Downstairs, innocent young children laughed about, playing through the house and in the backyard; despite the rain. Too much food lined the counters of the kitchen and the hutch of the open concept dinning room and living room. Drinks to help sooth everyone, get together and talk about good times. Two things that brought family together, even though they were basically strangers who shared momentary memories; weddings and death. The cars filled the driveway and spilled into the street, lining the curbs with metal and chrome. It was a blur and yet every ticking second was vivid.

The arrangements happened within days of the incident. One night she was wishing her heart to be safe and sleep well and the next it was ripped out of her chest and danced all over. She could remember the pain in her chest, like the one she had now; the tight feeling where you want to press your palm to your chest cavity to make sure the pounding organ behind the protective bone didn’t rip through and fall to the floor. The panicked breathing, the lightheadedness, the inability to see straight, or needing something to hold onto to keep from falling over; these feelings still hung in her head as if they happened moments ago.

The autopsy ruled out any foul play and yet there was a heavy helping of blame and guilt dishes and placed. There was that moment when she had to walk up the two concrete steps through the heavy wooden doors with stained glass on either side of the red bricked two story building. The building was an old home that was converted to a funeral home. To the left a viewing room, empty. Upstairs were more viewing rooms, the basement held the bathroom and a large open room. Around the corner before the stairs were offices. Directly to her right was a room with a wooden table and eight chairs around it. Along one wall was pamphlets, another tomb stone ideas, samples, and mocked up engravings. Another wall was varying shapes, sizes and materials of urns. The wall that held three large stain glass windows had different forms of memento jewelry and casket options.

She sat at the head of the table. A complete stranger whom she once loved more than she could stand sat to her left, next to him were his step-mother and father. Next to them were her own mother and father. To her right was a heavier set woman with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a gold chain, long sleeved maroon red turtleneck, a pair of black slacks and black loafer shoes. In front of the woman were papers, a portfolio opened with legal documents, options, pamphlets and things to read over. Everything had to be decided that day, there was no more waiting; not even a day had gone by when she got the call to where she sat now. It was a blur of picking out options, colors, floral arrangements, transportation details, music, eulogies, who would be speaking, what would be said, clothes that would be worn on the body, if there would be an add in the paper or if they would do a memoriam on the funeral home website.

There was no time to think about the insensitivity of it all, the lack of mourning allowed in the method in which this was going. Decisions were picked, signs and sealed in what seemed like a lightening round of a TV game show. When the meeting was done her father and mother put their arms over her shoulders and helped keep her steady to bring her home. Kind words were exchanged between adults; a glance or two were shared between the younger victims in this disaster. She was gone, angry, angry at the situation, at him. As angry as she was she needed him, her mind screaming for him to understand her; to forget the harsh words and yelling she did towards him and embrace her. But there was no such thing as telepathy and she shut down. Turning she went one way to her car while he went with his family another way.

Days went by, not even a full week when they stood out in the rain. She spoke no words, only silently cried, looking down. Away from the stares of pity and false sympathy from people who were never close to her but were blood so felt obligated to attend. She hated herself for crying, for being weak and showing this side of her to people who didn’t deserve it. The words spoken by family, by the priest were echoes. They were nothing more than Charlie brown adults talking. After all was said and down that tiny casket, that casket that should not have been used. The small wooden box that shouldn’t hold the most important thing to her, it was lowered into the dug out hole. People scattered, heading to cars under the safety of their umbrellas. They would meet back at her parent’s house.

She waited, watched it lowered. She wanted to jump in after the casket, pull the child out and bring it back to her through sheer will. She wanted to take his place, wanted to scream for the divine entity to trade places that it wasn’t too late. Instead she was again ushered away, an umbrella from an unlikely source covering her from the rain. It followed her to the car. She got in the car and although she should have looked up, let him know he wasn’t alone, that she was with him she didn’t. She didn’t look towards him until the door was shut and she was pulling away, when his back was turned did she look out the window.

It was the touch of a warm, soft hand on her shoulder that brought her out of her head. The vivid images and thoughts blinked away as she was brought back to reality. She turned her head and looked up, giving a soft, genuine looking; although fake smile. Her mother leaned in to kiss the top of her head. Danica could do nothing but lose the smile as her features looked weary; of someone who hadn’t slept in days. Her eyes turned from the room full of women and sporadic male here and there back to the window. The cemetery so close and yet far enough away that she couldn’t quietly stroll back to be alone with her thoughts.

“Would you like something to eat or my chickadee?” Danica shook her head in response to the question. Usually the pet name from her mother would have made her smile, nose scrunching and the dimples playing off the sparkle in her eyes. However today it was a reminder of a past, a her she didn’t recognize anymore. There was innocence, faith and hope in that girl, that girl abandoned Danica the moment she picked up that phone. “Come on chickadee, you need to get your strength back. A drink of something?” Her mother was concerned for her, she stopped taking care of herself and if she did eat it was barely anything. Her thoughts and tears always pushed her from the table and back up to her room or the shower where she would sit on the floor of the porcelain with her arms wrapped around her knees that were to her chest as the hot water spilled down her head and back. Other times she was just under the covers, the will to get up and do anything was beyond her.

