binded

grace ; tears to shed

I've been told by several people, including my parents, that I have a heart that cannot be broken. It's basically indestructible, similar to a diamond. It takes a lot to break a diamond, even cracking it is a hassle.

Then why am I laying in my bed and sulking like a baby? How has Zane so easily shattered my diamond-like heart with two words that flowed from his mouth like syrup.

Get out.

The level of difficulty that it took him to even say that to me was off the scale. It was a negative number, Zane didn't have to try to tell me to leave his life. It was as simple as my mother's choice to take my father off life support.

So here I am, laying in my bed. Staring at the miniature urn on my bedside counter filled to the brim with my father's ashes and the poem that I found in my pocket after the party where Zane and I slept in the same bed.

I have re read all three stanzas precisely eight times, each word hammering a nail into my emotion coffin. By the end, the coffin is sealed and I am buried into the ground of despair. Two people that I have so simply learned to care about disappearing in an instant has left my soul haunted. How will I recover from the loss of them?

During my personal pity party, there is a knock on my bedroom door. I do not speak, yet it opens anyways. It's clearly my mother, the only other person in the house. She must be here to tell me how she was right all along about Zane, that he was bad for me and I should've listened to her from the start. Instead, she sits down on my bed and strokes my knotted and coiled hair.

"Gracelyn..." she whispers, her voice sounding as if her throat had been pierced with jagged glass, "How have you been doing?"

I still stay quiet and merely move my shoulders up, then let them fall back down. How does she expect me to be doing? Jumping up and down over not having a dad? She seems to believe that my solid heart can take on any emotion without eventually cracking. Yet the diamond has shattered completely, and this causes me to burst into tears hysterically.

Maybe I should've warned my sensitive mother, because the crying has become more of a panic attack then just an emotional outburst. My lungs fill and deflate at a rate that is too fast for me to comprehend. The tears and oxygen become a storm, then eventually a hurricane. My mom is so shocked that she isn't quite sure how to react, so she just pulls me into a tight hug. Maybe it makes it worse, but I calm down in time to be able to hear her whispering into my ear that everything will be okay.

And to my surprise, I believe it.

When we are both fully composed, she wipes away any lingering tears on my cheeks and suggests that we get out of the house and grab a bite to eat. I then tell her that I'd prefer ice cream and she tells me how great of an idea it is.

I convince her to let me drive us because if anything, driving at night is a calming experience for me. We both get into my car and I speed out of the neighborhood while the radio plays in the background. My mind insists that I drive to '32 Below' for memory's sake. Even though it was more of a place for my father and I, my mother would attend on occasion.

Once my car is parked, we both stare at the blue sign for a while. Remembering when it wasn't this futuristic and how my dad would take my 7 year old hand, guiding me inside to grab dessert. The fond memories overlap the negative feeling about his passing and I finally unbuckle my seat belt. We both walk inside together and my smile goes wide over the sugary smell of ice cream.

"You know that I have never really been an ice cream person." my mother shakes her head while observing the menu, "And there is way too much to choose from here."

"I just get two scoops of cookie dough with rainbow sprinkles. It's the best on the menu." I shrug a we get to the front of the line.

We both place our orders in and find a seat near the window. Although we have been support systems for each other lately, things between us are still slightly awkward. Our relationship is good, but not the best in the world. Maybe that can change.

"My school is having homecoming soon." I start, "And I won't be going with Zane...but I still want to go. Will you...help me pick out a dress?"
She nods and places her pale hand atop my dark one, "Of course Gracie. I would love to."

Maybe things will get better. With or without my dad. And with or without Zane.