Street Smart

Chapter 40: Kelly Bridge

I unwillingly pulled into the driveway of the Avery's and pretended to care about my appearance in the mirror, delaying my time inside. My heart was heavy and I was in no mood to attend this pitiful luncheon. David had practically pushed me out of the house, encouraging me and saying I would enjoy myself more than I thought. I know he is wrong, though. I stepped out of the car and straightened out my red dress. My high heels sunk in the pile of snow. I despise this time of year. The sky is always a gloomy gray and everybody is miserable.

    I politely knocked on the front door of the mansion. Christine Avery opened the door with a joyful smile, but once realizing it was only me, her joyful facial expression disappeared. I am sure she was accepting it to be one of her "girlies," otherwise known as her best friends. 

    "Oh, Kelly, come on in," She welcomed me in with a emotionless tone. I was led into her living room where a large table was placed with cocktails and deserts, none of which would be eaten by the women. Most certainly they were laid out as decoration, for the women in this town were far too petite to be indulging in such treats. Ladies gossiped to each other in small groups around the spacious room. I picked up a glass of white wine just as Christine gathered everyone to sit down as a group on the couches. I slowly made my way to the white couches and took a seat. Another women, I didn't recognize her much, sat down next to me. Her blonde hair hung over her shoulders and her blue eyes shimmered. The conversation began about "low" class women in the town.

    "Did you see what she wore to the yacht club party last night? I mean talk about last years style!" One obnoxious lady said as others chimed in about how hideous the women looked. One lady even said she was embarrassed to be at the same party as her! To hear grown women talk like this was absurd.

    "Hi," the women next to me whispered, "you're Kelly Bridge, right?"

    Taken back by this, I nodded.

    "I don't know if you remember me, but I used to be a good friend of your sisters before I moved. My names Sarah. Sarah Lavender," she smiled and held her hand out. I shook it. It was all coming back to me now, I did remember her. She was the best of friends my sister every had.

    "Yes, yes I do remember you!"
    She chatted with me for a few minutes, but then we were called back to the main conversation. I was glad though; I couldn't take talking to my sister's friend. It brought back too many memories. Too much pain.

    After an hour and a half of pointless gossip conversation, the party ended. As I made my way to the door, it was a relief to be done with these people. Sarah strutted over with a smile on her face.

    "It was great to see you again, Kelly!"

    "You too," I pretended to appear happy. I was very much done with this party. Done with her, as well. I walked out the door and headed to my car, she followed.

    "Please tell Samantha I say, 'hi'! Oh, here,"

    No. She was not speaking about my hopeless daughter. No. She sure was not. She quickly wrote down a number on a scrap piece of paper,

    "Give her my number please, I'd love to get back in touch with her," she smiled ear to ear. I slightly nodded my head. Unsure of what to do, what to say, I stood their frozen. I ran to my car, quickly pulled out of the Avery's driveway and pulled over down the road. Warm tears slid down my checks as I reflected on Sarah's presence at the luncheon. I finally pulled myself together and drove off to find Samantha. Pulling up to the cemetery, I walked around for a few minutes until I found her. Kneeling down, I smiled at the gravestone.

    "It's been a while, but I'm back now, Samantha."

    I took a deep breath in. I had avoided this miserable place, and her, for many years. I tried so hard to block her out of my life. A memory of her still lingers in the family, whether it be known or not.

    "Uh, anyway, I saw Sarah today. You know, your friend from the neighborhood, the one that moved? She asked me to give you this."

    I took the paper out of my pocket and buried it in the dirt in front of her grave.

    "She misses you...We all do."

    We sat in silence. As hard as I try to remove her from my life, I can't. Most days I hate myself for naming my daughter Samantha. Of course, Samantha doesn't see the meaning of her name, she has no clue about my second half. Perhaps that's the worst part about it. The memories flooded back. My father. My mother. My sister. This day.

    I remember the sirens, the bulky men that intruded our house, the stretcher, the empty bottle, the stains left on her side of the room. I remember the cries, the screams, the hope. I remember my fathers face full of disappointment and disapproval. I remember my mothers face broken down in sobs. I remember Samantha's face; peaceful. No sounds of sadness came from her mouth. She was more than happy to leave my father behind; be done with his rage of "excellence."

    She left us. She left me, alone. Left me alone. Never have I felt whole again. Always missing something...