Creating love with a box of matches

"Ronald, noone expected it to happen quite this way, you must know that." The man touches my shoulder, his musky scent wafting over me, choking me. This is what Death must smell like. Unhappiness and cigars. I shrug his hand off, and look up. The room shifts, and I see everything in a new light. This place is foreign, even though I know the sights by heart. There, on the coffee table, is my Dad's favorite vase, the one he gave my no good mother their first anniversary. And here, the coffee table that still holds up my father's coffee cup, from this morning. Was it really just this morning that he was sitting here, where I'm sitting now. It must be, but it feels like hours. I wonder if it hurt when he died.

"Ronnie-" My brother, Joel starts, the lively twinkle missing from his eye. Somehow, this shocks me more than the news. My brother was always happy. When Mom left, he was the thing that kept us laughing. That kept us together.
"No, Joel. They must have the wrong man. This must be a mistake. It has to be." I shakily stand, my fingers drumming on my thigh like they do when I'm nervous. My brother reaches for my left hand, and I jerk away, my breath catching in my throat. This is just a mistake. "This isn't happening Joel, he's lying. Dad can't be dead. He just can't be." I look at the man, Officer Miller, and point to the door. "Get the hell out."

"Ronald, I know this is hard but-" He holds out his hands, like he's trying to calm a rabid animal. I cut him off, my voice alien even to my ears.
"Get the fuck out! Do you think this is a joke! Saying my father's dead! It's not funny! Get the hell out!" I stare with impatience as the Officer freezes, his eyes widening as I lung for his chest. I pull him up by his shirt and spin, pushing him towards the door. He backs away, his hands still raised. That infuriates me, but what pisses me off even farther is that he trips over the coffee table in his haste to retreat, knocking my father's coffee cup to the ground. I stare on as it splinters, as if in slow motion, and I see each individual shard fly at the same time.

"You fucking idiot! See what you've done! Your gonna fucking pay for that!" I pull back my fist and step towards him, but apparently Joel thinks that enough is enough and grabs me, pulling me against his chest in an iron grip while the man makes a hasty getaway.

"Fucking let me go! Joel let me go!" I squirm, my eyes locked on the door that the man left halfway open and growl in frustration as I hear the squeal of tires. "He got away damnit!" I work my elbows, willing Joel to let me go before I gut him.

"Ronnie, calm down. Dad's dead okay. I can't deal with your shit right now. I need to make plans for the funeral, and what not." Joel sighs, the laughter gone from his voice. It seems he's replaced my father in a matter of minutes. I can feel a rush of anger spark at his words, and I'm tempted to slug him. But when I turn to do so, I see a small broken man, not my lively Joel nor my brutishly strong father. Just a sad broken man. And that's when I begin to cry.