With Broken Wings (2013)

Photograph

Another little short story I wrote about coping when we were all hanging out after the funeral. Not all true but based on reality as much as it can be.

I reached out to lift up the photograph on my dresser and felt the wet warmth of a tear slide down my cheek. I brushed it away and tried to hold back the rest, I was a big girl and I should be over this by now, but it was futile. The tears kept coming anyway, pouring out of both eyes and fairly streaming down my cheeks, leaving them wet to the touch. I tasted salt as I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to stop myself from breaking down right then and there.

The photo was blurred by the tears but I didn't need to see. The memory was one I'd never forget. One I don't think I could forget if I tried, and I didn't want to try. Lately it was beginning to seem like the memories were all I had left. I hated having to remember him, he should still have been here by my side, but he wasn’t and that was something I was going to have to get used to.

 I glanced down at the wooden frame I held in my hand once more, and brushed my fingers gently across the glass.

I blinked back tears as that familiar stabbing pain in my heart returned. It was almost like it was being ripped right from my chest. It felt like my lungs had been punctured and I couldn't breathe. I hated feeling so weak, like I had to censor every word that came out of my mouth.

I didn't trust myself to speak for fear of saying something I couldn't take back. I was walking on eggshells. I didn't want to keep pretending everything was fine but if I said anything I would be breaking everyone's hearts and I couldn’t do that. We were all hanging onto a lost hope but no one wanted to be the one to admit that that's what it was, lost. The breaking point was coming and I sure didn't want to be alone when the tsunami hit.

I checked my reflection in the mirror one last time, fixing my hair and tugging at my clothes. Then I took a deep breath, plastered on a smile and made my way downstairs. Everyone was already there, all dressed the same. It only served to fuel the pain in my heart. This was the last family photo we would ever take. The thought stung but I pushed it away, I would deal with that loss when the time came.

I glanced around the room to be greeted with a sea of blue jeans and white shirts, the uniformity of it all giving me chills. I watched with a smile, or what I hoped was a smile, as Grandpa sat down in his chair. We all stood around him as the cameraman, George, set up his equipment. The light barely snuck through the thick curtains behind us, only adding to the somber feeling. I adjusted my glasses on the bridge of my nose and plastered on yet another smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.

"Say cheese and crackers!" George shouted out.

I heard the faint snap of the camera shutters closing and then it was over. I opened the curtains and peered outside, the leaves cluttering the lawn becoming my focus for now. I glanced over and smiled at the scene in front of me, everyone sitting around chatting. Despite his illness, grandpa seemed to be at the center of it all like he always had been. This time, the smile that graced my face was real.

"Forever the sun in our lives, shining just for us."

Tears brimmed in my eyes again as I relived that day in my mind. If only I had known that it would be the last time I'd see him alive. Maybe I would have done things differently. Maybe I'd have tried a little harder to make him proud. Only, I hadn't expected it to escalate so quickly.

He was okay that summer, a little tired but he still looked like himself. Not three months later and we returned to see a broken shell of the man we once knew. He had lost the extra weight he had been carrying for as long as I could remember and the deep purple-black bags under his eyes were worse than my own.