Ms. Marmay

Beginning

The sounds of rain echoed in the car while the quiet radio host ranted about the daily report. The scent of fresh flowers floated about as they sat on the passenger seat, lifeless and beautiful. Pulling up to my best friend's house, the rain slowly halted to a drizzle, and the radio host fell silent.

Her home appeared gloomy under the gray skies and intense rain. Green vines covered the white exterior, and the black doors hid behind a series of ferns and roses. Stepping out of the car, I loosened my tie and held the flower arrangement carefully against my chest. Quickly, I ran across the small, rock pathway leading to the white, wooden patio before the rain soaked my coat. Stretching my hand to knock, the door slowly opened to a young girl. She wore a black dress for the occasion but quickly made steps out of the house.

She promptly glanced up at me, and then, across the street where her mother stood under the roof of her small patio. "Excuse me, sir," she whispered as she looked down and ran over to her mother. Mrs. Martinez waved at me, her sadness showing behind the barely-visible smile she portrayed, but I waved back with the same smile as hers as I proceeded into the house.

My best friend's granddaughter, Holi, stood by the kitchen door, waiting for me to take off my coat and greet her. Her young, trembling figure stood out in the quiet, dejected home. "Hello, Holli. Are you doing well?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No," she barely sniffled out. I wrapped my arms around her small frame and patted her weaved hair. Her cheeks and eyes glistened under the hallway lamp.

"Where's your mother?" I quietly asked.

She pointed down the hall towards the sunroom. "She's talking to Grandma."

"Thank you. I'll go talk to her, as well," I said before pulling away and heading towards the bright room with all the colorful flowers and pillows.

Kim stood over the light brown casket, sobbing and wiping away her tears with a cloth. The flowers sulked under the cloud-filled sky as the rain pounded heavily on the windows covering the walls and ceiling. An unfinished scarf laid across the small sofa, and my eyes widened, shocked by the aching loneliness searing at my heart.

I stepped into the room and reached for Holi's mother. "Ms. Taylor? May I speak with her?"

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. "You brought her favorite flowers," she smiled weakly.

"Of course," I said as I raised the arrangement of pink and white lilies. Kim walked out of the room, cloth in hand, as she called for her daughter. I went ahead and placed the flowers over the closed casket. One of her favorite handmade blankets sprawled out over the casket, bringing hope out in this disdained household. It spoke of her knit sweaters and scarfs wrapped in beautiful bows she'd bring to the office 30 years ago. Her stories she told me during lunch about her daughter winning the school relay race and her first day of high school. I remember the first time meeting a tiny Kim as we all went to buy ice cream together, and the time when we celebrated Kim's college graduation.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I remembered the wise words she advised now and then. I received countless numbers of criticism from my co-workers about our odd friendship, for most of my co-workers couldn't believe the friendship sparking between a white man and a black woman. Who knows how many years it has been, but I enjoyed having a friend like her. I can't accept the fact that she killed herself. After 68 years, now she decides to leave us. My tears turned into waterfalls, and I fell to my knees. I sprawled my arms over the casket and cried quietly into the closed casket. My white beard caught the snot pouring down my nose as my lips shuddered. "Why did I have to be the last one?" I mumbled to myself.

Suddenly, dishes crashing reverberated from the kitchen. "Mom!" Holi yelled.

I jolted up, pain ringing from my side, and rushed to the kitchen. Kim laid on the floor, pale and lifeless. Feeling for her pulse, I lifted her, bringing my hand under her nose and feeling her faint breathing brush against my hand. Slowly, I carried Kim to the living room as Holi followed, worried, and anxious. Holli handed me one of the small blankets sprawled on the couch and tucked Kim in.