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t w o

I think there should be a label warning about grief. That once you get it, a storm cloud will follow wherever you go while as the people around you play around in the sun.

It's like being in a bubble honestly. Watching everyone walk in their lives oh so merrily, not knowing the turmoil and despair you now know. I almost wish they could know. I mean I'm sure everyone has dealt with some loss and sadness in some point in your life. However I don't think any pain is the same. It's like each experience is a box. Each person has this box. Either they be small or large, doesn't matter. But pain is like gas and it fills up the whole chamber so no matter how small or large the pain is comparatively, in the end, it hurts like hell and fills up your entire being.

I guess I should stop comparing my box with everyone else's. And man I should not say that out loud.

Nevertheless, I'm sit outside with my storm cloud because the funeral parlor has become to stuffed for my liking. I unfasten my tie even if I don't know how to re-fix it later on. It's okay, I don't really plan I'm going back in there.

What's there to say goodbye to? A corpse who won't hear me? A memory that has already passed?

No, the last time you say goodbye to someone is when they can hear it themselves. And sometimes, you just don't know that your words of "I don't want to see your face ever again" was actually your goodbye.

I've been blocking out that memory as much as I can these days. If I let even the slightest peep come through, I just know I'll never get a good night's sleep again. Not like I have been for the past few days, but I have miraculously been able to sleep.

"Charles.." That was my dad's voice.

I turned around and watched him come toward me. He was fairly underdressed for this occasion. He dawned a black polo and dark wash jeans with some black loafers. The best black outfit he could dress since I was wearing his suit.

He cupped my shoulder like every father does to his son when they're about to have an awkward heart-to-heart and sat down beside me.

"Dad, I don't wanna—"

"Now just listen." He said sternly. I hunched back in defeat. "You don't have to go back in there if you don't want to."

I was surprised. My mom was very stern about us attending every minute of the wake. "But Mom?"

"I talked to her, it's alright. I know this is a painful time for you right now and you should be able to take your time to grieve in your own way."

My voice caught in my throat. It was the first time someone looked at me like I was someone who needed help. Not just someone to avoid and pity from afar.

"Thank you, Dad... I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything. But when you are, she's still listening, okay? We all are." Then he gave me a small grin, cupped my shoulder to signal this interaction was over, then walked back into the parlor.

I watched him walk back, even when he disappeared behind the entrance doors. I stared at that small one-floor building for a while until my legs began to move on its own.

I made my way south, towards Zinnia's house.