Crush Vision

Chapter 16

      The phone cuts off our teacher mid-sentence. He lifts the receiver to his ear and leans over; the cord drags across his desk. We shift in our seats, waiting.

       "Early dismissal for Emmy," he says abruptly. "Bring your bag." The phone clatters as he sets it back in its place.

     Emmy blinks in confusion and packs up her things, throwing a glance in my direction as she passes. Our teacher resumes the lesson once the door clicks shut. The image of her empty desk looms in my mind as I catch up to his scribbling notes.

      When I walk into class the next week, I spot Emmy hunched over in her seat. I wave, but she doesn't look up. Emmy stares down at her work until the lunch bell rings. She lifts her head slightly and collects her scattered papers. I glimpse her listless expression as I walk over to meet her. She moves slowly, as if in a trance.

     "Hey," I crouch and hand her the pencil she just dropped.

     Her fingers fumble as she takes it. "Thanks."
The pencil dangles in her grip. She can't seem to be bothered with putting it away, and zips her bag instead.

      I stand and lean closer. "You alright?"

      Emmy turns to me, her tired eyes puffed red and purple. She shakes her head.

     "What's wrong?" My hand hovers over her forearm.

     She sighs. "My grandma...she's in Heaven now."

    I open my mouth and close it again. I have no idea what to say. "Oh my gosh, Emmy, I'm—"

    "The funeral's this weekend," she continues as if she hadn't heard me, slinging her bag over her shoulder as I linger by her side.

     "Do you..." My words falter. "Do you need anything?"

     She speaks after a long pause. "I need to go make up what I missed on Friday. I'll see you later."

     I half-nod as Emmy leaves the room, trying to fill the gaping hole where my words of comfort should be.

     She stays after school to finish her assignments, so I ride the bus home alone. As I pass my secondhand car in the driveway, an idea forms in my mind.

     "I'm so sorry for their loss," my mom leans over my shoulder as I pull up the obituary for Emmy's grandmother. "You know what, we ought to bake them a casserole." She mutters to herself as I read the date and time for the service.

     "But that's during your little brother's soccer game on Saturday," my mom protests. "We promised to be there, and we've got to pick him up."

     I lean back in my seat. "I think... Emmy needs someone there, Mom. She hasn't been," I run a hand through my hair as I try to explain. "She's not herself."

     My mom presses her lips together. "Poor girl; she's such a sweet soul." My mom peers at the computer screen. "'Willow Branch Funeral Home'...that's on the other side of town; will you be able to drive yourself there?"

     I minimize the tab. "I can manage."

     "Let me help you with your formal wear," she calls after me as I head for the stairs, and I faintly hear her mention something about dark socks.

     I flop on my bed and stare at the ceiling, preoccupied with Emmy's vacant face. Just have to survive this week.

     I don't really know what to expect when the day arrives. My stomach churns as I turn into a parking lot decorated with spring blooms. I've never really been to a funeral before. There might have been one or two when I was really young, barely enough to form hazy memories.