The Strawberry Dilemma

Chapter 2

2 years later

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REMEMBERING DRAKE POWERS

by Andrew Forbell

2 years ago today, a small child named Drake Powers wandered into his strawberry field, and had a violent allergic reaction. He died, 10 days before his 5th birthday. "The loss of Drake made our home very split." Says Melinda Powers, mother of Drake Powers. "I guess I sort of knew this would happen. We didn't have the financially sound bank to move. So we had to keep him away as much as we could." Adds Jack Powers, Drake Powers' older brother. One thing is for sure, he will be remembered for the rest of our days.

What a bunch of bullshit.

I'm 16 now, living on prayers and pennies found on the ground.

When I walk outside, pain. When I stay inside, pain.

I don't eat strawberries anymore, neither does Mom.

How is dearest Mother doing, you ask?

Unstable, but somehow pushing her way through life.

It was such a hard task to watch her stumble out of her bed, and pray in the strawberry field.

I didn't pray. What's the point of praying when your loved one is already dead?

His room had been stripped of his memories, and since turned into a guest room.

Once, I kicked a hole in the wall and mother has left it there, as a sign of our "broken family"

Also a bunch of bullshit.

Our family isn't broken, our family is scarred.

Sometimes mom yells for Drake to come down for dinner, and then realizes he never will again.

I make dinner that night.

At the funeral, a bunch of random people came and said condolences and I gave my eulogy.

"Drake Powers. I know you're up there playing with Legos, or sliding down some giant slide, but I'd like to know you're still down here so I wouldn't have to give this eulogy, because I don't like crying. And I'd like to know that you'd block out that strawberry field, so you'd be here, and you'd be in my arms with a bear hug so tight I'd pretend I was choking out my internal organs. I'd also like to know why I can't go on any longer, because of you and those damn strawberries! You can't leave me like that, Drake! I watched you die! You just-"

At that moment I let out a giant primal yell and kicked over the mic, and the podium, and screamed and tore up my eulogy papers, and started to sob violently, and ran off stage while ripping my eulogy up, all the while the crowd didn't give a shit, and cried at my "emotional insanity."

I heard one of these comments, and identified him as I ran on stage.

"Hey, you in the blue, dumb balding motherfucker, I'm not insane, shut the fuck up! I DO NOT CARE IF YOU ARE MY RELATIVE I WILL RIP YOUR EYES OUT OF YOUR DAMN SKULL. Try me, seriously. What are you, 50? You're in your golden days stupid shithead, I'll knock you into your grave!" I shouted because the mic was kicked down.

That shut up everyone, and sent me to a local mental asylum for 5 months.

Seriously, who was the dick who called the police?