Drowning in Sorrow

That’s when my heart stopped.

Everything in me stopped, I felt sick, my stomach was revolting; I knew that wasn’t a good sign.  My breath caught in my throat, I wished I were dead.  My eyes were wide in disbelief, slowly, I lowered my eyelids, feeling a huge lump in my throat and not liking what it represented.  I swallowed harshly; my breath came out ragged and broken.

Broken.

I was broken.  Then the hot tears came, slowly building up under my eyelids; the heat was unbearable.  I wanted to open my eyes, but I couldn’t, I was too frightened.  I had no wish to face reality.  I realized my mouth was dry but there was nothing I could do about it.  So I hugged Teddy tighter, but the feel of his velvet-turned-fur didn’t do anything for me.

It only made the lump in my throat larger and the hot liquid under my eyelids more insistent.  As a wave of guilt washed over me, I almost sobbed aloud.  But no, I would rather suffer in silence.  There was some sort of sadistic pleasure in forcing myself to suffer silently rather than to ask for forgiveness.

I could feel myself sinking, or was I drowning in this sea of guilt?  I didn’t want to go.  I wanted to cry out in fear, but I wanted to drown at the same time.  Another wave of guilt hit me and the pain finally kicked in full force.

No….No! NONONO!!!  It couldn’t be possible, it wasn’t possible.  I was just imagining it, just thinking about the very possibility.

Yet, it was true.  I could hear my father through my closed bedroom door.  I could hear the tears in his voice.  And it hurt.  It hurt so much.

Bill was dead.  And my shocked mind kept repeating that it was all my fault.  He wouldn’t be dead if not for me.  I wished someone would realize what I had done and throw open my bedroom door and condemn me for it.

I think that’s when the cursed tears got loose.  And I sobbed as quietly as I could.  I guess I wasn’t quiet enough, though, for someone heard me.  Yet, I didn’t-no couldn’t care anymore.  I clutched my pillow in despair, wondering if my father would realize I was guilty and disown me.

I think that’s when the door opened; I froze, closing my eyes instinctively, trying to pretend that I was asleep.  But I knew it wouldn’t fool my father, I’d made noise, and there were tears on my cheeks.  So it was rather obvious that I wasn’t asleep.

“Court?”  My father asked softly.

I guiltily opened my eyes, and looked up at him, watching his blue eyes, the same blue as my own, rather warily.

Dad didn’t accuse me of murder; he just asked me if I wanted to come out to the living room.  I slowly climbed out of bed and followed him down the hall feeling as if I were walking on nails. Why wasn’t he mad at me?  Why wasn’t he proclaiming his hatred?  Bill was his best friend!

I curled up into as small of a ball as I could on the couch, just listening silently to my father as he explained some of what had happened, already knowing I’d figured the main part of the story out.

“Just before I rushed out of the house, I got a call from Bob saying Bill was in the hospital.  He was leaving work, just getting ready to pull out of the parking lot when a police car T-boned him in the driver door,” I looked up at him with wide eyes.

Letting me be, knowing I’d need a few minutes to digest the information that had been thrown at me, he returned to the phone, commencing to call Tom and Shirley.  I felt as if my hearing were enhanced when I heard Shirley’s cries on the other line, I could hear the pain of the loss in her voice, even though I was on the other side of the room from where my father was with the phone.

Mom was behind Dad, supporting him, and giving him his space at the same time.  She was the one reminding him of whom he still had to call.  I could only stare out the sliding glass door, over the balcony railing and into the night sky.  I was rather numb, having heard the truth come from my father’s mouth.

Finally, Dad returned to me and told me he’d call the school in the morning and tell them I was sick.  I nodded, still numb.  I didn’t want to believe it.

The next day passed in a blur, I don’t even remember the rest of that school week any more, but what I do remember is the funeral.

I can remember it all so clearly.  We all got specifically dressed up because of the event.  I remember the dress I was wearing really well.  It was all black and it was sort of short, it had black velvet roses on it.  I remember thinking that those black velvet roses fit the mood so well.  I still felt rather numb; I wasn’t knowingly getting dressed, so I was doing it automatically.

I don’t remember the car ride much, except for the fact that it was silent and I spent the time staring out the window, feeling rather cold.  When we arrived, we were given a miniature orange flag to put on the car and then told where to park.  The funeral home was small, I felt rather cramped and stiff.  I became distant and detached from my body, as if I were watching it all happen at a movie theatre.

As much as I felt I should, I couldn’t cry.  I wanted to, when Shirley got up and read the poem one of her sons wrote.  When Dad got up and kept choking on his words.  I could see the pain in their stances, hear it in their voices, and it hurt, it ripped at my already torn heart.  I could only stare, wishing more than ever that the tears would come, but they refused my every call.  That hurt the most I think, knowing that I was in pain and yet couldn’t cry.

Finally, the time came for us to file up the aisle, say our final goodbyes to Bill and leave, returning to our cars to go on to the second part of the funeral.  Even when I was up there, looking at his body, I didn’t cry, and I felt torn, I felt like I had betrayed everyone I knew by not crying at Bill’s funeral.  Looking at his body, I kept thinking he was going to sit up and Bob was going to cry “Fooled You!” and everyone would laugh.  But it didn’t happen, I hesitated before leaving him.

