My Double Life

|| 15 || Plummeting

Sitting up and lurching my head over my shoulder, it reveals a tall figure with messy blonde hair. My body reacts outrageously to this situation, causing me to shudder and fall back into the muddy ground. Brown spots over my pale, slightly blushing cheeks, like little icy bullets piercing my skin. My dress drenches in the mud, leaving me uncomfortably cold in my remorse. I sigh, allowing my hand to splash down in a puddle.

“Yeah, who is it?” Squeezing my eyes together tightly, I blink away the last of my tears, which are the evanescent remains of my memories.

The figure persists in being silent, squatting down and smiling. When it comes to my realisation that it is Josh, I begin to feel insecure and self-conscious about how I look.

“It’s Josh,” he answers, in a hushed whisper in between the chatters of his teeth, “what brings you here?”
With my palms against the mushy ground, I push myself up. My hair drips with a dark brown liquid, staining my skin. I don’t bother to wipe my eyes, blotched with mascara and eyeliner that has discoloured my cheeks, as it will only smudge it more.

“It’s quite obvious why I’m sitting in a graveyard.” I point towards Evie’s gravestone.

“You never know, you could have a part-time job here as the cleaner or something.” He laughs, but I can tell it’s forced because he’s here for a reason too. Josh glances over at the name of Evie, and turning back to me. “Would this be your sister?”

“Yeah,” I reply, sighing out the second half of the word. With a squelching sound, he sits down beside him, his hand falling lightly on top of mine. I don’t look at him. I don’t want him to see the hurt behind my vitreous eyes.

“How about you?” I ask, my tone nervous as I pick at the grass, damp and flattened.

He takes a few moments before he answers, so he can muster up the courage to tell me whom he has lost in his life. “My dad.” And yes, I probably should’ve known since he’s living with a different father, one that isn’t his own. Discerning the shadows that have overcome his eyes, I piece together my reply.

“You never told me what happened to your dad…” He’s avoiding my eyes, his stare vacant and impassive, at the grave besides Evie’s. That’s when I have an epiphany. The grave next to my beloved sister is where Joshua Griffin rests. “You don’t have to tell me,” I add in, gently, to his surprise. As my snotty high school stereotype, I would’ve pressured him into telling me. But I’m not her; I am me. At this point in time, it doesn’t matter, since it is such a tender moment. 

His shock is prominent, by the way he turns to me, his eyes wooden with disbelief. No, I don’t seem friendly at school. Yes, outgoing, shallow, but not friendly. I’ve always hated that part of myself, because to pretend to be her, is to actually be her.

“No, I’ll tell you.” Placing his hand on the marble stone, slippery at its touch, he closes his eyes. Josh takes a deep breath, as the rain gathers beneath the stone. I distinguish the tear accumulating under his chin, dropping to his clenched fists. “It’s quite simple, really, and it’s all still a mystery to everyone to this day. My father worked day and night shifts for years to support my family, who were living in poverty at the time, about ten years back. He brought me home things he could afford with the spare money he had, which was meant for his own leisure. One night, he left to go to work as a policeman. And that morning, I heard my mum crying at the doorstep, the police outside my door, explaining that he had went missing. And to this day, his body has never been recovered. There’s nothing in the grave, just the stone there to honour him.”

And then there’s uncontrollable sobbing. But not from me, from him. The one person I thought I would never see cry in my whole life.

Consoling him, I place my arms around him, rubbing his shoulder, while my head rests against him. I can hear him trying to stifle his snivels, attempting to look…manlier, I guess. An awkward silence arises, because I don’t know what to say. Losing a loved one, and telling someone about it, always comes with the same reply; “I’m sorry for your loss,” and, “They’re in a better place now.” They are sincere replies, but to be honest, what we want is something to remember them by or just a way to get through that dark time. It’s all kinds of horrible you have to deal with. You just have to stand by and watch as other people crumble, along with you.