The Moments

Chapter Twenty-Two

JORDAN WILLS

Four days until the funeral.

Four days to write a eulogy, four days to find the words.

Four days of attending school, four days of staring at the empty chair beside me in eighth period. Four days of being hugged by my mother every time she sees me, four days of telling her I'm fine. Four days of dreading everything, four days of doing it anyway.

Four days to figure it all out.

It's too much. My head buzzes constantly, I barely sleep. 

On this particular morning I peel my eyes open after another restless night. I am greeted by the popcorn ceiling, white and caked in dust. The sun leaks in, grazes my desk and reminds me that it is morning and therefore time to get out of bed. Yet I can't, and I mean really can't.

So I lay there, and watch as the world passes by. The clouds move slowly, occasionally covering the sun and casting a welcomed shadow across my room. The tree branches outside sway and tilt delicately as the breeze whispers against each leaf. My mom and brother laugh in the kitchen, the smell of breakfast flits through the air, bacon and eggs. All of these things I notice, I never would have before. If I had noticed them then, I might have found it all beautiful. But today it is nauseating and I can't bare it.

I roll over, folding my pillow around my head, burying my face in the sheets. Willing time to just leave me here. For minutes to turn to hours, and hours to days, and so on. I plead with whatever greater power there may be that time keeps moving, but I do not.

A fist raps gently on my door. A voice follows, muffled by the cushion I have pressed desperately to my ears.

"Jordan, time to get up. Support group today, remember?"

And the answer is no. I didn't remember, but now that I have been reminded the day feels exponentially worse.

"One sec," I call to her. 

I listen as she stands at the door, debating on whether or not to enter. I don't really care either way, but it makes me anxious knowing she is just standing in the hallway, breathing and thinking about me and my fucked state of mind.

So to ease her worry, I make it obvious that I am getting out of bed by dramatically throwing the comforter off of myself and taking loud, bold steps towards my closet. She sighs and walks away.

I put on clothes, I don't bother looking at myself in the mirror because every time I do, I grow increasingly more disappointed with what I see.

The rest of the morning is just what I expect it to be. Dull and boring, slow and impossible.

I used to thrive off of excitement, I find that crazy. I was that kid just a few months ago, but now my life is a monotony of identical days and I find a trace of comfort in it. Always knowing what will happen next. I used to live for the unexpected, for thrill. Now I live because I have to and that means I have to live differently. No more inserting myself into danger in the hopes that I might accidentally die, now I must find contentment in domesticity. 

So I do what most people do, I do what I am supposed to. I greet my brother, I eat a piece of toast, I tie my shoes, and I don't argue with my mom as she drives me to the support group that I have no interest in attending. 

Upon arriving, I enter the building, showcasing a look of perfect indifference, and I take a seat in the circle of chairs. About 15 other kids my age inhabit the other plastic chairs, each one wearing either a frown, or an expression similar to my own. I'm glad we're all on the same page.