Finding Paige

Chapter Two: Healing Process

Growing up in a small town, it's no surprise that everyone knows everyone. But throw in a little bit of teenage death and all of a sudden everyone is your best friend. It's like that's all anyone ever wants to talk about. My parents can't catch a break in public.

My mom steps out of the truck and onto the hot asphalt with her black and white sneakers. The breeze in the air, rustling her knee high skirt as she makes her way into the supermarket.

"Eggs, Milk, Juice, Lunch Meat," repeating the shopping list back to herself so she doesn't forget anything. She's always done that.

She makes her way down every aisle, scanning the shelves for anything extra she may want. The eyes of the people around her are all but screaming. Their sympathetic stares begin silent conversations in her head.

"Mom, don't forget cinnamon raisin bread. It's Jennifer's favorite," says the voice inside her head. She doesn't want to see me, but it's not something that she can just turn off. "How did that project go at work by the way? Did your boss like it?"

The image of me running my hands along the shelves of bread and Debbie Cakes as my mom looks anywhere but at me. Beating her forehead with the palm of her hand, balled up into a fist she shouts under her breath, "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

Everyone is still, the store is quiet. Every head turning to look at my mother. The visions come almost everyday. At first, she enjoyed them. Being able to talk and feel as if I were still there. Sometimes she still does. We'll talk for hours about anything and everything, but I feel like she just wants to move on and heal. But I can't.

Quickly grabbing one more box from the shelf, she turns the cart around and strolls toward the checkout counter, head down trying to avoid as much eye contact as possible. Here I am, screaming at everyone to leave her alone. My voice is drowned out by the wall of reality, no one can hear me, no one except my mother. I know this, but screaming at them is the only thing I can do to stand up for my mom.

I can tell when she's about to have a panic attack. The one's she gets so often when she's in public after my death.

Her heart is racing, she's starting to sweat. She takes a few deep breaths as she pans the checkout lanes for a short line. Express Checkout: Twenty Items or Less illuminated above register four. She approaches the line, there's only two people ahead of her. Trying to calm herself down she starts reciting lines from her favorite book.

" 'There are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone as well.' "

My mother takes a few more deep breaths.

"Ma'am, are you ready to check out? Ma'am? Can you hear me?" says the lady at the register.

My mom lets out a small chuckle as she apologizes and starts to place her items on the checkout counter.

"How are you today?" my mother asks with a forced smile, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her shirt.

"I'm fine, ready to get home and relax though, it's been a long day," the cashier replies.

The uneasy smirk on my mother's face gave away the fact that something was on her mind.

BEEP... BEEP.... BEEP...

The frequent and steady sound of the scanner beeping as the products were ran across it, slowly faded into the familiar pulsating of the machine that kept me alive for three weeks after the crash.

BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...

The voice of the cashier is faint, but becoming more audible as my mom starts to come back to reality.