Trembling Memory

Raeann was buried next to her father.
I think his death at the ripe age of 32 was the main cause of her depression and sadness. Mr. McCormick getting cancer was surprising enough, but dying not even two weeks later surprised us all enough.
She was a lot like Mr. McCormick. She smoked too many cigarettes, and enjoyed the taste of whiskey. She always complimented the way it felt when it burned the back of her throat and hit the pit of her empty stomach. I don't know why, but she always liked drinking when she had no food in her belly. It was one of the many aspects I loved about her when we both turned 21.
But all that should have made me realize she wasn't as happy as she made herself out to be.
So here I am, standing above the only two McCormick's I had ever met, both rotting in the grave below my feet. Their headtones had the same font, and similar words.
"Johnathan McCormick. Beloved son, father and brother."
"Raeann McCormick. Beloved daughter and friend."
Maybe not the same, but they all treasured the same meaning.
It was sad what I was doing to myself, coming here every week to replace her dead flowers with new bright ones. I had insisted on coming to change the flowers, but all it had done was make me even more sad and make the grieving process much longer than it should be.
Ten weeks, ten different bouquets. I should be in the stage of denail, but I'm not. I'm still in a state of shock, still hoping that her death was some cruel joke she played on me and she didn't actually step off the edge of that building. That she didn't actually kill herself like she said she never would.
I knew eventually I'd move on. I'd stop bringing flowers and I'd stop even visiting the grave.
I sighed, taking a step back from the grave. I took multiple looks at it as I walked to my car, as if it would dissapear from my memory.
Tegan and Sara played the entire ride to the starbucks in town. I hummed along to the peppy tune from the time I left the graveyard to the time I parked in my usual parking space.
The bell chimed above my head as I walked in, earning a few 'Welcome Back!' from one the people I had grown to know here.
His name was John O'Callaghan. He was 22, and I thought he looked really cute when he blushed from his failed attempts at flirting with me. He was pretty lanky, too.
"Usual Green Tea?" He asked, already punching it into the computer.
I made an 'eh' noise, scrunching my nose up at the menu. It seemed like I got the same thing every time I stopped by, so it was time for something different.
"Let me get a Strawberries and Cream frappucino."
"Your total is 0 dollars and 0 cents."
I looked at him with my eyebrow quirked. As many times as I had been here and he worked here, he always insisted on paying for my stuff. One thing I hated was people paying for me, because then I felt like I was in debt to them.
"John, I-"
He raised one of his rather large hands, cutting me off. I rolled my eyes at him and put my hands on the counter in front of me, completely exhausted of this banter already.
"I'm about to get off, we'll take about your payment later."
I sighed, shoving my bills back into my pocket and plopping down in one of their chairs. I stared at John the entire time he roamed around the little area, switching from machine to machine until he finally went to the backroom to clock out. He came back without his apron and hat, sitting my frappucino in front of me.
"How was your day?" He quirked, crossing one leg over the other.
I shrugged my shoulders and sipped lightly on my drink. "How Saturdays usually are."
John nodded his head. I was completely aware he had nothing to say, and I was completely okay with just sitting in silence.
"Where do you usually go before you come here? You always look sad."
I glanced up from the magazine in my lap, looking at him and then letting my eyes lower. "My best friend's grave."
"How did they die?"
"Suicide."
He looked almost embarassed he even asked me that, like a shy puppy. "I'm sorry to hear that."
I nodded once again, closing the magazine and putting it on the table now. 'Sorry' was all I had heard ever since her death and the next time I heard that word, it was possibly I might beat the fuck out of whoever it was.
"Wanna come outside with me?" He reached into his pocket, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I nodded my head and got up from my chair, following his long strides out the door until I sat next to him on the pavement.
He offered me one and I gladly took it, cupping the flame of his lighter with my hand and inhaling. The pity I was feeling washed away a little bit with the relief the smoke brought.
"So, about your payments..." he trailed off.
I glanced over at him and brought the cigarette back to my lips, flicking the ashes onto the ground. "What about 'em?"
"You could go on a date with me, and I'd whipe our slate clean." The smile on his face was so hopeful it'd almost be a shame that I'd have to let him down.
Don't get me wrong, John was a really nice guy. He cared a lot and that always meant something to me, but with everything going on right now, I didn't have time for a date.
"I have so much shit going on right now, John."
He shrugged. "It's one date, Nevada. Who could that possibly harm?"
"I just said I have a lot going on." I was growing irritated and it was evident in my voice.
"Is this about your friend? I think she'd want you to be happy."
I flicked the half smoked cigarette onto the floor, stomping it to the pavement with the bottom of my shoe and getting up angrily.
My words were venom as they seeped through my teeth.
"You don't know what she'd fucking want."
And I walked away, tears rolling down my sunburned cheeks. I had probably just burned the last bridge I had with anybody, but I didn't give a shit about it at that point.
I didn't give a shit about anything. I was losing myself.