Zyanna

Chapter 3

I couldn't stare at the headstone any longer. The pain of the letters was killing me. The carving was done with edgy lines. My mom would never approve of it. It was a dead paining she would say. She would throw it out the window and expect better next week. She wouldn't look at it a second longer. She would turn around and scoff and the thing. And here we were, looking at it for more than half an hour. Looking at it with tears in our eyes, like it was a paining to become emotional about. It was noting, it was a disgrace to even be put here and to have my mother's name on it. An artist, should deserve an artistic place to rest, not this dark thing that my mother hatted. Tears were blurring my vision, but not enough to erase the grey headstone. The butterfly that was on the headstone all along, the flew strait at my face, attacking me. Making my stumble back and the pain in my eyes made me let out a sob, I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I could. I don't know where, but eventually I came out at the lake. With the water sloshing at my feet, I saw the boy from next door. He sat fishing. I went to him and I sat next to him. Accepting the silence as it washed over us. The water was silent and the sun was coming in flashes from behind the clouds. The lake was a beautiful place, with green grass and irises... The boy did not acknowledge me, he let me in my sorrow. Alone but still with me. The sun reflected in the water, blinding me. White was what I saw. That must be were my mom is. I don't close my eyes hopping to catch sight of her. But all I see is a shape of an angel. That must be her. She must have become an angel. Then she disappears again as the sun hides behind the clouds again.

"What was she like?" He asked, his voice deep and masculine as he stares at the lake, unmoving.

"She was amazing, she was an artist." I say. "If she were here, she'd tell me stories about how she met dad and how she became a famous artist, while taking out her mini drawing set and drawing the view. She'd tell me her secrets about drawing. She'd tell me on what I should concentrate, when drawing. She was an amazing mom." I'm silent for a while and then I begin again. The boy giving me the time to talk and listening patiently and not pushing me, not studying me like I'm a mental kid that needs help like the teachers do. "She would never cook the meal we asked for, you know. When she asked us what she had to cook tonight, we always received something else. The best part is that she barely noticed it herself. She was amazing. So funny and always laughing and making funny jokes. And she could never stay angry long. I preferred it if she was angry over my dad. Because she would eventually give in. My dad on the other hand isn't easily swayed." Tears were already running down my eyes, but still I found a smile present. "You're our neighbour. Did you know her?" I don't know why I asked and neither did he expect it, because the next second he turns his head to me and I can see his green eyes boring into mine.

"A little," He answers and turns back to his fishing hook.

"Do you ever catch anything?" I ask, we've been here for over an hour and the line has been hanging silent the hole time.

"No," He says, "There aren't any fish in this lake."

"Then why are you fishing?"

"Patience," He says, "you have to have patience to fish, even when there are no fish to fish." He must have a lot of patience to be able to wait for fish that aren't to come. Even though he didn't ask, I still told him why I was still here.

"I like the view." He nodded.

"Me too."

I went home when the sun was setting in the water. And arriving there I had to pass my mother's headstone. It was weird for a moment I thought I'd return home to find my mother cooking, but the house was empty. I even had to open the door myself, My father was on the ground, before my mother's mirror with her picture in his hand. I had never seen my dad cry, but now he had tears in his eyes. I sat next to him and we both looked in the mirror. I could almost see her and I thought I did for a moment, there in the shadows with a crown of butterflies on her head. But then she disappeared again and my dad sat there studying me through the mirror.

"I miss her," he said. I saw tears toll of the mirror. Sad tears, down.

"Me too." I nod. It's silent for a while and while we sit there, we comfort each other with silent grieving. No better way that to sit it out and think about what you just lost and then to learn to live without it.

"I don't like the headstone." I say after what felt like ages. "I want to change it." My dad nods.

"Let's change it tomorrow." I nod. After a week locked away, my dad was willing to be my dad again. "What do you want to eat?"

"Anything is good." I answer, but I could see how he was having trouble with finding something to eat. He was racking his brain, but came up blank.

"Let's just order pizza." I say helping him out.

He nods. "Good choice." There was nothing good about it, only that it was a last solution option.

I went to bed late, thinking about what my mom would do to make her headstone more pretty. What would my mom do? Looking at the ceiling, the lines of the wood disappear and become lined butterflies. They cross over each other and then flutter their wings at each other. It is dark, making them barely visible, but I see clear. When they are done fluttering and moving. I see that they form a face and once I look clearly I see that they form my mother's face. And she smiles at me. I flutter my eyes and butterflies wave me to sleep.