Meet Me

Chapter 29 - Kyle Aged 11

Before

Kyle

"After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next biggest adventure" - J.K. Rowling

“Your mum is dead, mine is right here. You better listen to me because of that.” My brother hissed into my ear.

“But my dad is here.” I replied calmly.

I didn’t remember anything about my mother, or my sister that had been given up for adoption because of my mother’s death. I was barely a year old when she died in a car crash – always a car crash. I did know that her name was beautiful and so was she.  That was what dad had told me about her. He refused to tell me anymore. I didn’t think he could even if he wanted to. He usually broke down when it was just us talking about her.

“No, he is our dad, but my mum is mine. She isn’t yours.” He was right. “Your sister is gone too.”

“How do you know I have a sister?” I questioned. Dad had told me nobody but I and he knew. He had mentioned it to my new mother – Claire – but he said he hadn’t gone into detail. She hadn’t wanted him to go into detail, apparently. She didn’t like me at all. I knew that from the minute my dad married her. She despised me.

I was almost like the male version of Cinderella. Except the weirdest people were my fairy godmother(s). My friends had started to encourage me to take drugs. This was only because their brothers and older sisters were doing it. I hadn’t done it. Yet. I planned to when I was a little older though. I wanted to simply fit in.

“Mum told me.” Connor finally replied, after a long silence.

“She had no right to do that! None!” I yell into his face. He just pushes me over. I only fell over because it was icy, therefore slippery.  We were talking to school, me this high school and him the primary school. I was in the puffiest coat ever. It was bright blue with yellow zip. My hat matched perfectly. I looked a complete idiot. Connor was wearing something much better: green coat with blue gloves, hat and scarf- all knitted. All store bought.

My gloves and scarf had been knitted by my mother’s mum – my grand-mamma. She was the most important person in the world to me, because she reminded me of my mother. She had tons and tons of pictures of my mother. Even some of my father with her were mixed in with them. She kept them all in a box decorated with flowers and a picture of my mother on the box. The lock on the box was bronze and fancy. Also in the box, my grand mamma kept a locket of my mother’s – that too was bronze. Inside, there was a lock of my sister’s hair. My grand-mamma said she had cut it off when they had been forced to give my sister up. I didn’t understand fully why she was gone, but I got the gist of it.

My mother had died and my father hadn’t been able to care and love the both of us, so one of us had to go. (In my step-mums, Claire’s, words.) It was me or my sister. My sister drew the short straw. Claire had told me it was because my sister was a lot naughtier than I had been. “Easy option.” Claire had said. Claire once told my grand-mamma to not let me see the box. “He can’t handle it!” She had said.

Grand-mamma didn’t listen, but never let me look inside the box without her permission. She told me that my mother’s soul was in the box. I found this strange, because she hid it right at the top of a cabinet – probably so I couldn’t reach it. My mother had a grave, but I had only seen it a few times. It was marble and posh. Grand-mamma always took me, I had never gone with father, and she always took along 3 identical roses. Putting them into the glass vase, she would throw away the wilting ones. On the stone, there was her name written carefully in swirly writing. Her date of birth and her death date were there too. I had calculated her age once in maths when we had been given calculators. She had been 17. There was no other inscriptions on the marble apart from her cause of death. Nobody wants to know that, do they? Not even a loving mother was written there. Just:

RIP

Marla Fritz

January 2nd 1981 - May 14th 1998

Died in a tragic accident that cannot be undone

What kind of message on a grave is that? It means nothing at all.

My granddaddy – who I didn’t remember either – had his grave next to hers.  There was a space and grand-mamma said that she wished to be buried in it. I told her not to worry, that I would remember.

RIP

Phillip Fritz

March 25th 1958 – May 15th 1998

Died with his daughter

A loving father, husband and brother

I didn’t like that one much either. Why had my granddaddy gotten a message, a meaningful one almost, and my mother hadn’t. I didn’t like my granddaddy’s message much. Died with his daughter. What a stupid thing to write! It wasn’t a good thing!

 It was difficult to think that my mother – somebody I had never gotten to know – was in the ground. Connor constantly told me that worms and ants were crawling over her body, eating her flesh. I didn’t want to believe it, as much as it were true.

I had seen the pictures of my mother when grand-mamma had brought the box down once; she was defiantly a beautiful lady.  She had long locks of auburn hair, it reminded me of autumn – my favourite time of the year – and her eyes were baby blue. My room was painted the same shade of baby blue. My father had never bothered to change it. He said it reminded him of my mother too much to let it go.

In my favourite picture of my mother, she was wearing a nature coloured dress and black heels. The dress covered her heels, but she was sitting in the picture, with her legs crossed, so you could see them quite clearly. Around her neck, there was the silver chained locket that was now trapped in a box. She had a few bangles on her wrist, nothing fancy though. Her earrings matched her bangles - silver. Her hair was loose and tucked onto one side. She looked ever so happy.  I didn’t know if that was because she was having fun, or because she was with my father. He was in a black suit and a tie that matched her dress. They had linked arms and were smiling like lunatics.

A week later ...Grand-mamma lay under the ground, dead. Next to my mother, next to my granddaddy. I wore my new black suit and tie. It was the same shade as fathers had been in my favorite picture of him and my mother. I lay three identical roses down - one on each grave.

I kissed one: "Goodbye, Grand-mamma."

I kissed two: "Goodbye, Granddaddy."

I kissed three: "Goodbye, Mother... Mummy. Taken by a tragic accident that cannot be undone."