When You Leave

-Begin-

Ever since I was a child, my family – I'm mostly surrounded by elderly people- has told me many different stories they say are real and not fake in any way. Of course, as a child, I've believed all their stories. From feeling ghosts touch their toes at night to hearing voices late after midnight. Since I was five, perhaps, I've believed these stories, and have hidden this knowledge and belief of these ghosts from my friends and family, just to pretend like I was the brave one.
And to this day, I'm fourteen, and this belief of ghosts still hasn't left me. Which has created a phobia toward ghosts, that I reckon will never leave me ever.
The belief of ghosts.

-.x.-

The music around me is as sad as my heart. I cry a river of tears and to my other family members mourning around me, it isn't any different. Only to most of the men in my family, in which they don't break down like the ones that were closest to my grandmother; who had just passed away.

What fascinates me most is how I seem to only breakdown at this particular funeral, rather than other funerals. I didn't cry at my uncle's, which I feel terrible for. But still crying and mourning as everyone else; well, that just doesn't cover this big feeling guilt I hold in my chest, remembering the things I hadn't done, when my grandmother was still here with us.

We walk slowly in lines, then sprint back to our seats after facing my lifeless grandmother. We all have something to wipe our noses with and to wipe away the tears that we kept crying. It seemed like the crying would never stop and I had wished that the music would just stop already.

I sit closely next to my mother as she cries and mourns with me. It doesn't surprise me that she's crying, because my mother and my grandmother were very close. But what really does surprise me is that each time I look up to my father, he seems frozen with sadness, rather than mourning and crying over my grandmother's casket. I mean...It was his mother, and my uncles' and aunts'...Of my father's side. Yet he seemed to be the only not mourning for the grandmother we would all miss...The nicest person we'd ever known.

And now she was gone. And now I knew what was coming.

The 'phobia' I'd always had; the feeling I felt after someone had passed.

The feeling I had always tried getting over, but would always overcome me.

As I cry next to my mother I already know what's coming. I feel the cold chill of someone's presence, and don't doubt that it's her. My grandmother. I felt afraid and nervous. Would she haunt me in my sleep? Or would she just leave me alone? Would she scare me because I hadn't done what I should have? Because I was too shy to play her happy birthday on the keyboard?

Now they had returned – my old relatives' stories of ghosts and things they've felt and heard that they suspect are from the ghosts. The things they've told me about, the things that they either want to scare me or just want to share...The things that I had believed in, from the very first day they've shared their stories with me.

And now, I wasn't sure how I would prepare myself for this again.

-.x.-

I didn't really have a reason why I was sitting still on our velvet red, antique sofa, while picturing photos I'd seen of her on the tribute video my family had played for just about five times. The photos in a slide-show with the saddest music in the background and some footage of the funeral. How could one go off without ever thinking about that special person that has just passed? Could someone please tell me how? Because I can't find an answer on how it's possible.

“Thinking?” my cousin, Anne, sighed as she landed on her bottom on the old velvet cushion. I nodded awkwardly and closed my eyes for just a second, then in fear that something might scare me in the darkness, I flashed them back open again.

“M-hm,” I mumbled. I glanced at her for a moment, while she stared out at a distance, her hand on her chin. She was thinking too, until my stare disturbed her thoughts.

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

We had never really been “close cousins”, so this was natural for us to not be talking to each other. I guess we'd been “friends” when I was six, when she was still able to tickle me. But now it was different, especially since we had both just seen our grandmother lifeless in a lone casket. The image of her lifeless body suddenly flashed into my head and I began to shiver nervously. It was scaring me horribly.

“Why won't you guys eat?” my aunt, also Anne's mom, Emmy, walked into the silent living room, with a disposable plate at hand and some steamy food on it. As she had walked in, it was like she had broken a barrier; with both her presence and the aromatic scent of food. I had a feeling of tasting that wonderful scent, but my appetite had gone. I glanced over to Anne and forced an awkward smile.

