September 25
None of us have gone to school. I’ve been sitting in my room for the past three days. Thinking. Writing. Crying. Sleeping. My phone buzzes for like the 10th time today. But instead of shutting it off and flinging it off like some angst-y teenager, I read it. Emmet.
Hey everyone. Mrs. Whitter said that she wants each of us to be involved in the funeral and after party thing. I was thinking we all meet up tonight and plan this thing. Any suggestions? Text me back with your ideas and I’ll send out another mass text with all the final details.
How am I supposed to be a part of the funeral when I can’t even talk? I sent him a text, asking him what in Gods’ name I’m supposed to do. It takes him a while to respond.
I know. But Mrs. Whitter demands that you’re involved somehow. Probably cause of how much he loved you.
Loves. I correct automatically, even though I know he’s dead.
Right. But anyway. Don’t worry, Em. We’ll figure all this out.
K. any suggestions about the meeting tonight? Checking my phone, I see it’s only 2:30. Huh. Feels longer than that.
Everyone can’t have it at their house, but they can go. We might have to go to Starbucks unless Rosalie says something soon. She’s checking with her parents. Please pull through, Rosalie.
Let me know what she says
Mmmk
Five minutes later, I get another mass text from Emmet. Hey again guys. It’s at Rosalie’s tonight. Come at 9:30. We got a lot ahead of us…
*** *** ** ***
We were all invited to spend the night. Including the guys. The cold air nips at my bare skin. No, I’m not naked; I’m in my pajamas: shorts with a Whinnie the Pooh shirt that’s five times too big for me. Grant got it for me last year when his family went to Disney in Florida. If any time would be appropriate to wear it, that time would be now. Rosalie opens up the door. Everyone’s there, eyes rimmed with tears, and awkwardly sitting there. Waiting for Grant.
But he’ll never come back
*** *** *** *** ***
It was 1:30 in the morning, and everyone had a part. We were camped out in the living room, on a bunch of mattresses. And I could tell they were getting tired. If they didn’t find something in the next ten minutes, I’ll be screwed. Yawning, Emmet opened his mouth to speak.
“Rosalie and Sunshine are singing. Natalie has the Psalm; I have the second reading, Rachel has the intentions. what’s left for Emma?” I knew as well as they did what the problem was. Most, if not all, the parts we’ve been assigned to cover involve talking in some way. And we all know I can’t do that.
Everyone shrugs. Well, everyone who is still awake shrugs.
“What about the eulogy?” Rachel asks. Everyone’s head perks up at the idea.
“What’s that?” Emmet asks.
Rachel sighs in annoyance. “A eulogy is when a person writes about the dead guy.”
“How is she supposed to read it?” Natalie is awake now.
“She doesn’t have to. Mrs. Whitter can. She’ll just say that Emma wrote it. Plus, I think it would be a good idea considering her relationship with him.”
I couldn’t believe it. They chose me to write the eulogy. Grant’s eulogy. And finally, everyone falls asleep. Everyone but me. I run to the office, find paper and a pen, and sit at the desk. The words flow from my mind as the pen scribbles down sentence by sentence. Word by word. I’m exhausted, but I won’t sleep now. I’ve got a eulogy to write.
YOU ARE READING
Unspoken
RomanceEmma is a normal fifteen year old girl with normal fifteen year old problems. She likes boys, she loves to dance, she wans to go to the parties, you know? She wants to be the popular girl. It's kinda hard when you can't talk.
