nostalgia after death

11:59

It was hard, mom's death. When she was still living, she had this tough attitude up. High grades, no skimpy clothing, no boyfriends and especially no drinking. The seventeen year old Elle hung out with the wrong crowd. She thought her mom was over reacting, controlling and didn't appreciate that her mom helped her get passing grades, baked her goods, taught her how to wash her clothes and truly loved her.

It was the second of September when mom was diagnosed with bone cancer, an illness that when unusual cells grow out of control in the bone. It destroys normal bone tissue. At those times, mom wanted me to visit her, but Elle was selfish. I was selfish. I thought she'll be cured, so I used this time to party, get drunk, and totally waste my life. I remember feeling free as mom was hurting in her hospital bed, waiting for me.

Dad called me one night while I was out drinking at my friend's house and I remember him saying this exact words,

'Elle, oh god, she passed away. Why aren't you here? She was calling your name, Elle.'

Life had this funny trick where it'll bring you up so high, and when you think you can't get higher, it'll bring you down, crashing onto the ground.

Mom was dead, and I took part in it.
I slowly killed her, disappointed her.
Maybe she thought that I didn't need her anymore, or that she wasn't a good mother.

But she always was, and I wished I saw that.

I bet if my baby brother, Nate, was born and hadn't died with my mother, maybe I'll be a great sister too. I don't know and I'll never know.

"You look sad." Peter said as we slid out of the carnival and was now walking on the streets.

"I'm dead. Obviously I'll be sad." I didn't bother telling Peter that Lucas, his brother, was the one who gave us the  drugs that I overdosed on. He didn't need more regrets to bring in the afterlife.

Though I could say that I forgave Lucas for a long time already, it wasn't his fault. The choice was mine, and it was my hands who took those pills.

We passed by a little girl who was holding her mother's hand, begging to go to the carnival.

She held the same attributes that I had, black hair, blue eyes and light freckles. Only, she smiled and I didn't.

Her hair was braided to the side and I admired how cute she looked.

I felt Peter's hand touch my hair, parting it in three sections. His fingers sparked electricity in my skin as he trailed it over the scar on my nape.

"What happened?" His tone curious and tense.

I laughed remembering the back story. "It was funny, actually. I was fifteen at that time when someone invited me to a party without my mom's approval. Since straight hair were a trend back then, I tried to copy it but ended up burning my skin. I squealed from the heat and woke mom up. I got grounded that week."

He braided my hair gently, being careful to not pull it and hurt my scalp.

"Having you as a child must've been a pain on the ass." He joked as the took the hair tie from my hands.

Yeah. I guess so.

"You know how to braid?" I asked, diverting the topic.

"You'll be surprised. I used to braid mom's hair. She always acted like a teenage girl while being responsible at the same time." He said, finishing off the braid with little flowers he picked from a nearby house.

"It looks good." I turned around to admire my hair at a tinted black car's window. My hair wasn't that long but the white daisies surely did compliment my it.

"You look good." Peter stated as he looked at me.

I just smiled at the compliment when I thought of something.

"What if our gender changes? I'll be the boy and you'll be the girl. What would your name be?" I asked intrigued at the thought.

"That's very weird. So that means that I'd have a feminine genital too?" He said while touching his middle part.

"I just asked about names, Peter. And can you please stop touching that? It's making me uncomfortable." I said glaring at him.

"Um, maybe Elliot, So that I'd be nickname as Elle." He said, avoiding eye contact and gazing at the moon.

The moonlight made his face look darker and rougher but not completely to erase the pink tint on his cheeks.

"If you chose that name, I'll chose Perry then. So that it sounds like Peter." My answer seemed to please Peter. He tried to hide his smile but he failed.

"What are we doing?" He asked, his tone breathy, face inches away from mine.

"I don't know. But it feels good." I said as I closed the gap between us.

When our lips merged, I noticed that it didn't touch. I looked away and chose to not take it seriously. It was bound to happen anyway.

It's over. The day's done.

I stared at him in longing. I told myself that it didn't matter. As long as he was still here, next to me.

"When your dad died, did you ever have the chance to meet him?" I asked as his face contoured hurt.

"Yes. I did." He answered as he tried to inch closer and touch my hand, only to merge with me.

Perhaps, this was the time where we go back to our old selves. The one that doesn't have the chance to feel anything.

I saw his eyes water as he smiled at me sadly. I can never feel his skin against mine. The gentle caress of his hands on my hair. The taste of his lips, sending shivers down my spine. We can no longer touch.

"Dad told me that I should've had a better family that was able to support me. But I assured him that there is no better family, than the person in front of me."

"Then, why haven't you crossed over yet?" I wondered. I'd die again for a chance to meet my mom. It would give me closure that I badly wanted.

"Perhaps I was looking for something else." He said while smiling intently at me.