Are you proud of who you have become?-- Blue Belcourt, U.S Tour, NYC.
It was hard for me to look at the stone before me. It was grey with darker flecks throughout it. It wasn't very big, it had enough room for a few simple words. Loving daughter. 1994--2012. It was the first time that I saw it since the funeral.
I kept thinking that seeing this would make things better for me. Maybe give me some closure. Maybe it would help with the insomnia. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Someone left a music sheet on her grave with a small rock holding it into place. It was a simple peace, Ashokan Farewell, and she loved to play. She even convinced me to learn on the piano, which was difficult.
We would play hours on end that same piece with different variant's throughout it. I don't think that she knew that each note I hit on the keys, a bit of my soul was being sold away. But she loved it and I loved-- no, love her and I played with her.
I felt like crying but it just wouldn't happen. My head rested against the cool rock and I fingered the pages. This was her life right here; buried away and was slowly fading away from others memories.
But this wasn't her. She was quiet and music filled. She had passion and would help those in need. She hated to be around people and yet she couldn't help but feel so very sad for them. She was a walking contradiction. And I loved her.
I ripped the paper and tossed it onto her lousy excuse for a memorial. This was not her. At all. Her soul, her life, her love, was weaved into music; and nobody could notice. I kicked her stone. I let out a scream.
This was us, I realized. This was life This was real. Her being dead; her parents still seeing me as a sun, my mother finally cleaning up her act, and me stuck some where between a rabbit whole and hell.
And then suddenly I couldn't take it anymore. The grass was too green. The sky too blue. The birds' chirping continued to grow in volume until it became absolutely unbearable. I pressed my hands against my ears with so much force that I didn't even realize that I had that much strength.
"Blue! Blue!" Blur, dizzy, grey.
Looks like you did it again, you ole bastard.
YOU ARE READING
Collaborated Damage
Novela JuvenilMaybe this world is another planet's hell. -Aldous Huxley Not everyone can pretend to be sane. Blue Belcourt is just another example to that. Follow him on a life changing journey, that will have him questioning whether or not he would like to stay...
