Losing the Feeling of Feeling Unique
Twenty Six
Dad’s dead.
I didn’t realise my knees had buckled and I’d collapsed onto the floor until I was being pulled up again, Jon’s strong arms guiding me over to the bed. He retreated, and I barely noticed, my eyes stubbornly refusing to accept that anything except the perfect cream wall opposite me was there.
‘Ruby?’
It seemed odd that someone was talking to me, odd that there was anything more important than the wall.
‘Ruby, say something, please.’
My head snapped up at the unexpected desperation in the speaker’s voice. I blinked, my lip suddenly quivering as tears threatened to spill from my eyes.
Ryan’s face was pale, it was almost like he wasn’t there. I reached my hand out slowly, hoping that he wasn’t, and that what he’d just told me was some absurd dream. But then my hand connected with his cheek, his tear-stained cheek.
In a flash he’d pulled he up and I was sobbing into his chest. I was vaguely aware that Jon had left the room, and I tried to think about where he’d gone, but there didn’t seem to be anywhere except in Ryan’s arms.
Neither of us said a word, it was painfully obvious that we both felt exactly the same things. Emptiness. Hopelessness. Grief.
My final memory of my father hurt too much, so I focussed on the pure, unadulterated happiness I’d felt at being reunited with him. It was like I’d met two separate people. My father, and a stranger.
The more I deliberately tried to focus on my dad, the more I focussed on the stranger. The man who’d been drunk out of his mind, who’d threatened me, who Ryan had had to save me from.
I pulled away from Ryan, walking across the room and turning back to face him in one swift movement.
‘How?’ He bowed his head, deciding to answer the carpet instead of me, he mumbled something too quietly for me to hear.
‘Ryan, tell me,’ he looked up again, his eyes glistening.
‘He drank himself to death.’
I let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a strangled laugh. I didn’t know how to respond, I couldn’t even work out how I was meant to feel.
The next few minutes were silent as we both contemplated exactly the same things. Finally, I looked up, exhaling lightly as I did so.
‘What do we do now then?’
- - -
I sat in the front row of the church, people surrounding me, all mourning the same man.
My black shift dress didn’t sit right on my thin frame, my pale legs trembled underneath the black tights that covered them.
On my left, Ryan sat, staring hopelessly up at the casket, his eyes lifeless. Every now and then his grip on my hand would increase, before fading away again, and I could tell that his emotions were exactly the same as mine.
Completely united in our conflicted emotions, as only brother and sister can be; our grief tinged with absolute bewilderment that the peaceful man in the coffin before us could possibly be the same man who had terrified me, and subjected Ryan to god knows how many years of drunken abuse.
Jon sat on my other side, his expression remaining impassive. I knew he hated the idea of what my father had done to Ryan, what he potentially could have done to me. He never spoke about it, but I could tell, I knew him too well. I almost smiled at that thought, but I deemed it inappropriate at the last second, my gaze instead falling to my lap.
- - -
All too soon we were outside, the cool breeze whipping our faces as the priest said prayers for our father.
Everything I felt was completely alien to me. I didn’t know how to deal with anything anymore.
I couldn’t bring myself to watch as he was lowered into the ground. I buried my face in Jon’s chest, his warm arms preventing me from running, his gentle whispers keeping me from screaming.
- - -
People lingered afterwards, carefully passing their condolences to Ryan and I, who stood politely at the door of the church, waiting for the moment when we could retreat, our façade of silent grief gradually wavering; I had to fight back tears, for all the wrong reasons.
I didn’t feel like I deserved any of the ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or ‘your father was a good man’ lines. I didn’t agree with them. I’d known my father for all of a few hours, and what I’d known, I didn’t like.
- - -
‘Ruby?’ I heard Ryan ask tentatively from behind me. I raised my head from my hands, turning round to face him. He was pale, and visibly exhausted.
‘What’s up, Ry?’
‘We’re leaving,’ he murmured. I nodded wearily, my hair falling into my faces, my arms too tired to push it away. Gingerly I made my way to Ryan, wrapping my arm around his waist as we left the church, climbing into the car with everyone else, and leaving it all behind.
