I laid in my bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been a horrid and dreadful two days since Ammon was pronounced dead, the funeral was this afternoon. The service started at 10 and it was already 9:30. I didn't really want to go, because I knew if I went, I'd have to admit to myself that he was really gone and that I really wasn't going to ever see him again. How could I do that?
My alarm went off, giving me a splitting headache as I hit the snooze button shakily. I dragged myself to my closet, taking the sad black dress my mom had bought, off the silver rung. It was a very gorgeous dress, flowy and long with a drape like sleeve. It had a cow neck, or whatever, that ruffled beautifully. I slipped it over my head, as I looked in the mirror. It accented my curves nicely and if it were any other occasion I'd love the dress, but today, today and forever, it was a sad, mournful dress. I didn't try to spice it up with any jewelry and I didn't feel like doing my hair, so I just threw it up into a slick ponytail. I didn't even consider make-up, I knew it was just going to smear and get everywhere from my tears.
"Kallie," my mom called timidly from down the stairs, "It's time to leave."
I slipped my small feet into a pair of black flats that Ammon had given me. He always used to make fun of how small my feet were compared to his and everyone else's feet. Memories of us flooded through my mind and as I left the room, my eyes began to well with tears. I slowly marched down the long staircase to the front door.
"Ammon stop!" I remembered myself giggling as Ammon slid me down the banister when we were young. One tear escaped my eye. Next I saw Ammon opening the front door for me, all dressed in his cute prom tux, yet another tear sliding down my cheek.
I slid slowly into the passenger seat of the car. My mom throught it was best if she drove, I agreed. Everywhere I looked, there seemed to be memories of Ammon. By the time we got to the church for the service, I was already a mess.
I walked in, tears flooding my cheeks as I saw the casket at the front. Ammon's parents stood at the doorway, welcoming everyone with teary eyes. As soon as I saw them, my hand went to my mouth to prevent a sob, but it was too late. Ammon's mom engulfed me in her arms as we sobbed together at the loss of the greatest man in the world, her son.
My mother and I went to the front of the room and sat with the family. They were my almost family. In what seemed like a split second, it was my turn to talk. I walked up to the podeum slowly.
"I loved Ammon," I began slowly, not sure what to say exactly. "I'd known him since I was little. We'd grown up together, gone to school together and we we're together. As many of you know, a few weeks ago Ammon asked me to marry him. It was the happiest day of my life. Then he had to leave. I was so upset that he had to go so soon. I cried a lot the day I knew he had to get on that awful plane.
"He was by my side whenever I needed him, and even when I thought I didn't. After he left, I knew I wouldn't have that luxery anymore. I was scared that he'd find a cute city girl that was better than I was. I told him I didn't want to say goodbye because 'goodbye means leaving and leaving means forgetting.' At the airport on the day of his departure I said goodbye. He took my hands in his and lookied me in the eyes and said, 'let's not say goodbye, but I'll see you soon. So," I looked aththe casket and back at the congregation, "I'm not going to say goodbye," by this time I was crying so hard I could barely speak, "I'm saying, I'll see you soon."
I russhed off the stand and took a seat in my mother's arms. Other peaople spoke, but I wasn't paying attention really. Memories ran through my head of things we had done. I hadn't been to our pavilion since the night of the crash. I kept thinking about the night he had proposed. It was like a fairytale, and then it ended. And it wasn't a happy ending.
The service ended and we drove out to the cemetary. It was efen more sad than the little black dress or the service. They lowered the casket into the ground. Ammon's mom, my mom, and me were crying the whole way. I held two roses in my hands, red and white. Red was his favorite, it was classy he thought. White was the symbol of our love, clean and pure. We had promised each other that we'd wait for any sexual relations until we were married.
"I love you Ammon," a few tears ran down my cheeks, "I'll see you soon." I gently laid the roses lovingly on the casket.
I suddenly felt someone's strong arms wrapped around me. They were warm and comforting. I turned around to see who was embracing me, but no one was found guilty. It was just a figment of my imagination. Or so I thought.
