Seven months after your funeral.
Your mother finally decided to put the house on sale. The divorce had been finalized since three months before and apparently she could not stand living inside that house. “Too many memories, too many ghosts,” she said a week ago when she came by our house. She was talking with Luce while I smoked at the front porch, pretending I didn’t hear a word coming out of her mouth because I still hated her with my whole being.
She got out our house without leaving anything of yours to me. I imagined there was nothing else to give since you hadn’t lived in there in the last couple of years anyway. When you died, Luce, my father, and I had been the ones who cleaned up most of your things in our house. We sent most of your clothes and your things for donation. I took a T-shirt and your favorite hoodie to hanged inside my closet. And your violin for my keeping. Nothing else.
She left your house the next day in her rich family car and I sat under the old mango tree right in front of your house with its cut off branches and bald leaves patches from finally being groomed weeks before. I watched the sun set. I imagined you were sitting right beside me.
I sat there for hours.
YOU ARE READING
Wearing My Smile | ✔
Teen Fiction"I wondered if you'd ever thought that the name your parents had given you felt like sharp knife twisting through your heart in its prayer. I'd never asked you that before, now I'd never get to." Having been together since forever, Roo struggles in...
