The Simplest Thing in the World

The dreary atmosphere of this day is perfect. The weather matches everyone's mood spot on. The umbrella doesn't help. I can feel the cold mist spray my face, and the chilled breeze nip at my ankles. All of these people, dressed up in black, are here my parents, are here for me. Sean's arm holds me around my middle like a flotation device as the preacher speaks. My father's brother gives the eulogy for them both. I try to pretend I don't notice the looks of sympathy I've been getting all day, all week.

"While Carter and Cynthia Kay are no longer here with us, we rejoice that our Lord had spared their daughter, Celia, to live on and make her parents proud like they knew she would."

All faces look toward me, expecting something, anything.

"Celia? Would you like to say a few words before we lower the caskets?" He asks me softly.

I shake my head, trying to keep myself put together. I can feel Sean's arm tighten instinctively. I expect the preacher to push it, but he doesn't and gives a slow nod as my parents descend into the ground where they will sleep under six feet of dirt for the rest of eternity.



Two days later, my plane ticket comes. The little piece of paper that will rip me away from everyone and everything I've ever known.

“Ah! I see your ticket arrived!” My aunt said with forced enthusiasm. “How exciting! Don’t you think?”

I don’t respond. She knows I won’t. I've barely spoken a word for the past week. Her fake smile was still plastered on her face as she rattled on.

“A whole new culture to explore! I think you’ll really enjoy England, Celia. I mean, I've never been there myself, but the pictures are so beautiful, and you can’t fake beauty like that!”

I wondered silently if she knew how dumb she sounded. Without saying a word, I picked up the ticket, stuffed it in my coat pocket and headed out the door.



Fifteen minutes later I stood in Sean’s bedroom with my ticket and passport in the palm of my hand. He took them, examined both, and set them on his dresser.

“So, this is really happening?” He asked. You’re really moving to London?”

I sat on his bed and gave him a soft nod. His face became angry.

“This is bullshit, Celia! Why can’t you stay here? With your aunt? With me? With your friends? I don’t understand why you have to move half way around the world to live with grandparents you hardly know! Please, Celia. Please don’t leave me.”

I looked up at him, tears glazing over my eyes.

“You know I don’t want to,” I whispered.

Sean sat beside me, “Then tell them, Celia. Tell your aunt and uncle that you want to live with them!”

“I can’t. They can’t.”

Sean stood again, pacing the room, “Oh, right! Of course! I forgot! The economy! I guarantee you that if it had been them that had passed away, your parents would have taken in your cousins without a second though whether the economy was rough or not because that’s what family does! They support each other and care for each other in times of need!”

“You’re not making this any easier, Sean. What am I supposed to do? My parents are dead! I have no one to take care of me!” I cried.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, wrapping me in his arms. “Just…just get your aunt to let you live with her for a few more months! Then, we’ll both be eighteen, and we’ll get married!”

I stared at him. Sometimes it felt like Sean could read my mind.
He sighed, “I know, I know. It’s crazy, but I just don’t want you so far away. You’ll probably meet some handsome British guy and forget all about me.” He confessed.

I put my hand to his face, “Sean…that won’t happen.”

He turned away, “But what if-“

I forced him to look at me, “It. Won’t. Happen. I love you. Like you said, it’s only a couple of months ‘til my eighteenth birthday, then I’ll come back, find somewhere to live, and we’ll be together.”

Sean’s face softened, “I’m sorry. I’m acting like a girl right now.”

I chuckled lightly, “Yes, you are.”

He took my face and kissed me tenderly, “I love you.”



Later that night as I packed my suitcase, my aunt knocked on the guest room door. This particular aunt was my only on mom’s side. She wasn't very affectionate, and as far as I knew she hadn't shed a single tear over the death of her only sibling. Sometimes, I think she’s a cyborg.

“Need some help?” She asked.

I put the remainder of my clothes into the bag.

“No, almost done.”

“Are you sure? I could take this old junk to the thrift store tomorrow if you’d like.”

She picked up my raggedy, dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice.

I snatched it back from her, “No! I mean, no thank you. This isn't junk. Please just go.”

It may seem silly to be so attached to a book, but my mother was a huge Jane Austen fan, something she had passed on to me. This copy of the famous love story belonged to my mom when she was my age. She had written commentary beside some passages and highlighted favorite lines. Tonight was my last in the United States. My flight left at noon the next day, and I needed some time alone. As much as I dreaded leaving my old house, my friends, and my boyfriend, there was a part of me that thought London may be a welcome distraction. At least there I wouldn't have to pass the site of the crash every day, or see the little blue pieces of paint form our Honda still lying beside the big, oak tree. Perhaps I could start over. I wouldn't have to face my aunt’s accusing looks everyday either.