I didn’t realise my knees had buckled and I’d collapsed onto the floor until I was being pulled up again, Jon’s strong arms guiding me over to the bed. He retreated, and I barely noticed, my eyes stubbornly refusing to accept that anything except the perfect cream wall opposite me was there.
‘Ruby?’
It seemed odd that someone was talking to me, odd that there was anything more important than the wall.
‘Ruby, say something, please.’
My head snapped up at the unexpected desperation in the speaker’s voice. I blinked, my lip suddenly quivering as tears threatened to spill from my eyes.
Ryan’s face was pale, it was almost like he wasn’t there. I reached my hand out slowly, hoping that he wasn’t, and that what he’d just told me was some absurd dream. But then my hand connected with his cheek, his tear-stained cheek.
In a flash he’d pulled he up and I was sobbing into his chest. I was vaguely aware that Jon had left the room, and I tried to think about where he’d gone, but there didn’t seem to be anywhere except in Ryan’s arms.
Neither of us said a word, it was painfully obvious that we both felt exactly the same things. Emptiness. Hopelessness. Grief.
My final memory of my father hurt too much, so I focussed on the pure, unadulterated happiness I’d felt at being reunited with him. It was like I’d met two separate people. My father, and a stranger.
The more I deliberately tried to focus on my dad, the more I focussed on the stranger. The man who’d been drunk out of his mind, who’d threatened me, who Ryan had had to save me from.
I pulled away from Ryan, walking across the room and turning back to face him in one swift movement.
‘How?’ He bowed his head, deciding to answer the carpet instead of me, he mumbled something too quietly for me to hear.
‘Ryan, tell me,’ he looked up again, his eyes glistening.
‘He drank himself to death.’
I let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a strangled laugh. I didn’t know how to respond, I couldn’t even work out how I was meant to feel.
The next few minutes were silent as we both contemplated exactly the same things. Finally, I looked up, exhaling lightly as I did so.
‘What do we do now then?’
- - -
I sat in the front row of the church, people surrounding me, all mourning the same man.
My black shift dress didn’t sit right on my thin frame, my pale legs trembled underneath the black tights that covered them.
On my left, Ryan sat, staring hopelessly up at the casket, his eyes lifeless. Every now and then his grip on my hand would increase, before fading away again, and I could tell that his emotions were exactly the same as mine.
Completely united in our conflicted emotions, as only brother and sister can be; our grief tinged with absolute bewilderment that the peaceful man in the coffin before us could possibly be the same man who had terrified me, and subjected Ryan to god knows how many years of drunken abuse.
Jon sat on my other side, his expression remaining impassive. I knew he hated the idea of what my father had done to Ryan, what he potentially could have done to me. He never spoke about it, but I could tell, I knew him too well. I almost smiled at that thought, but I deemed it inappropriate at the last second, my gaze instead falling to my lap.
- - -
All too soon we were outside, the cool breeze whipping our faces as the priest said prayers for our father.
Everything I felt was completely alien to me. I didn’t know how to deal with anything anymore.
I couldn’t bring myself to watch as he was lowered into the ground. I buried my face in Jon’s chest, his warm arms preventing me from running, his gentle whispers keeping me from screaming.
- - -
People lingered afterwards, carefully passing their condolences to Ryan and I, who stood politely at the door of the church, waiting for the moment when we could retreat, our façade of silent grief gradually wavering; I had to fight back tears, for all the wrong reasons.
I didn’t feel like I deserved any of the ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or ‘your father was a good man’ lines. I didn’t agree with them. I’d known my father for all of a few hours, and what I’d known, I didn’t like.
- - -
‘Ruby?’ I heard Ryan ask tentatively from behind me. I raised my head from my hands, turning round to face him. He was pale, and visibly exhausted.
‘What’s up, Ry?’
‘We’re leaving,’ he murmured. I nodded wearily, my hair falling into my faces, my arms too tired to push it away. Gingerly I made my way to Ryan, wrapping my arm around his waist as we left the church, climbing into the car with everyone else, and leaving it all behind.
♠ ♠ ♠
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