The Phantom of Scranton Hill

8

It was the twenty-fourth of April, three weeks since Dax died, three weeks since a part of her died alongside him. In the past few weeks, Justine had been gradually adjusting and occupying herself with homework and "studying", as she told her grandmother.

Oftentimes, "studying" meant "blasting music through my earbuds and reading or playing games on my phone because I don't want you to know I don't have a social life." But, fortunately, her grandmother was in and out, sometimes staying home or spending a couple days at the country club--it was tournament week, which meant lots of golf and lots of tennis, and, in her grandmother's words, "lots of single grandpas."

But that's besides the point. Today was the day of the funeral. Today was the day that everyone was forced to come to terms with his death and accept the fact that he was never coming back. She didn't want to go, because going would show that she's okay with it. She wasn't. But something compelled her to, she just didn't know what.

For an entire week, Justine had dreaded this day, avoiding much of human contact and only leaving her room for food, water, or school. A couple of times she had gone to see her mother, but time was cut short by the same nurse, all times claiming visiting hours were over. Many times, Justine had wished that a miniature refrigerator would appear when she woke up, but every morning she was let down.

Reaching into her closet, Justine pulled out a black, cocktail dress, a thin layer of silk starting from the breast and flowing to just above her knees. The short sleeves and chest were open with lace, a sweetheart neckline of the sort, as was the bottom trim. Matching wedges laid on the floor beside her and she stepped in, the shoes oddly comfortable.

After applying some mascara and a light coat of lip gloss, Justine was ready to go. Her eyes caught a half-empty box of tissues on her night table, but she hadn't cried in days. She was stronger. She gripped her necklace, a small golden key. Not a single day had gone by that she hadn't worn it. Like she always did, Justine wondered if it unlocked anything, but she soon pushed the distracting thoughts out of her mind.

Not at all prepared, Justine walked out the front door and toward the bus stop a little less than a block away. Her wrists bare of jewelry, Justine straightened her posture, her shoulders broad and chin held high.

"Well, don't you look nice, honey," Mrs. Johnson remarked, but her smile soon faded as she saw Justine's solemn face. "Is it that day?" Justine slowly nodded, not bothering to look up. "Aw, baby." Mrs. Johnson looked forward, hands on the wheel. "Where to?"

"Winston Church. Albert Street and-" Her voice wavered.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. I know where that is," she interrupted, aware of how much it bothered her to see Justine so upset.

Justine muttered a quiet 'thank you' and the ride was silent, the two the only ones on the metro bus. During the unsatisfyingly long and dangerously silent drive, Justine took some time to notice a difference in the woman up front. Her graying locks lacked the usual dyed dark color, and wrinkles and deep bags lined her eyes.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Johnson?" Justine curiously asked, eyeing the woman.

"Oh, yes." she nodded assuringly. "Just got another babe in the family. Been helpin' out a bit."

Silence. The only sounds were from the bus, an occasional squeaking or thump.

"You are welcome to come to the, you know, with me. I think he'd like you there," Justine spoke.

"Oh, I know, but with work and all. I just, you get what I'm sayin'?"

Justine smiled and laughed shortly, something she didn't expect she'd be doing today. "Yes, I do." The bus pulled to a stop. "Thanks, Mrs. Johnson. Good luck with, well, everything."