“He looks like he’s sleeping,” I whispered to my mother.

“I know,” she murmured in reply.

Studying him, I realized he looked a lot different from what I remembered him as looking; he was older, for one.  I attempted to figure out why I’d never noticed it before.  He was dressed in a suit and that made me feel rather awkward, like there was something wrong.  And there was something wrong; I’d never seen him wear a suit before.  He also had a full beard and moustache, the Bill I knew didn’t have either of those, the Bill I knew was young and there was no gray in his hair.  Where was Bill? 

My gaze lingered on his somewhat unfamiliar face.  It was too still!  Far too still!  This wasn’t Bill!  I wanted to yell at them all, it wasn’t Bill, it was someone else.  It had to be someone else!  I wanted him to move, but I knew he wasn’t going to, he was dead.  No!  My mind screamed in agitation.  He’s only asleep!  He can’t possibly have died from such a simple thing as a car accident.

I didn’t voice any of my thoughts of course, just kept it all to myself, forcefully bottling it all up.  I didn’t want to be there, but I had no choice.  It pained me to know that he would never open his eyes again, that he and I would never talk about the books we liked again.  It was over, but still, I couldn’t cry.  After what felt like an eternity, but in reality had only been a couple of seconds, Mom finally led me away.

We returned to the car, and waited for the procession to start, again, it was silent.  I wanted some noise, anything, to make the silence go away.  Finally, the procession started off, and I relaxed slightly.  After what felt like the span of a few seconds, we were at huge graveyard and Dad was cutting the engine.  We unbuckled our seatbelts, opened our doors and stepped out of the car.  Bob was waiting for us, and the four of us entered a large building; a mausoleum.  I was wondering why we were entering another building when we’d just left one.

The four of us took seats near the back and waited.  As soon as everyone who was coming was seated or standing around the edges of the room, a preacher stood up and started talking.  Sadly, I don’t remember much of what he said.

“….and now, we lay William Owen to rest forever more,” with that somebody closed the lid of the coffin.

Everyone around me got up and started hugging and comforting one another.  I didn’t move.  I felt frozen to the spot.  I could only stare at the coffin with wide eyes, feeling the tears well up.  Why? Why?!?!

That hurt!  It hurt so much when they closed the lid.  Why did it hurt?  Why did I feel like someone had just slammed a door in my face?  There was a huge lump in my throat, I felt like it was choking me.  I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t do anything.  I could only stare at that cursed coffin.  How could they?  They killed him!  My mind screamed as it pounded on a nonexistent door.  I didn’t understand.  He’d just been sleeping right?  So why was I crying?

My mind was a haze of confusion; I didn’t know what to do or where to turn.  I thought maybe I should tell someone that the door had been closed, but what was left of the sensible part of my brain told me that no one would understand.  I wanted to scream with frustration and pain and guilt.  He was actually gone!  How could he be gone?  He’d been brimming with life the last time I’d seen him!

I did nothing though, as my mind raged and ran around in circles in confusion, my body just sat there frozen, my back straight, my eyes wide, my lower lip trembling, tears streaming down my cheeks.  I could distantly feel the tears, but I felt disconnected from my body at the same time.  I just sat there, not caring if anyone noticed me.

Dad noticed how still I was a broke me out of my reverie. “Court?  Are you ok, honey?”

I vainly attempted to nod my head, refusing to acknowledge my pain, I wanted to wait until I was safely at home, but he wouldn’t let me.  He pulled me to my feet and into his chest, I sobbed brokenly, knowing Bill was really gone.  Dad hugged me tightly, ignoring the fact that his shirt was getting wet with my hot tears.  I couldn’t stop crying, it seemed that as soon as the dam was broken, it refused all my demands to close again.  Finally, I pulled away.

“Are you going to be ok, Court?” I looked up at him and nodded weakly.

Aunt Cindy, who’d also been at the funeral, came up behind me and offered to take me to her house.  Dad said I didn’t have to go to the dinner if I didn’t want.  I looked at Aunt Cindy and then at my father, and finally made a decision.

“I’ll go home with Aunt Cindy,” I could hear the tears in my voice.

They nodded in acceptance and I hugged my mother and my father goodbye, then I followed Aunt Cindy towards the door.  We were halted by Bob.

“Are you ok, hon?” The question held worry and sincerity in it, one of the few times I’ve heard it.  Usually his voice has a teasing tone to it, because he’s always playfully teasing someone.

I nodded, still crying. “Yeah…I-I’m ok,” I barely managed to choke out the words and even I knew it wasn’t very convincing.

“No, you aren’t,” he pulled me into his arms and I relaxed against him, feeling security and a sense of peace.

After several moments, I pulled away and explained to Bob that I was leaving with Aunt Cindy.  He nodded, hugged me again and released his hold on me.  I waved goodbye and followed Aunt Cindy out the door, still struggling internally.  I got into my Aunt’s large red truck and buckled up.  As the engine started, I stared out the window, hot tears slowly making their way down my cheeks; I cried silently.