It was a lovely service. Or so I'm told. I didn't remember much of it. There was a lot of people I didn't know coming up to me and embracing me, whispering things like 'I'm so sorry Rosalie, your parents were lovely' and me awkwardly embracing their waists back as only being five foot two made it so most people were taller than you. I recall that the skies were overcast and many muttered about rain but still came to the funeral. I remember the humidity made my loose dark hair go from straight to slightly wavy, and that the little sunlight that eventually poked it's way through into my blue eyes often.
I remember mostly the sensation of being shocked. It was like that odd second before you pulled off a scab but blood didn't start dripping down the newly re-opened wound. Only it was a scab that was actually everything that really mattered to you in the world, and blood wouldn't come rushing up to fill the space and create an entirely new scab in fifteen minutes. Because the scab was your family, they're all dead, and they aren't coming back. Well, it's a little bit different than picking at a paper cut, but the concept is the same.
There's that moment of shock. An in-between moment. The scab is off, and the hole where something should be is there, but blood isn't gushing into the wound yet. It's that breath between the ripping off of the scab and a new one staring to form. You know, right before the pain hits? It was like that. You watched, waiting for something to happen. Morbidly anticipating the pain.
I was a bit curious, honestly. Grief, they called it. Mourning. Before my family, I'd never lost anyone nor known anyone who had. I had never experienced it. Watching my whole world lie still in their four coffins- two of them so small it made many of the attendees remark on it tearfully, should have inspired some of this 'grief.'
But all I felt was shocked and hollow. I knew this grief everyone whispered I must be drowning in would be unbearable. So the moment two stone-faced officers told me that 'there had been an accident' I swore I wouldn't let myself break down and feel things.
When the priest said something touching about how my little twin brother, sister, mother, and father were looking down on us from the fields of heaven or something, I quickly shut down the peculiar blackness eating at my soul. The effort of the concentration it took to not break down made it so that I didn't remember much from the ceremony.
What I did remember, was how many dishes all the 'family-friends' and 'people from work' left after the whole thing was over.
"Rosalie, you can't keep this up forever." My grand-maman chided me, noting the unnecessary passion with which I was doing the dishes. I didn't look up or turn around. I felt her wise hand on my shoulder, turning me to face her. Stubbornly, I refused to look up and wiped my soapy hands on my conservative black dress.
"Child. I miss them too. We must carry on." The stern but affectionate woman I hadn't seen in years- till this past week, seemed a lot less affected than I was about my whole family dying in a car crash. Then again, she hadn't exactly approved in her son's choice of companion, so we hadn't exactly been around each other much. Some old-fashioned people would still disapprove of their sons marrying Asian women and having a family, I guess. I didn't get the impression that being from France originally made my Grandma any less susceptible to some sickening old American prejudices that weren't all that old.
"I know. That's why I'm doing these dishes." I retorted blankly, going back to my work. If I stayed busy, I wouldn't feel anything. If I drowned myself if tasks, I wouldn't have time to feel anything. So that's what I was doing.
It had only been eight days. Eight days since my whole life was ripped from me. My two-year old twin sister and brother- Brielle and Brennan, as well as my parents. All dead. They were hit on their way to see a movie, which we always did on Friday nights. I wasn't with them because I was playing a volleyball game that night. If I hadn't been, the giant semi truck would've damaged my body beyond all recognition, too. I almost wished it had.
That stupid truck and the idiot who hadn't slept in two days driving it took everthing away from me. Unlike many familys, we were all open and accepting of another. This made it so we didn't have many problems with each other and we were much closer than most were. I knew I could tell my goofy dad and playful mother anything I needed to. Outside of my family, I was more reserved. Dispite being on several teams, doing well in school, being 'pretty' for a bi-racial girl, I wasn't popular. I didn't have a boyfriend- or girlfriend for that matter. I didn't have any real friends, actually.
All I had now was my Grandmother I had never met.
"I'll let you clean up. But you should know this won't help, ma cherie. Remember you start school tomorrow." The tired woman who was now my only living relative left me alone, sighing.
Hurriedly, I scrubbed the last of the dishes clean. A few tears slid down my cheeks and I angrily wiped at them, reminding myself of all that had to be done. Most of my parent's things had been sold or put in storage, but a few boxes of peculiar items were left to be by my father. I had yet to look in them. I had to put all of them away in grand-maman's garage or throw them away. I couldn't bear to do the latter, so I ambitiously promised my grandma to do it tonight.
It wasn't late, only a few minutes past six, so it wasn't an impossible task. After drying my hands, I went to work. Or I tried to. Drying off my hands, I walked over to the boxes stacked in the large hallway and knelt in font of the nearest one. The fitted black dress made it hard to maneuver, but I managed to get it done.
As I pulled the lid off the old cardboard fruit box, my breath hitched in my throat. Tears filled my eyes, but I didn't let them fall down my golden cheeks. It was a photo of them. It was taken about three months ago. We had been going on an easy half-an-hour hike when it was taken. The twins were in my lap, looking at me with adoration as I sipped on a Capri sun with sunglasses on. I looked like a bit of a hipster, but the way I held my baby brother and sister lovingly and smiled down at them spoke of my affection for the sticky little toddlers.
I held that picture it in my hands like it was the most precious object in the world. And it was. I sat there till my legs cramped and my eyes were gritty. I stared at it blankly, scarcely blinking. I looked at the relic of ancient history till the emotions became to strong to fight and I just couldn't look at it anymore.
Slamming the lid of the box back on, I closed my eyes tightly and breathed deeply so the tears filling my eyes didn't spill over. I guess the boxes could wait. I wouldn't let myself get so sad that I couldn't do things. If I let myself feel things, the pain would cripple me and what was left of my heart would blacken, turn to ash, and crumble. I would not- I could not, let that happen. I had to stay strong. I had to.
Or else I might as well jump off a bridge and be put in a coffin myself.
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This is a new project of mine. It'll all be edited later, so chill with the grammar nazi remarks please. I'm not perfect. Anyways, this story has been in my head for a while and I think writing it down will stop it nagging at the back of my mind now.
~Eva
