While perched on the kitchen counter I bit my lip. “Quit doing that!” My mother snapped. Coming back to reality I unclenched my jaw from the corner of my lower lip. “Sorry, bad habit.” I tried to explain. But my mom was smarter than that, she knew the only time I ever used my lip as a chew toy is when I am stressed. “What is bothering you?” Not willing to share the reason for my stress I dodged her questions with grace. I became good at working around each question so she wouldn’t keep pressing me for an answer. I jumped off the marbled kitchen counter the first chance I got and casually strolled out of the room to avoid more integration.
The cold hard soil was the only thing between me and where her body will lay. Looking down at my black flats all morning I became accustom with the scenery. I have memorized every line and curve my shoe takes. I forced my self to look forward; I strained the muscles in my neck to lift up my heavy head. As I looked around all I could see were worn down faces stained with tears. I peered to my left to check on my little brother. Tears fell down his small checks but he remained silent. I reached out and grabbed his small hand. In that moment it was the only thing I could feel. His fingertips were ice cold but his hand was smooth. He leaned into my side and borrowed his head into my black cardigan. I could sense the cotton was observing his wet face.
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