Let's waste time
The Surprised Confliction
It was a Wednesday morning, like most mornings toward the middle of the week, and I just didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t think I could move, in fact! It was blatantly obvious when I moved my body, almost falling to the floor, before catching myself that no matter the sleep deprivation, I could in fact move. I’ve never known waking up on the wrong side of the bed to sound so clear and concise.
Moving on to the next task; finding something suitable to wear. Grabbing a classic black skirt to match my blouse, I entered the bathroom with just enough time to get freshened up. Turning the shower off, I heard the expected call of my mother’s voice up the stairway. “Annabelle, we’re going to be late. Hurry up, dear!”
I don’t see why this happens to us. Why us? Why not some other family? But, no…it’s always us. Sighing in discontent, I pulled my right heel on, grabbed my shawl, and closed my bedroom door behind me.
“You look beautiful. If she were here, she’d be so proud of you right now,” were the first words my mother spoke, when I reached the bottom of the stairs. I could have sworn I saw a tear roll down her cheek, but I thought better than to voice a remark. This was not the time, nor the place for silly things like noticing such despair and devastation.
“Thank you, Mother.” I smiled carefully, and then proceeded to hold the door open for her. We walked the few steps to our beat up Mustang, hearing every click of our heels echo in unison. Today was not a day of happiness, I can be sure of that. Today I had but a few hours' wait to hear those dreaded words, and when they come I don’t know how I’ll react; if I react. For today is a day of which I must mourn; today is my grandmother’s funeral.
Moving on to the next task; finding something suitable to wear. Grabbing a classic black skirt to match my blouse, I entered the bathroom with just enough time to get freshened up. Turning the shower off, I heard the expected call of my mother’s voice up the stairway. “Annabelle, we’re going to be late. Hurry up, dear!”
I don’t see why this happens to us. Why us? Why not some other family? But, no…it’s always us. Sighing in discontent, I pulled my right heel on, grabbed my shawl, and closed my bedroom door behind me.
“You look beautiful. If she were here, she’d be so proud of you right now,” were the first words my mother spoke, when I reached the bottom of the stairs. I could have sworn I saw a tear roll down her cheek, but I thought better than to voice a remark. This was not the time, nor the place for silly things like noticing such despair and devastation.
“Thank you, Mother.” I smiled carefully, and then proceeded to hold the door open for her. We walked the few steps to our beat up Mustang, hearing every click of our heels echo in unison. Today was not a day of happiness, I can be sure of that. Today I had but a few hours' wait to hear those dreaded words, and when they come I don’t know how I’ll react; if I react. For today is a day of which I must mourn; today is my grandmother’s funeral.