Lost and Found

Chapter 9 - Megan

A tall blonde boy–a young man–holds out a handful of dirt. His tears hit the ground the same time the dirt hits the coffin. The soft noise of earth hitting wood reverberates through my body. It's a wonder I remain standing. The young man–Laurens–stumbles backwards into the arms of his waiting friends. All of them are familiar faces, people I have gone to school with for years but have never known. They are the ones who knew Her best. I feel like a fraud. I stand apart from my parents, but not with Her friends. I do not belong. I am the reason she died. It should be me in that ground–body stiffening–separate and alone. Some priest drones on about the loss of a young life. I don't care. I study those around the hole in the earth. Her mother stares at the coffin of the daughter she never knew and cries. That woman doesn't get to cry. A fury grows in my belly everytime my Father glances in Her Mom's direction. The priest final ends his speech with the pronouncement that, "She is in a better place now."

The crowd shuffles away from the pit, as the grave diggers get to work filling in the hole. I stay where I am. Snow drifts lazily down in slow spirals. I stuff my hands into my coat. Snow crunches beneath expensive leather shoes. My father takes a puff of his cigar and stares at me staring at the grave.

"Are you ready?" He offers no sympathy or consolation for the daughter who watched someone die, just that bleak question. No, I am not ready. I will never be ready. But I know this needs to be said—with Her as a witness.

"I'm not going with you." The words hang in the air between us. They mingle with my breath; visible in the cold air. He sighs.

"I don't need any sass from you, young lady. I know you drove separately. I just thought we should leave together." He readjusts the hat on his head and takes another puff from his cigar.

"You know that's not what I meant." We have yet to look at each other. Her grave stares me down. It keeps me honest—gives me courage.

"Then what do you mean?" I may not be looking at him, but I know the tone. I can picture the anger grow in his eyes like the glowing butt of the cigar clenched ever tighter in his lips. For once it doesn't scare me. Do your worst old man.

"I'm all packed. My stuff is in the car. I am not coming home."

"Get in your car. Drive to the house. We'll talk about this there." There is no room for discussion. Once, I would have been quaking in my boots. But now, now I have known pain. I still have the cuts bruises and even stitches to prove it. She wasn't the only one that needed medical attention. I have seen death. He will not stop me. I pivot and face him. Her grave between us, my father and I face each other down.

"I will finish senior year while staying at a Grandma's house." I'd called my mom's mom on the way here and explained my situation. She agreed. She has never liked my Father anyway. "I will be going to medical school—not business school. I have a full ride scholarship to Einstein College of Medicine."

"Go. Home. Now." He is beet red and his voice shakes, as he grips the leash on his anger with two hands. He doesn't want to make a scene in front of Her friends and family still gathered around. The grave diggers have stopped filling in the hole and are staring at us along with some of the guests. This only makes his anger greater.

"No." I don't break eye contact, so I don't see the hand flying before it's too late. He slaps me hard across the face with a CRACK. The force of it sends me reeling, and pain blossoms across my bruised cheek, just starting to heal. Spots dance before my eyes.  When they clear, all I see is the fresh dirt piled atop the dark ebony wood. I will be strong, like her. I straighten up and face him. Everyone is staring. Laurens starts to come over to where we are. My father licks his lips, and his eyes dance around the shocked and angered faces. One woman pulls her son closer to her body.

"Goodbye." I turn back to the headstone. Snow has collected on top. The grave diggers realize they have a job to do and frantically get back to work. I hear my father draw in a breath to keep talking, but a new voice cuts him off.

"I think it's time for you to go, Sir." Laurens gestures to where my Mom waits in the running car. It's only because of the curious onlookers that my father doesn't stick around; instead of continuing to fight. It can't look good for business to cause a scene. He sulks off, but not before one last taunt.

"You'll be back, but be sure to bring an apology with you." His steps shuffle away and Laurens takes his place.

"Real piece of work that man." He stands close enough that when I shrug in response our shoulders brush. I am grateful for his presence. While I could handle my Father, I don't want to be alone for the aftermath. He joins my silent vigil for a few moments before speaking again.

"She really hated you." From anyone else, it would have been malicious, but the way he says it; it's just a fact.

"I know."

"According to you, she saved your life, why?" He has every right to be angry at me—every right to be suspicious—but he isn't. There is only curiosity, curiosity and sadness.

"It's a long story." A snowflake falls in my eye, and as I brush it away I am surprised to find tears freezing on my lashes.

"I've got time." He blows into his hands and rubs them together. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his cheeks are flushed rosy pink and snow coats his hair. "Though, let's meet somewhere warmer. How about the coffee shop a block from here?" I become aware of a numbness in my toes as I turn my head to face him. In his eyes, I see such immense loss and sadness that my breath is knocked away. He takes my silence as a yes. "I'm free now, so do you want to go straight there?"

"I'll be right behind you." I gesture to the headstone with my chin. "Just give me a moment." He nods and trudges away. He cuts a lonesome figure, hunched over amongst the snow and graves.

 I step around the diggers—almost done with their job—and crouch next to the freshly cut stone. The granite is cold against my fingers when I place them on the etchings. Where ever you are, I hope you're with your Dad. You saved my life. I won't waste that gift. I am going to be an ER doctor. Every life I save will be because you made the decision to save mine. I wish you were still here. I hope you find peace. I stand up and realize the grave diggers have left. The dirt is just gaining a dusting of snow. It looks like powdered sugar on chocolate. I brush the snow from the headstone and stare at it one last time. Then, I turn and begin slogging my way through the growing piles of snow. The words will live forever in my memory: Samantha Thomas—Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled.