Passenger Seat

Now, I don’t drive, as much as I used to. I don’t take adventures of any kind and yes, You've guessed I do not have a boyfriend, fiancé or husband of any kind. I do go out sometimes like to take out the trash, go to work and oh, my favorite activity: Going to support group.

It was a group for ‘Losing Your Loved One(s) and How To Move On.’ I am serious, that’s what it said on the pamphlet my mom handed to me.

My mom thought it would be a nice productive activity for me. I get to meet new people share our experiences all that bullshit. But I don’t want to. I really don’t wanna meet anyone knew, it scares the crap out of me to think I could ever replace You.

Who would love telling people about the roughest times they’re going through? I put down talking to a therapist, a pastor and I definitely put down talking to a priest. What made my mom think that I would be okay talking to a group of strangers?

Out of the twelve sessions I was supposed-to go to, I went to Two. The first was on the first meeting and the second was the last meeting, and it was today. So my support group met up at the local grocery market, every Tuesday at 6:30 PM. I left my house at 6:25 hoping I would miss the opening prayers and all that shit. The grocery store wasn’t that far away from my house anyways. As a matter of fact, it was a fifteen minute drive. Once I got my car parked, I grabbed a cigarette and lit it up before entering the back door.

I felt kinda bad how I wasn’t able to attend more meetings, the people seemed....friendly? Yeah, sure they weren’t creepy or mentally scarred or anything. They just had allot of feelings to share and it would normally take us two or three hours to get around the circle.

I put out my cigarette just before I entered the Well lit backroom; I saw them once again, plus a few new faces in the mix. I couldn’t remember their names, I would like to say because I suck at putting names to faces but nope, just the lack of going to meetings.

“Cassandra! It’s so nice You could finally join us once again!” An old lady gladly welcomed me in, she kind of reminded me of Paula Dean, minus the butter riding.
“It’s Cassie and yeah, sorry I haven’t been able to come allot, so much has happened.” I excused myself and sat in between some old man and a grey haired lady.
“its okay, the important thing is that You were able to make it today.” She smiled as we continued the session.
I settled in by crossing my legs and reassessed the people beside me. They all looked better, actually. So I seemed that this support group seemed to help them even just a little bit.
“Now, Last week we talked about everyone's feelings about 'Moving on'. And we stopped with January.” Everyone's eyes snapped to the lady beside me and I cursed, that means I was next.
“Hi everyone, my name is January, I lost my husband to a fatal sea ship accident last year and I haven’t been able to move on just quite yet. I'm trying really hard though, the hardest I can, but I mean I'm not flaunting my old saggy body everywhere I go,” I laughed at that at immediately shut up. What? Didn’t everyone else think that was funny? Jesus Christ, Now I remember why I didn’t like going here.

“Anyway, my thoughts about moving on? I'm quite alright with it, I've already let a few people back into my life and even some new ones too.” She smiled and shook her head as everyone gave her a big round of applause.
“That sounds great, January! We're all glad to hear You're doing great!” Ms. Paula Dean commented. And immediately her eyes shifted on me “Now, Cassandra, would You like to share?”
“Uh yeah sure. Hi uh, my names Cassie and Uhm, I lost my boyfriend two years ago in a car accident. Hm....Moving on? I think its bullshit...No one actually moves on. I don’t believe in it. Sure, You can find a new boyfriend, a new car, a new house, and new friends. But you'll always be remembered that You have lost someone that you know you can never replace. And I honestly do not give a shit if I move on or not, it’s up to.....whoever the fuck is in charge up there.” That must've come out a little bit harsh, but who cares? It’s the truth.

***

I left there after two hours and drove back home like nothing happened. Nothing did happen, I didn’t listen at all. I didn’t want to, they were talking about feelings and more feelings and nothing made sense anymore once they started bawling their eyes out.

I got to the house just in time for dinner and mom asked what happened and I said that it opened my eyes to new experiences and I've learned so much over the span of two hours. Okay, I lied, obviously. I just didn’t want and I didn’t need to go through that ever again, I meant the support group.

I sat down beside her as we watched a bit of television together. The usual, she was watching her CSI: NY episodes.
“What’s this one about, mom?” I asked, putting my feet up the coffee table.
“There’s this teen and supposedly he drugged this girl and raped her, But I suspect that the father was the one who did it.” She replied.
“Hm.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell You, Your aunt Nessa was wondering if You wanted to stay over at their place for a while. She could really use a hand with the house and things.”

Aunt Nessa, she was my Father’s sister, she lived in Gilbert, Arizona. Not too far from my town actually, she was around an hour drive away. She lives with her son Michael. I’m guessing she needed a hand, since that bastard I used to call ‘Uncle’ cheated on her with some hussy. As mom would like to put it, she doesn’t like using the term ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ although we all knew she was thinking it.

“Yeah sure, when?” I turned to her and started becoming more interested.
“Maybe You could get going by Thursday?” she lightly shrugged
“Tell Aunt Nessa I’ll be there by afternoon.”