Forgotten Mentionables

cHaPtEr 1

     Some years later:

I would say this was absolutely traumatic, but I wasn't in that kind of a dramatic mood today.It poured rain from sunny skies and I sat, misreably, in the middle of a funeral. It was just absolutley depressing. Everybody was dressed in black of course except for my mom and I who were wearing all white in honor of chinese culture. I really didn't like standing out in crowds like this especially when everyone knows that your mom was like the closest friend to this guy.

Well he wasn't just some guy, but I didn't particularly want to get to know him after my douchebag of a father left. Actually my mom kicked him out, but the point is he's gone.

But we were here anyway so there was no point in moping about it. While everyone was doing there greetings, I kinda slipped away towards a corner in the back to take a seat. I normally didn't mind crowds, it's just that there was too much tension and I didn't think I would be able to keep it together any longer. I slouched in my chair and stuck in my headphones. As long as my Maa didn't see me I would be okay. I just looked around the devastated people.

People were bawling, others were walking around looking sad, some were consoling others, and some you could tell were just there to see if they were in the will. I scanned the room as Macklemore blasted from my headphones. Something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. A boy in a plaid shirt and jeans with his red Beatz, taking him away from the crowded, sorrowful room.

He was sitting in a far corner and me by the window. It seemed nearly impossible, but the meager amounts of sunlight made his sun-bleached blonde hair glisten. He turned his head and his green eyes struck me. They were definitely more startling than my blue-grey eyes that stand out on my coopery skin. I am a product of mediocrity, while he was a product of perfection.

I realized that I was staring when the beat dropped on one of my many Skrillex songs. He turned his head all the way around to look at the dozens of sobbing people and I nearly fell out of my chair. I recognized him from the one time we met as kids. That was Luke Haveremore, the son of the very rich, very dead , and so my Mom's best friend, Edgar Haveremore. He was looking around the room and the more I saw his face, the more I remember the one and only time I ever saw him.

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We were kids the last time I saw him and my Dad was out of town on one of his "business endeavors". Mr. Edgar had come and introduced himself and he introduced a little blonde boy who stood shyly behind his leg. All I really remember after that is that when our parents left to talk in the kitchen, he said his name was Luke and that he liked my curls. Then he walked over and yanked my hair. I have those wonderful Black-Native American curls in my head so it absolutely hurt when he did it. Not only that, but he gave this sadistic little grin and ran away. I didn't talk to him for the rest of that day, but what I remember most is that when I had a nightmare in the middle of the night, he crawled into my bed and held me.When I woke up he was still holding me tight. That was the last time I had seen Luke.

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The noise started to die down a bit and I looked up to see the Pastor had taken the stand. He started going on about how must live to die and how Mr. Edgar was a great man and the whole 9 yards. I just sat back and hoped I wouldn't fall asleep in the next three hours. I glanced back over at Luke and I saw that he wasn't in his seat anymore. I looked around and didn't see him.

I nearly screamed when someone came up behind me and pulled my hair. I was literally scared out of my skin. I HATE being touched by anyone. Even my mom. I turned around shaking to see who it was. I turned to see a very handsome and very close Luke. I jumped out of my seat and walked away from the chair. Since I was in the back, nobody really turned to look at what the commotion was.That devilish smile lit up his face like it did years ago.

I was still shook up by the sneak attack so words didn't come easy. It's not like I would have spoken to him anyway, but still..... .

"It's not polite to stare Arieodiaonne," he  whispered in this light English accent.

I always had trouble talking to boys because of my past, but I know I was just pitiful gaping like a fish at him. His green eyes questioned me before he went through the doors leading outside. For someone whose father just died he didn't seem that concerned. I calmed myself back down and took a seat. I plugged in my headphones, hid them under my mass of loose, curly, hair, and decided to struggle through the rest of the death of Mr. Edgar Haveremore.