A Short Story: The Truth

Part Five

      After a few minutes of Jeffrey's scripted speech, saying beautiful, overused words about my father, I had mostly collected myself. The saltwater tears had stopped flowing down my face, leaving it streaky and sticky. That was always a feeling that I hated- tears evaporating on my face and leaving behind a residue that mimicked reasons for crying. No matter how hard you tried to get rid of them, flush them from your body completely, there was always something left. Jeffery was coming to a close, his words slowing in the way that people like him always are so good at doing; it sends chills up your spine. When he had said his few final words, thanking everyone for coming, and telling them that there would be a burial service the following day, and that the casket was open for viewing, a mere few feet from where we were standing, he looked back at me questioningly. I gave a slight nod, one that said nothing and everything all at the same time. The ending of his speech quickly became an intro to mine, as he introduced me more formally than I had been before, and allowing me to continue. Previously, the faces of these people had been still and made of stone; things had changed. The room was filled with cries, faces with distant, far away looks in their eyes and I wanted nothing more than to join them. I wanted to walk off of the stage and collapse into the first person I saw that would hold me, give me comfort. I wanted to depend on someone else, not have everyone depending on me; but this was the way that it had to be, and I accepted that as soon as the thought of possibly giving this up had entered my brain.

     "My father wasn't all bad. I have a few good memories- and for those, I am forever thankful. But the man we've come for today, to gather in this place for, he was undeserving of this. But that's exactly how he was; he didn't deserve the attention he received, but he caused a ruckus and he got it anyway. Life was a game for him, and we were all pawns that he pushed around and toyed with, like puppets on a string. Except he snapped my string; he let me fall, and I broke when I landed. The things that he did to me- my sisters too- they were unimaginable, and left us all with issues unresolved to this day."

     I could feel tears threatening to escape my eyes, emotion building in my chest, in my throat, with every word that I spoke. I wasn't stopping this time, though; I couldn't, because if I let my mouth stand still then I knew I'd never have the willpower to make it move it again. So instead, I moved my feet; I walked around the podium, stepped down onto the level ground, and neared my father's body, talking to the audience all the while.

     "I don't think I'll ever be over the things he did; I'll never forget. They course through my veins, like liquid poison, threatening my life with every pump of my heart. But he didn't care- he never cared! He wasn't capable of it, his heart was made of stone, his soul was a never ending pit of darkness, and my god, he almost sucked the light out of me!"

     My voice had raised at this point, a raspy yell, that directed tears to well up in my eyes after each syllable. I didn't even know what I was saying half of the time; I just let my soul take control of my mouth- and apparently my body, too. I turned away from the audience, facing my father. I grasped onto his casket, the holding cell he'd be captured in for the rest of time, and I screamed, and I cried, and I lost myself somewhere deep in a darkness I didn't like, one that radiated from my father, one that could be sensed from miles away.

     "He used to say that love was like a burning candle, and that ours was a permanent flame, never to be put out; but he was so wrong."

     I looked into my father's face and screamed louder, tears spewing from my eyes like a faucet.

     "You pinched my flame beneath your fingers and watched me melt! And I hate you for it! I love you, but oh my God, I hate you! You watched me destroy myself because of you, and you never even began to utter the words that I needed to hear! You never said you were sorry, you never even breathed apologetically because I was just a piece in the game that kept you busy! You never cared!"

     At this point, I had sunk into the ground, my legs refusing to support me any longer. I sat there, mumbling words that no one could understand aside from the few people who sat on the very front pew, though they did nothing for the sobbing girl on the ground. All except for one, who was brave enough to take me and my loss of control on; a boy, the son of my father's best friend in high school, named Chandler. He took my shoulders in his hands, pulled me to my feet, and did exactly what I needed: he held me. My sisters were doing the same for each other, and it made me feel slightly better that they were okay- as much as anyone could be at a time like this. Chandler wrapped his arms around me, and I clutched him so tightly I imagine it was painful to him- but he didn't say so. He held me, and let me sob into his shirt, occasionally speaking out of raging emotions that I will never have the words to describe. At one point, when people began to crowd out of the room, some stopping by to place a hand on my shoulder, like my sisters, I said something that surprised even me.

     "I sat beside him with cuts on my wrists, sadness painted on my face like a piece of art, all because of him, and he didn't even notice."

     At that I cried harder, Chandler held me a little closer, us having moved to an empty pew, and when I looked around, we were alone.