This was only over a span of four days so her mother was right to worry. “I’ll have something later.” There was no getting her off the window ledge. It was large enough for a cushion on the bottom of it and pillows. It was a bay window and open times it was large enough for her to curl up in and fall asleep in. Right now it felt like there was no point in moving, no point in making her way through the crowd to go downstairs. There would be too many comments, too many people trying to talk to her and relate to her. “I will see you downstairs in five minutes. If you don’t come down I’m sending your father up.” Her father wasn’t a threat, he wasn’t a violent man and he wasn’t going to be stern with her. But she didn’t want to be a burden, she knew her parents worried; her father sometimes more than her mother simply because she would always be his little girl in his eyes. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” She licked her drying lips as she pulled her gaze from the falling rain to her mother.

Her mother smiled warmly, triumphant that she won the small battle without bragging or rubbing it in Danica’s face. Danica sat there a small while longer. Finally she sighed and turned her body, feet touching the hardwood flooring. Slowly she pushed herself up and smiled politely at the looks she got from people. Some stopped her to talk to her, sympathize and share condolences. It was the polite thing to do but it made Danica sick to her stomach there was something so surreal about this all and yet it had never felt more real. Coming downstairs she grabbed a glass of whiskey. It didn’t even come up to one third of the cup but it was downed quickly. It would hopefully take the edge off and at least make her feel something.

Her mother spotted her and wrapped her arm around her shoulders, bringing her into the dinning room. A small plate already made up for her. It was foods she could pick at, her mother knowing well she shouldn’t expect her stubborn daughter to be cooperative. Danica had lost herself and she was now Alice in her own wonderland. She could only help her so much to try and bridge Danica to reality from the thoughts in her head. Danica took the small, round, white cardboard disposable plate from her proud mother and forced a gracious smile. She wasn’t selfish, nor was she ungrateful for her parents. They were simply trying their best to be there for her while still allowing her to be alone. She moved from the conversation and found a wall to lean against.

She nibbled on small cheese cubes and a few crackers. She didn’t feel much like eating so her stomach was giving her a hard enough time with the small amount of food she was consuming as it were. Resting her plate on a nearby table she looked around her. The sea of faces, talking amongst each other. The drinks in their hands, the jokes about the good old days, the stupid shit they had gotten into together growing up. Nobody talked about AJ, nobody had memories about him, nobody had anything to say because they never met him. They didn’t know him; they were at a funeral for someone they could never connect with. They knew death was hard, but they didn’t have anything to contribute with regards to the deceased. Her breathing began getting heavier, her world once again spinning. The tightening of her chest, the hot tears welling in her eyes like over flowing pools. The panic in her chest caused the room to spin and Danica had to get out, to breathe, the room was closing in on her.

She pushed herself off of the wall and to the back door. The sliding glass door felt heavier than it ever had in her life. There were people outside on the porch smoking, talking or simply trying to get air from the stuffy and cramped house. She barely looked at them as she gave a smile to excuse herself. Quickly she walked down the stairs and power walked through her yard. She opened the back gate and turned, walking fast until she was out of the gaze of the strangers until her legs began running. She ran faster and faster. The rain cold, and coming down hard. She didn’t know where she was going, having no direction or real end point she ran until she came to an empty field, with a hill that dipped down before disappearing into a forest. She ran down the hill until she felt the wind practically knock out of her and she fell to her knees, fists on the ground. She let out a sob, the tears having long been spilling from her eyes. A scream followed, as she was unable to control herself.

She had an energy, this feeling rumbled through her body that she couldn’t find a release for. The tears didn’t help make her feel better. She didn’t feel the cold of the rain. She didn’t notice her breath forming in the cold air. She could do nothing but scream to try and expel the pain that was like a boulder in her chest. Her stomach turned and head ached as she had a quickened breath that couldn’t be caught. Nobody would be around to hear her scream, to comfort or save her from herself. She remained a bunched head on her hands and knees as she became one with the pain. Finally she fell to her side, blades of grass covering her black nylon covered legs. Her clothes soaking wet from the falling rain and wet ground she now lay under. Her eyes closed as she faced upwards to the sky. A hand on her chest, clutching at the base of her throat and her chest. The pain was still there, her attack still very much continuing; the panic was no longer there.

There was nobody there to talk to, to blame, nobody who would listen to her thoughts, rambles or anger. She didn’t blame him, she couldn’t. He was also a victim but he took the role of villain to save her. She wouldn’t be able to look at him again, to look into those blue eyes, to see that smile on his face again. Thinking of him now hurt. Their son was a spitting image of him even though he was tiny, the features matched his so perfectly that even memories of him would remind her of their son. He would have to carry the blame, it would be the only way she could deal with this. One day she would forgive him, not now, or anytime soon would that happen.