Red November

two.

I had once read that being surrounded by too much of the color red can cause an individual to become irritated, agitated and ultimately angry. I couldn't feel anything sitting in the huge church surrounded by bouquets of red roses. I couldn't feel anything looking at them grasped in the hands of people meandering about the church, making conversation almost as dull as themselves. I felt nothing as the boy with tired, grey eyes attempted to catch my own, probably hoping to help me. Not even when my father crumbled into tears in the arms of his friends did I feel anything inside. Only when my eyes stopped on the black casket, made a bloody dumping ground for the roses did I really feel anything. The black aching in my chest became more present and I felt as if someone had grabbed my chest and closed their hand into a fist, pulling my skin with it. I carelessly glanced down and saw nothing but the dark grey dress I was wearing and the stupid rose clutched in my hand. I let out a deep breath as I opened my clammy hand, releasing the flower, ignoring its decent to the cracked wooden floor.

'Ruby,' the boy with the grey eyes said quietly, 'you dropped your rose.'

He bent down for a second and when he rose, he was holding my wilted flower and a sad smile. I did not return his smile, but reached for my flower anyway.

'I'm sorry Ruby.' He whispered, his voice laced with sadness and disappointment. I nodded in response. He moved across as somebody excused themselves past him, and he was now standing at my side, looking down at me as I stared ahead. In a quick motion, he grasped my hand in his warm one.

I looked at our intertwined fingers, a sweet gesture one that he had initiated many times before. His gaze was on my face, trying to gauge my reaction. My eyes met his and in that moment I felt a lightness in my heart. Maybe I could be okay.
But in that fleeting moment, my selfishness crashed down on me. How would I ever be able to think that when nothing would ever be okay again. Mom was gone. It was part my fault. I didn't deserve a kindness in the world.

I quickly broke the hold and wordlessly walked away.

~ ~ ~

I found myself in the bathroom and slid down the far wall as the sadness engulfed me. My hollow sobs bounced off the tiled walls, but I was glad to be alone. No matter how many times people had told me that my mothers' suicide was not at any fault of mine, I couldn't help but wonder.

What if I had been a better daughter?

How could I have not seen the signs?

Maybe if I had tried harder at school and fought less at home she would still be here.

My tears drenched my skirt as I hugged my knees to my chest. I ignored the sound of the closing door, and the quiet footsteps that approached me. He slid down the wall beside me and his arm encircled my shoulders, drawing me close to him. I relaxed into his side, and turned my head to his shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around me, engulfing me in a hug. My tears continued to flow, and he watched my unfolding wordlessly.

Minutes later, when the worst of my hysteria was gone, and I was left splotchy faced and with hiccups, was the first time he spoke since entering.

'Ruby, I can't even tell you how sorry I am. Your mom was just so...' His tone was thoughtful and I imagined he was remembering the amazing woman my mother was.

'She was.' I replied, pushing myself off the wall and to a standing position. I laughed humourlessly as I saw my reflection in the mirror. It was as if the blackness in my heart had found its way into my tears, running black streaks down my face. The red splotches surrounding my eyes reminded me of the damn roses that overwhelmed the church just outside the door.

I fixed the mess the best I could and turned back to face him. He walked over in a few confident strides and took my outstretched hand in his. As we approached the door he slowed and took both my hands in his.

'This might be the right time, but I want to remind you that I love you.' he said pulling my hands to his lips to kiss my knuckles.

'I love you, Ethan.' I replied, smiling the smallest of smiles.

We remained connected as we left the bathroom, and I swear that as we walked by her casket, my mom whispered
Be happy sweetheart.