Words Your Father Never Told You. Part 2.

Apparently, the time I thought I was blacked out, my mother thought I was having a panic attack. Due to the fact that I was stuttering and weeping like Brody was already dead. She even debated taking me to the emergency room, thinking that I needed to be put on some kind of medication.
I didn’t need anything that modern medicine could give me. I needed Brody, home, and I knew I would get what I wanted. Maybe sooner than I expected.

“The flowers were beautiful,” A strangers words came towards me as they passed by Brody and I to exit the church.
“I wish you a happy and love filled life,” Another stranger, this one shook my hand and pulled me in for a hug.
I know these people, I thought to myself. Why can’t I put faces to names anymore? Maybe it’s because the only face I wish to see now is laying behind me, is a black wooden casket, draped in an American Flag.
Peoples kind words could not retain me, I turned around and ripped the flag off the coffin, and untidily folded it up. Seeing it made me feel like an actress in a Carrie Underwood music video. And as much as I wished for this all to be “Just a Dream” I knew it wasn’t.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The next unidentifiable face looked down at the flag in my hands and moved along as quick as he, or she, could to Brody’s father.
My mom made her way up the center isle towards me. “How about I get rid of that for you?” I didn’t disagree, and handed her the disrespected flag.
I followed as she slowly strolled over to Mr. Bragsted. After handing over the flag to it’s rightful owner, I turned away and began for the center set of doors. Two hands folded around my arms, and the feeling was horribly familiar.
“Cass, I want you to have this.” Brody’s dad had already refolded the flag respectfully, and held it out to me.
I spoke the first words I had spoken in three days, “I can’t, it’s for the family.”
“Cass, I have so many things of his. You get this, and may come by the house and take whatever else you want.” He pushed the flag into my chest, not allowing me to walk away without it.
“Thanks Mr. Bragsted.” And I turned away.
He was the nicest man I knew right now, and unlike Brody’s mom, he cared that his son had just died. Brody’s mom didn’t call me to see how I was, she didn’t even call Mr. Bragsted. She didn’t come to the funeral. I doubt she will show up at the memorial for all the marines that lost their life that day.
As my mother and I left the church through the open, white, front doorway, I looked over to her, smiled, and said, “At least Carrie got married before he died.”
My mom took her free hand and smoothed out the back of my hair, patted me on the back and slightly rubbed my shoulder. She did everything a mother could do to comfort her child, and I still felt every stressor in the world crash down on my shoulders. Only, instead of having someone to help with that load, I was stuck, and alone.
The weeks that followed the funeral were also my last two weeks of school. Everyone knew, the downfall of living in a small town. Everyone saw my scene at his funeral. Everyone felt as if they had to apologize to me, like they were the ones who planted the land mines. And everyone was surprisingly understanding when I said I didn’t want to talk about it.
Finals were easy, I only had two, a small perk of being a senior at Stellar High School. Yes, Stellar High School. I live in Stellar, Kansas. Possibly the most boring town in America.
Most students finished the year, and graduated, ready to face the world. The “real world”. Well, as I wrote in my English essay titled “How I Plan to Survive the Real World”, I think I have faced the real world, and I think most people do face it as teenagers. With all of our mood swings and short relationships. We face rejection, acceptation, heartbreak, pain, sorrow, happiness, and tragedy. And we do most of it in the same day, usually without complaint. Because we are teenagers, we can easily weather the rejection and pain, and we can cover it up with the small amusements life brings to us.

Graduation was three weeks ago, and I am wasting my summer away laying in bed, and trying to cry. Yes, I am trying to cry, because I haven’t cried since the day Mr. Bragsted called me with the news. My mom joked the other day that I was, in a way, telling the future when I had my blackout. It was too soon, and I thanked her. I almost cried. But no luck.
Other than sulking in my room, I have found time to work, five days a week if I’m lucky. It keeps my mind off everything that I don’t have anymore. My co-workers don’t seem to understand how I could come into work so soon after such a tragedy, considering that was where I was when I got Brody’s dad’s phone call.
As I thought back to that night, I recalled a lot of things I didn’t realize were happening around me. My mother was cursing at my step dad, telling him this event would haunt me for life. My best friend was speechless, at first, then decided it was the perfect time to reveal to me her plans of moving to Alaska were in high speed, and she would probably be leaving just a week or so after the funeral, not even finishing the school year.
Not only did I loose the boy I was in love with, I was also loosing my best friend, and my mother thought I was loosing my mind. I tried hard to remember that she had these plans before Brody died, and although she was friends with him, her staying home wouldn’t solve any problems. As for loosing my mind, I can’t say I even had it after he left for his base.
I made my way to the bathroom I shared with my mom and step dad, it was a mess as usual. A counter cluttered with hair brushes, cosmetics, and various other toiletries. I hated this, this disorganization. If it were up to me, we would take a family trip to Ikea and sort it all out in nice, neat, containers.
One glance in the mirror, and I remember what my reason was for being in the bathroom in the first place. Time to pin my hair up, in a very unflattering fashion, and head off to work.
My hair was dirty with leftover hairspray, and my faced begged for a brief tanning session. I was pale, and after closing the door and looking into the full length mirror, I had noticed the size of my waist was decreasing dramatically. My eyeliner was smeared, also from the night before, thanks to Alice, I was now going out at least one night a week. Trying to find my “Next soul mate.”
I had known Alice for years, but had never really gotten the courage to spend any time with her outside of school. Once Lucy had left for Alaska, I quickly realized that I couldn’t make it through the summer alone, so I gave Alice a call. Before I knew it, we were closer then I thought we would ever be.
From the very beginning, not a single conversation was awkward. I could be myself around her, and she accepted it. I could complain about Brody, and how he left me here alone, and she didn’t call me selfish or bitter. She listened, and I did my share of observing, listening too, but Alice had a way of moving that was so graceful, and it amazed me. She also had a way of slipping things into a conversation so I would agree to them, without even realizing what I was getting myself into. Like searching for my new soul mate. Thinking of which, I believe Alice and I have another match making appointment tonight after work.
I placed my arms on my hips and bent slightly forward, trying to deny my natural instincts to stand up straight. If I was only six or seven inches taller, I convinced myself, I would make a great model. But, I wasn’t a model, and never would be. By now, I have come to understand that I will be stuck in this small town for most of my twenties and maybe even thirties, serving pizza to selfish unaware customers and tourist.
Hair in an untidy bun on top of my head, and ratty t-shirt draped over my left arm, to throw on when I got to work, I grabbed my keys and made my way to the front door.
“I’m going to work!” I yelled through the house. No one responded, because no one was home. But I wasn’t trying to tell my missing family where I was going. I was just trying to let Brody know what my plans for the night were. And, I have convinced myself, if I try to talk to him long and loud enough, he will hear me. He will care, an although he won’t come back to me, I still have someone to confide in, and someone to keep me behaving and safe.
Man, I must have lost my mind. I was talking to someone who wasn’t around. Some people would call this praying. But I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in ghost. I don’t even believe in love anymore.
As I look at my cell phone to check for any new message, I notice I am late for work. Normally a horrible offense, but everyone is much more understandable at work now a days. Not just to me either, but each employee to another. It’s funny what a strangers death can do to some people. No real connection, and things can take a huge turn, just because a friend of a friend has died.
I had brought this up to Alice once, and she replied, somewhat scared of my reaction. “Maybe it‘s not his death they‘re morning. Maybe it‘s yours.”
Her words shocked me, but once they settled in, I understood them more clearly. I had died. My soul was gone. My loud spirit went with it. I was a different person. And Brody’s passing was the death of me.