Coffee and Coffins

You know those days that you can't quite remember? The ones where you remember the important things, but every now and then someone will mention something that you can't fully visualize and you just go along with it.

I remember the day that my best friend died very clear. I was sitting there watching my favorite show when the phone rang. I was so into House that I yelled for my mom to go pick it up. She was in the kitchen, and after yelling about how I should've gotten it, she picked it up.

I was glued to my screen until my mom came right in the living room and snatched the remote up from the couch, flicking the television off without so much as a word.

"Mom!"

"Jenna, this is important. Hazel is dead." Her words didn't quite hit me at first. I couldn't believe what she was saying. It felt like a dream, but as her eyes started to tear up I could feel the drops slowly rolling down my own face.

I flung myself into my mother's arms and wept. She had been my best friend since first grade. I remember us catching lightning bugs, drawing on the sidewalk and making a mess while eating ice cream. Every memory seemed to be pounding in my head. I could practically see her there in front of me, and yet she wasn't.

My mother held me tight and didn't let me go for what seemed the longest time. Eventually she went to fixing dinner, but I wasn't really hungry. I just sulked up to bed and plopped down, crying until I fell asleep.

Waking up that next morning didn't feel real. It felt like none of it had really happened, but I knew that wasn't true. Deep down I knew. Especially when I had a longing to call Hazel and ask her to hangout with me that day. No more late nights spent laughing with my best friend. She was gone and nothing I did could bring her back.

I rolled out of bed and didn't even feel like getting dressed. I wasn't sure when I would, but I knew that the world could not see me today. I was going to grieve indoors, away from the light of the world. I didn't want to see the sun shine without her. Not yet anyways.

That day that I went down to breakfast it felt like my entire family paused. Even my little brother, who wouldn't give me the time of day if his life depended on it, paused mid sentence and went into silence.

I wasn't sure, but I think they were waiting for me to burst into tears or say something. I did neither and simply sat down at my spot at the table. My mother set a plate of pancakes in front of me and just gave me a look that seemed to say, "I understand." Even if she didn't, the fact that she was trying to help was more then enough for the moment.

My little brother, Brandon, scarfed down the rest of his food and left the table without another word. My dad shortly followed until it was just my mom and I. It had seemed to be an unspoken rule to leave me alone. My mother seemed to be the only one who would treat me like a human being when I felt the most like one.

"Would you like some coffee? It might make you feel better." She reached out her hand and grabbed the one I left sitting on the table. I simply nodded to her question and she got up to get me a cup.

She opened the cabinet and paused, eying the mug that Hazel had made for me. We were avid coffee drinkers and thought that if we were to drink coffee together that we should have friendship mugs. Mine was decorated with my name all over it and only half of heart for the handle. The other half was on Hazel's mug.

"Mom, can I use that one."

She turned to look at me to make sure I wasn't going to crack right then and there before she picked it up and filled it for me. She poured the measured amount of milk and sugar (1/3 cup of milk and 2 tablespoons of sugar) into my mug just like I always did and brought it over to me.

Looking down into the warm and brown liquid I felt a sort of peace wash over me. If only for a moment, it was as if a light shined through that coffee and into my face. Taking a large gulp I felt it warm my heart.

"The funeral is tomorrow. It's at noon and I took off work so we can go." My mother sat back down at the table. I studied her for a moment. Her bright blue eyes seemed gray today, and her hair seemed to be a lighter brown as the sun shown through the windows onto it. I looked just like her. Maybe that was how she understood so well; because I was just like her.

"You'll go with me?" I took another sip of my coffee.

"Of course I will." She smiled at me and just got up from the table. She kissed my head as she walked past me and up to her bedroom.

I sat there just staring and staring at the wood grain of the table, but in reality my mind was somewhere else. It was at the playground on the swings when we used to see how high we could get. It was at the tent in my backyard when we stayed up the entire night. It was at Victoria's Secret when we decided that we wanted to have thongs. All of the crazy and fun things that we did playing one by one through my mind until I could feel myself breaking.

I stared around the kitchen in search of something else that would distract me, but only saw the withering and dying roses on the windowsill. A few of the petals had turned brown and dry, waiting to fall off and crumble. I suppose death was all around me.

"Why did you have to go so soon?", I whispered. I wasn't sure if she could hear me but I pleaded to her. I had to. I just couldn't understand why she was gone. "I need you."

The tears fell into my mug disappearing into the brown waters, each creating a small ripple and plopping sound. If only she could talk to me one last time.



Hazel Jordan had died in a car accident at the age of seventeen. She was a tall and thin girl with long brown hair and hazel colored eyes, hence her very unoriginal name. She had been driving home late that night from work when she was hit head on by a drunk driver. Unfortunately that bastard survived with some serious injuries while Hazel was dead on contact. Her family intends to sue, but that wont bring her back. Nothing can do that.

The day of the funeral I felt as black inside as the clothes I had on. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here", I thought to myself as we walked into the funeral home. A few of her relatives that knew me greeted me, often saying, "She was such a good girl." I just hugged them or shook their hands and walked on with my mother.

When we walked into the room with the casket my mother grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. Luckily for me it was a closed casket because of the collision. I was glad to not have to look at her in that state, but simply stare at the brown wood and know she was in there.

"She's probably pale white", I thought to myself. "Probably whiter then her wedding dress would've been."

Hazel always told me white wedding dresses were boring. That if I ever let her get married in one I would not be allowed to be here Maid of Honor. Of course I knew she was only bluffing, but the threat was supposed to make sure that I didn't let her. Naturally she wouldn't anyways. Not if it was her choice. She wanted to get married in a lime green wedding dress, for no other reason then because it was her favorite color. It also had to be short and cute so that she would be able to get more then one use out of it. That girl always managed to crack me up.

I told her that she could always get married again and she agreed that she probably would just so that she could wear her dress again.

When the funeral procession started I simply stared ahead in the car. I was afraid to look at anything around me. Afraid that maybe it would trigger something that would start my emotions back up.

When we arrived at the cemetery we gathered around as the preacher prayed for her. I watched them lower the casket into the ground. I threw the bouquet of sunflowers, her favorite, onto it before they threw dirt covering it up.

Staring at the brown dirt I felt that brown was a very different color. Here it was covering up my friend when yesterday it had been comforting me. It was warm and yet so cold. Nature gave it to us in forms of trees and yet it also gave it in shit. Bucket loads of shit.

So really, staring at the brown heap that covered Hazel, I felt like warm shit.

As my mother led me away from her grave I swore that I smelled coffee on the breeze and a warm feeling wrapped around me. Maybe I would just go back to warm and happy brown like we used to share together. Our favorite things were brown after all. Chocolate, coffee and even our hair, but Hazel would always be my favorite kind of brown.