| |
He could hardly believe the face he was looking at belonged to his father. The features were the same, and he recognized the small, quarter moon shaped scar on the chin. The skin, however, looked more like wax than skin. He was sure that if he poked that pale face with a finger, the skin would not pop back up. Instead, it would leave an indent in the shape of his finger. He was supposed to look like he was sleeping, but he only looked dead. This was not his father. This was just the shell of a soul now gone.
He was aware that his aunt was sobbing, totally heartbroken at the death of this man whom she hardly knew. In all of his fifteen years of like, she had only visited twice that he knew of. Once, when he was a very small baby, then again when his mother was dying of cancer. Why should she be this upset? Who was the sorrow for? His family was full of mystery and unanswered questions. These were just two more to add to the list.
His uncle stood silently, looking from the man in the casket to th sobbing woman. The expression he wore was hard to determine. It seemed to be a mixture of pain and anger, but then, the two are so closely related it is sometimes hard to tell them apart. Maybe he, too, was trying to understand her heartbreak.
Standing to his right was another teenage boy, a half-brother he only recently discovered he had. He tried to sneak a look at him and was surprised to find John staring back. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, then as if in mutual agreement they both dropped their gaze.
"It's time for them to close the casket. Let's say our goodbyes and get to the cemetery." His grandfather's husky voice broke the silence.
His grandmother leaned heavily on her husband for support. Her grief was almost too much for her, and she looked much older than her seventy years. She was a small person anyway, but today she looked so frail it was surprising she could walk at all.
One by one, the family members approached the coffin and bid the occupant farewell. When his turn came, he found that no words would come. He only stared down at the face.
Once again, his grandfather spoke. "Come on Ryan, it's time."
"I'll be right there. I need a minute alone."
Ryan's eyes never left the face as he spoke. He was trying to find some proof that his father was really there. He heard the shuffling of feet, then the door softly closed. He was alone with what remained of his father's earthly body. It was so quiet he could hear his own breathing. As the silence dragged on his heart started beating too fast, and small beads of sweat broke out on his face. His throat seemed to close as tears threatened, but he fought them back. Finally, he started to speak, his voice barely above a whisper at first.
"I don't know what to say. I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to feel now.: He took a shaky breath to steady his emotions. "You're my father, I should feel sad. I guess I do feel das, but I'm not sure it's for the right reasons. I hurt for not having the relationship we should have had. I hurt because now any chance of that is gone. You took that from me."
He paused to take another deep breath, and to wipe away the single tear that was tickling his cheek. He had thought it was going to be hard to do this, but now that he started he decided to hold nothing back.
"Why did you do this? Was your heart hurting so much you had to stop it?" He took a step closer to the coffin. "When I was young, all I wanted was for you to love me. As I got older, I wasn't sure if I loved you or hated you. My god, I even accepted the beatings because at least it meant you knew I existed! I failed at everything because I knew you expected me too, and I didn't want to disappoint you. I almost let you destroy me. Did you know I even had daydreams of taking a gun..."
He stopped speaking abruptly as he realized how loud his voice had become. He was shocked at his own words, that he dared to even speak them out loud. His gaze fell upon his father's chest. He wondered if the bullet hole was still there. How much damage had been done from being shot at such close range? A morbid thought, but one he couldn't push aside. How could anyone put a gun to their own chest and pull the trigger?
Suddenly, he was very tired. The motional strain was taking its toll on him.
"For you, this is over. For me, it's just beginning. You gave me no guidance; I have no idea how to go on. I'm lost."
He started crying then for the first time since being told his father was dead.
"I'm lost and alone, and I'm so scared."
Putting his face in his hands, Ryan allowed himself to cry until he felt he could control it again. He then took a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his face. Taking some deep breaths to steady himself, he carefully touched his father's hand and looked into his face.
"Goodby father, please don't hate me if I need to try to forget you. I have to forget in order to survive. I do hope you finally found peace. I will believe that you are happy now, and I will try to be happy too, somehow."
Ryan walked to the door and opened it, pausing only briefly before leaving the room. He didn't take a final look back. That day, a scared, lost child left one room, and a stronger young man entered another.
|
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
|
 |
|
|
|
Select a Random Work
from Stories
|
|
Welcome !
