Take Note : It's All Different

6. Time to Say Goodbye

After a night of studying I'd forgotten what all this studying was for. My mind had gone blank. I was just studying. the information barely meant anything. Id forgotten the whole reason why I knew I was adopted. I'd lost track and brain washed myself with all this information.

It was on Wednesdy morning and Helen made it clear that I had missed the funeral. I'd completely forgotten. I'd lost track of days. So of course I went off at her for not reminding me and for not taking me. Naturally she had good news. She always did. No matter what. God damn drawinginspiration on instagram and all that! The news was that I had missed the public funeral and that I was welcome to attend the private one if I was keen. I was unsure for hours but Helen decided for me that I must go.

So I got to my room and began contemplating what exactly I could wear. I had many suitable dresses as I liked to wear a black basic with a bright and vibrant top. And that's exactly what my problem was. It was 15 degrees outside and I did not have a singular jacket I could wear that was the slightest part appropriate. They were all Fluroescent and too bright and wildly coloured with matching shoes but nothing I had was plain enough or simple enough. Or just gloomy enough.

As a last resort I grabbed my white precious jacket and threw it over the top. It was white and had some sparkles here and there it was a little too white for a funeral. It was more a wedding jacket but it had to do. I put on some slight heels and walked out of my room to do my hair but Helen was standing there with pins in her hand. I sat in the chair in front of her and remained as still as I could. There was no way I could do my hair nicely when I was shaking so much.

I was about to meet my parents. At the very least John Ambrose my father. There was not a single way I could meet my brother Avery but if this was as close as I got to my true family I was ecstatic and nervous. Very, very, nervous. Would I be anything like them? Would they like me? Would they reject me? Would they recognise me? Will they approach me?

My mind had not rested in days and now it was running faster than it ever had. Expectations and what not had all become to evident. I'd never truly cared about my appearance and now I did. All of a sudden I cared what others thought. Because I was to meet my father and say goodbye to my grandmother.

When Helen had finished doing my hair it was exquisite and I just adored it. There must have been over a thousand pins stuck in and my hair was twirled in every which way with no use of the curler. I didn't understand why she did so much detail when I thought she wasn't too happy with the idea of me going to the funeral. Although she was supportive and pressuring at the same time. It was very very misleading of her.

Thinking back at it now that would have been what she planned. Somewhat.

We were in no rush even though I didn't know what time it started. Once my hair was done I applied a slight amount of make up. Not too much just in case I do cry and it runs which is highly unlikely. I'm not very emotional. When I was satisfied with what I looked like I packed a small handbag with tissues, pen and paper as well as my phone. Mum said I wouldn't need it but I took it anyways. Just in case.

I sat on the couch shaking all over. I had goosebumps not from the cold but from my nerves. I was going to the toilet every few minutes or so and I started to get a headache. It felt like forever before Helen approached me slowly and said that it was time for us to leave. It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon. As far as I knew funerals weren't this late they were usually early in the morning but I had no idea what my family was like. I barely knew the religion considering I was baptised under my birth name.

I did not pay any mind to these ideas until the car ride there. Especially since we drove straight past the church I remember being invited to. Helen just kept her eyes on the road and seemed not to show any enthusiasm. My head against the chair itched and pained. Some pins dug into my head while others sat awkwardly against my head. The only time Helen spoke was to tell me not to touch my hair. Or to "leave it alone." Or "you'll ruin it if you do that." For the rest of the time in the car she was silent. Her eyes completely fixated on the road. Not a single word I said made her turn her head. Nor did an action. When she told me off she never looked at me. I wondered how she knew I was touching it if she wasn't looking.