twelve

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july 5thtoronto

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july 5th
toronto

MY REFLECTION OFFERED BY THE LARGE MIRROR WASN'T PLEASED EITHER. What usually was colorful, was traded for endless blackness hugging my skin, and inside, the darkness grew as well. I had always hated funerals, a horrible way of mourning with the loved ones, because in Toronto they made everyone bawl their eyes out. Even though death was the purest form of pain for those who didn't get to die, a party seemed more suitable in my eyes. Celebrate the luck everyone had have with the former presence of a lovely soul, look back at beautiful moments with joy and not sadness, pay your respect in a rather informal way – wasn't that what the deceased one wanted?

I regretted wearing eyeliner, but it was too late to get rid of it. The curls on the ends of my hair had almost fully disappeared, and it appeared to be simple and straight except for the loose waves. But none of it mattered, it wasn't like anyone knew me at Sean Feingold's funeral.

As I walked down the stairs, I figured Dennis and my mother were watching the tribute to Sean broadcasted by a news show. The interviewees passionately expressed their compassion and belief in that he could've been the best president Canada had ever had. Everyone seemed crushed by the terrible incident, and it made Canada connected, because we all mourned for Sean, we all were scared for what the future had in hands. Some predicted an upcoming civil war.

When I set down the last step, causing both my feet to land onto the floor, both Dennis and my mother turned around to look at me.

"Hello miss gorgeous," my mom winked.

            "I feel depressed in these clothes," I sighed, "I don't like black on me."

            "It makes you look very mature, though. You should wear black dresses more often," she said.

            "I just took a look at the invitation," Dennis held up the card Hart had sent me with the details for the funeral on it, "I have to go to do some grocery shopping, because your lazy mother doesn't want to do it with me, so if you want I can drop you off. I'll pass the church anyway."

            "Great," I nodded, "I have to fuel my car, so this is very nice timing, Dennis. Thanks."

            "No problem ma'am," he stood up and pulled down his shirt a little so that his abs weren't showing, but my eyes wandered off to the way my mother looked at him. Her head leaning against her arm as she comfortably sat on the couch with her knees lifted up to her chin, holding a glass of wine in her left hand. Her eyes ever-so dreamily way of looking at the man in front of her, and I had never seen her look at a man like that – she was so in love. Dennis looked at me and played with his keys. My mother wasn't the only one who looked at him like that – every woman was in love with Dennis' charms and look. "Ready, kid?"

            "Kid?" I acted offended as I walked towards the door, "You're really not that much older than me."

            I saw Dennis looking back at my mom and I suspected he was making a funny face to mock me. "Only ten years. Not that much, huh?"

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