good during the service. She was so kind and loving but stern when she needed to be.

I remember when she caught me and her grandson swimming in the lake in our underwear. She beat our tails raw with a switch; my pale butt was bruised for days. But I deserved it, I used to be grown and bad as hell.

the sanctuary was filled with reverence, the air thick with the presence of death and woe. Specks of Dust danced in slanting beams of light pouring through tall, narrow stained-glass windows, their colors glowing—blues, reds, and ambers. I remember sitting down in the wooden pews and starring up at those windows impatiently waiting for it to be time to play and have Sunday dinner.

The pulpit stood elevated front and center, and a carved oak casket was placed in front of it

Behind the pulpit, sat a choir awaiting their time to harmonize. The floor creaked with every step, groaning like an old soul.

We slid into one of the middle pews, my mom already dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Legend squirmed next to me, bored already. I smoothed down the front of my dress, feeling awkward and out of place. I hadn't been here in years, and yet it felt like I'd never left. Every creak of the pew, every soft hum of the organ pulled me back to a different time.