Justin
"Hey, dad."
I sat on the grass in front of the headstone. The cemetery was empty except for the maintenance man, whom I'd seen trimming some bushes a moment ago. He'd said nothing about the brown paper bag I was carrying with me. I guess he'd seen his fair share of seemingly nondescript bags containing not so anodyne goods.
I twisted the cap of the forty I'd brought with me and took a swig. Jack Daniels seemed way too dramatic and clichéd and my life didn't need any more drama added to it. It was a fucking soap opera already.
To be quite honest, I didn't really know what I was doing there, in this graveyard on a Saturday morning. It was too early for me to even be awake, but since I'd been lying in bed with my eyes open all night, I figured it didn't make much of a difference to be up and doing something half useful. Besides, that way I wouldn't have to face anybody's looks of disapproval and lectures from my mom or Jazzy, though I knew they'd come sooner or later.
My dad's headstone looked the same as it'd done over a month ago, when we'd buried him. I guess I'd expected maggots coming out of the soil and the engraved letters on the stone to be fading because of erosion. Of course, the only differences were the grown path of grass on the ground and a bit of dirt staining the previously pristine stone.
I'd promised myself I wouldn't start talking to the remains of my dad like people do in lame movies for several reasons. One was that I'd rather not look like a mental person. I'd like to keep what was left of my sanity. Another was that my dad was dead, and consequently couldn't listen. As clear and logical as the idea had seemed in my head on the one-hour drive over here, I was starting to doubt my skepticism. Could he maybe be listening? From wherever the hell he was? Well, I hoped he wasn't actually in hell. I wondered if half the people who believed in heaven believed in his compensation on the other side. If either of them existed, I knew where I was going.
Whatever the reason, I'd still said hello to my dad like I was expecting him to reply. If he could talk to me, I probably wouldn't want to hear it. Maybe that was why I'd ended up there, because some twisted part of my brain needed to let it all out knowing there was no possibility of my being scolded. My dad wasn't going to come back from the dead to smack me on the back of the head, although I very well deserved it.
"I fucked up big time." I surprised myself by saying this out loud. My eyes scanned the vast graveyard for anyone that could've heard me. The coast was clear, not even the maintenance guy. I don't know whether that egged me on, but I found myself going on.
"Everything is ruined beyond repair now. And it's my fault and I knew this would happen from the beginning. I don't know what I was trying to do," I admitted, and saying it out loud made it all feel more real, which made me feel more downed. I took another drink. "I deserve everything that's come my way, don't I?"
My dad didn't answer, but I could almost picture him cocking his head to the side in disappointment.
I swallowed the bitterness of the beer. "I brought this upon myself, I know that. I just wish I hadn't brought Brooklyn down with me. I mean, I've always known I'd end up doing something to let her down so I guess I shouldn't be shocked. It's just... It had been so long..." I looked at the headstone in front of me for a reply. Needless to say, I got none.
"I don't think I'll get out of this one. All those times before I managed to get Brooklyn to forgive me, but now, I just don't even think I deserve it. I deserve this. To hurt, to be a wreck, to be alone. It's better this way. It's how it should've always been." I slammed the bottom of the bottle a little too hard against the ground, making a thin crack on the glass. Fortunately, no liquid spilled out.
