Never Cover up What We Did With a Dress

I had just put Lily to sleep, and I was startled by the phone ringing.

I placed the wooden spoon I was stirring the pasta with on the bench top, and reached for the cordless phone that was hanging on the wall by the kettle. I answered and picked up the spoon again, continuing to stir. I was taken aback to hear Tony speak.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I'm so, so sorry Chesney."

I stopped stirring and turned away from the pasta and sauce that were boiling on the stove.

"What?" I asked him, "what is there for you to be sorry for?" I felt my heart stop and my stomach burst in longing, in nervousness.

"Didn't... You didn't hear?" He hesitated, obviously not wanting to bear any bad news.

"Hear what? Tell me!"

"Manson... he... he's umm..."

"What Tony!?" I screamed, "is he hurt? Tell me!"

"He was on his way to see you," Tony explained, "he's dead."

I dropped to the floor, as did the phone, shutting out Tony's voice and any other sense of reality. Manson was dead. On his way to see me, he died. I grabbed my own face, desperately trying to feel some sort of emotion, trying to find something that told me I could still feel, that I was alive. Tears flowed so hard out of my eyes that it hurt. I started to scream, pulling myself around on the ground, sliding along the tiles. My throat became raw and I lost all my energy. I didn't even register that Lily was crying. I didn't even care anymore. My only energy to live came from the glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe Manson would come back to me.

But that was dead now.

As dead as him.