“I'm not hungry,” I muttered, looking down sadly as I fiddled with my fingers shyly. She smiled and stood up, giving out a hand. I smiled and touched her strangely cold fingers and followed her and Aunt Emmy out the door as she lead us to the kitchen – where the reception party was.

I glanced back just once more, to see the lonely living room that was brightly lit; the sofa seemed to be solemn and alone, as if the rest of the furniture and walls in the room had disappeared simply. I imagined my grandmother sitting down on the sofa, waving back at me. I swallowed and closed my eyes and was pulled away by my cousin as we left the somewhat isolated living room.

-.x.-

Our family wasn't that “fortunate”, so we lived in the same building as my other aunt, who owned the house we were in. We lived in the basement and I lived with my mom's mom, my grandmother, in the same room.

It was ten o'clock at night and I was terribly tired. My grandmother wasn't any different and we were already tucked into bed by my mother. Although I was too old to be tucked in, I would rather call it 'being checked on'. My mom had turned off the lights as we were both about to sleep. Though my grandmother, after just five minutes, had already nodded off to sleep. Though as for me, I stayed awake, with unnecessary sheets piled on top of my warm body.

I knew why I had three sheets covering me and I know that I was being silly. But it just seemed like the right thing to do; anything to satisfy my conscience. I didn't want any ghosts to touch my feet or toes like how my old aunt had said that someone had touched hers. I twisted and turned, making sure to keep the sheets weaved into my toes and tied around my feet. But even with my body full covered up to my neck, I still had a nervous feeling that my grandmother might haunt me.

Soon, it felt like it was at least eighty degrees in those sheets and I was forced to peel at least two of the sheets off. I didn't want to but had to anyways, since I didn't want to end up wet the next morning; if I could even sleep and wake up the next morning.

I had taken off all the sheets out of desperation, but kept my feet covered and tight. I squinted at the digital clock mounted on my grandmother's bed side table and read that it was already three in the morning. There, I was desperate, anything to get to sleep. But no matter how many times I had tried sleeping in any position -whether on my back or on my side- I still couldn't get to sleep.

The hours passed by aimlessly and I still couldn't sleep. I knew in my head that I was being silly and that the only thing now that was keeping me up were my wrapped-up feet. I bit my lip and tried once more to close my eyes...And lucky enough, I was dreaming...

...Or at least I had thought I was dreaming. Though through the darkness I saw colors, as a result of rubbing my eyes constantly. But after the faint colors had faded away, there was one thing that began to shape and reveal itself, out of conscience, and not out of dreams and thoughts. I wasn't asleep. I was still awake. But my eyes didn't open.

The image was soft, yet beautiful and dreary. It wasn't very vivid like a brightly painted picture. It was ghostly, somehow, and I made out my grandmother. I was afraid at first, and I didn't have to be. Until the other side of me reminded me that it was her and that I was supposed to be afraid.

But I don't want to be, I don't want to be scared, I fought with my mind. But remember the stories your relatives told you? What if she wants to haunt you?

But after gazing at my grandma's pretty face, I paid no attention to the one objecting my thoughts. But slowly, her pretty face became a saggy, skinny, motionless and almost lifeless face. Soon, I had seen her in the casket all over again, and I flashed my eyes open.

I wasn't scared of her haunting me; I was scared of that picture. Or both.

-.x.-

I wished my family could have spoken about something else besides their experiences before they heard the news that my grandmother had died.

Their experiences about what they felt when they were asleep, or what they heard in their sleep. Or rather who they reckoned did that to them. I swallowed and picked my breakfast-pancakes- and tried to look emotionless and careless, almost like I didn't understand. I wished I hadn't, though I knew two languages. English, and the language they were speaking in.

“Hey.” I looked up from my food and saw Anne again, and forced a kind smile.

“What's up?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“You always say nothing,” she frowned. “It can't be nothing. You always seem sad.”

“I thought no one would notice..,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“See?” she inquired, smiling.

We fell silent, heard a few people laugh, then she began again. “Sad about grandma, huh?” she whispered delicately. I looked up again, and for the first time in a while, she had said eyes on her plate as well.

