Status: Completed

Best Thing In Town

Paint It Black

How does one sanely reflect on events that happen in their life? Events that change them forever? How can someone go about their life like nothing happened? Like everything is fine and dandy? You go over it in your head nonstop, wondering if it would've made a difference if you were there to prevent something horrible from happening. You wonder, was there any pain? Any fear? Did they know what was happening to them? Were they aware at all?

Why didn't you see the signs? When something happened, no matter how small or insignificant at the time...if only you'd looked into it despite the insisting that everything was fine. That everything was okay.

It wasn't fine. It wasn't okay. It hurt so much that if felt as if the devil himself had ripped out your heart and did a dance on it and then ripped it to shreads, only after taking a shit on it.

If Mike felt hollow when Audrey was in a coma, he didn't know what he'd call himself now. He just stood there in a daze of all dazes, healthy green grass under his feet and the warm summer sun beating down on him. Almost betraying his mood.

It should be raining. It should be dark and gray. Not bright and sunny. Today was not something to be bright and sunny about. It was nothing to be fucking happy about. It was something to cry about. God should be crying.

Just let it fucking rain!

But, no. Of course not. Why would God ever hear his pleas? He took from him his sun. The sun shining above him was just an illusion. A cruel joke to show Mike what he had. And what he lost.

If only he'd been there.

He looked up, and found Billie Joe looking at him, tears in his eyes as well. He wanted to punch his best friend in the face. How could he cry? He hadn't lost what Mike had lost. He didn't need his sympathy.

All he could do was stand there, going over in his head the worst moment of his life.

* * *

Mike had arrived home a little after five in the evening, holding a bouquet of red roses and white calla lilies for Audrey. Not every day does your wife publish her first novel. He walked around to the passenger's side of the car to help Estelle out who was struggling with her backpack. She was laughing about something she'd seen on a TV show, rambling like a crazy person, too. But Mike just smiled.

He pushed open the front door and stepped inside to find Lorelei crying in her playpen and the TV running. He stepped into the living room as Estelle walked in and plopped down onto the couch to grab the remote. Mike walked over to Lorelei and lifted her up. He smelled urine and realized she had wet herself, and badly needed to be changed.

Slight motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention when he turned around and saw Katarina huddled in a corner of the room; her knees pulled up against her chest and tears rolling down her cheeks.

Frowning, Mike asked Estelle to hold Lorelei and the big sister happily did, just as she complained about her smelling like pee. Walking up to Katarina and crouching down, he placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him with confusion in her eyes.

"Kat, honey, what's wrong?"

Her little chin quivered as she looked in the direction of the kitchen. Mike's knitted his brow and then followed her gaze.

* * *

Mike looked down at Katarina who was holding his hand. He gave it a little squeeze as she looked up at him, squinting due to the sunlight. He wondered just how much she understood about everything that was happening. That HAD happened. On his right stood Estelle who was holding Lorelei. Mike knew his oldest daughter understood completely. And to see her crying the way she was, broke his heart.

A candle in their lives had been blown out by a sudden wind.

* * *

Mike stood up, leaving Katarina for the moment as he slowly walked into the kitchen. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. It was still light out due to the time of year so it's not like it was too dark to see anything. But as soon as he walked around the island in the center of the room, he literally dropped to his knees.

The pain of dropping to the tile could not compare the pain of what he'd found.

Audrey.

He began to panic; brushing her hair off her forehead and breathing heavily when he felt how cold she was. He leaned down and put his ear above her mouth, but felt no breath. Not even a pulse when he put his fingers to her neck.

He felt like throwing up. But didn't. Pinching her nostrils together he covered her mouth with his and tried CPR, but in the back of his mind he knew it was hopeless. But his denial was stronger.

His chest was tight. He wanted to cry, but no tears came. He wanted to scream, but his voice was lost. All he could do was hunch over Audrey's body and groan in his grief. He didn't even hear Estelle take the phone and call 911. He never even heard the paramedics enter his house. He never even heard them announce what he already knew.

* * *

He stood at the foot of a hole that was six feet deep. Everyone around him was walking away, throwing red roses onto the brown casket being lowered into the ground. Mike's lips were pursed, his brow furrowed, his chin quivering but he forced the tears back. He couldn't break down with everyone still lingering. He couldn't allow his daughters to see him break down. He had to be strong for them. They needed him.

They were all he had left. The only light he had to shine in his life. Three little lights. He'd never have the sun again. Not until his dying day.

He made that promise to himself then and there.

He would never love another woman the way he loved Audrey. He would never marry another woman. No one would ever replace her in any way.

Tre placed his hand on Mike's shoulder. "We'll give you a moment."

Mike lifted his watery blue eyes to meet his friend's. He shook his head. "No. I'm coming. I just..."

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything," Tre assured sadly. "We'll meet you at the car."

Tre walked away with everyone else, leaving Mike alone at the foot of a grave. He looked down; a blank expression taking up residence on his face. He then looked over at a pile of dirt and walked up to it, scooping some up in his hand. Reaching his arm out over the grave, he released the dirt, letting it fall onto the top of the casket with a soft, pattering noise that accompanied.

And so it was, Mike Dirnt was a widower. Lost his wife. Lost his sunlight.

Lost the best thing in town.