“Yeah,” I whispered back sadly.

My aunt seemed to have noticed that we were talking so quietly. We heard her voice next while offering a plate. Anne and I bowed and shook our heads. We had both lost our appetites. She sighed and began, while the others had their own conversations with each other. Luckily, no one else had noticed us talk. Anne and I seemed thankful, but I knew that both of us would prefer not talking to each other about the subject.

“What's wrong, both of you?” my aunt asked. I poked the sausage on my plate and bit off a piece of it, then placed the fork back down. Neither one of us answered and she continued.

“You know...If any one else caught you both frowning, then...”

“Excuse me.” I rose from my seat and left the dining room and went back into the living room. I wouldn't call it sulking or hiding from the rest of the group, but it seemed like I was. At last I'm alone, I thought to myself. Neither Anne, my aunt, or anyone else came in the room to join me and I had my “alone time” to think.

My stomach growled and I clutched my tummy with my arms. I was starving, but my emotions took away my appetite. I was in no mood to eat or talk and I felt like my own little “fear” was eating away my brain and common-sense.

-.x.-

“I felt someone touch my forehead...I guess it was Mother's way of saying goodbye.”

“I felt someone touch my toes one night.”

“How about you guys? Had you felt anything before?” the question was for my dad, who I was sitting next to. All eyes – which mostly belonged to my aunts who were my dad's sisters, grandma's daughters- were put on my dad and I. I shrugged, while my dad shook his head.

“No.”

“It's because Mom knew that they would freak out. That's why,” my mom said, who was my other side. My lips twitched, as there was some amusement in her voice. Everyone else nodded while some sighed and the night was nearly over.

I would normally go to the bathroom, then run to my room. But I didn't. Instead, I just sat in bed, awake, while my grandma was already asleep. I heard crickets chirp, the laptop beside me running, and my grandma snoring. Silence.

Now I had more time to think. To think...

...But if I thought about anything, wouldn't I just freak out more?

But what could I do? All that was left, that seemed to be sticking out like a sore thumb, was my grandmother...Gone. It was like a forum in my mind, with the only open topic as the death of my grandmother. That was it.

So why not try to face my fears, be terrified to death, and just sleep and hope to have no nightmares, since that was it?

I then thought about what my mom had said ;

It's because Mom knew that they would freak out...If she haunted both of them.

Yeah, it probably would. But hearing it that way...She had a point. That meant that grandma cared for us and knew that she shouldn't haunt us or touch us like all the rest of my aunts and uncles. It meant...She knew.

At least that one thought actually meant something to me. And helped ease away my fears.

I lied on my back and pulled the covers over me and closed my eyes. It would be a little easier to sleep now, I thought. I saw the pitch-black darkness as it surrounded me all around.

Grandma would never haunt me. Because she cared. As she always did.

Which made me realize something. A small photo of grandma and I popped into my head and put all the darkness away. I watched and waited, to see if she would say anything. She stood still. I imagined her talking and remembered the memory behind the picture and amazingly, it moved.

But I knew something. It wasn't grandma's spirit that made it move, for it was my own little, huge brain. It was all coming to my head; it was as simple as that. But what made me feel this way before? What made me realize this? What lead me to open my eyes and finally realize, that when she left, it was me that had drove me insane?

“It's because you care as much, too. It's because you're a worry-wort.”

I smiled. The reply seemed so simple and I hadn't thought of who it was from, or whose voice it belonged to. It was my grandma's cheery old voice and I had thought of it as my own conscience that had said it.

It was a simple, yet loving point she had made. My chest suddenly felt lighter and my mind was finally put to rest. I fell asleep that night, without having to pile a hundred blankets on top of me.

I had a delighted smile on my face as I heard gentle words that I didn't think were 'haunted' at all, but were soft, wonderful words, that helped me forget I even was a nervous wreck...

I would never haunt you or scare you in any way.
I never left you, Ebony. I'm right here, always at your side.

Thanks, grandma.

-End-