I lay in my bed staring straight up at the ceiling. My initials were arranged by little glow in the dark stickers just above my head. I pulled the covers up to my chin and took a good exhausting breath. I had woken up on my own. Perhaps it was the stress or anxiety of the day that woke me up. All I remember is how amazed I was that I had woken up before my alarm. Just then, the sound of my clock radio’s siren started to echo throughout the room. My alarm had finally gone off after what seemed to be hours of me lying in my bed staring at the ceiling.
I was so aggravated that I woke up before my alarm. I slowly turned to my side to face my nightstand. I saw his photo hanging on my closet door. The frame had been cracked, and the cracks of glass conveniently made a spider web right across his face. He loved spiders. He watched them and collected them. His poetry was one giant focus on his infatuation with these disgusting insects, and the irony of the broken frame gave me some sort of comfort. His eyes were still visible in the frame, and I felt some sort of justice in the fact that I couldn’t see his lips through the shards of glass.
The alarm was still chiming throughout my bedroom, and I wasn’t going to get up to turn it off any time soon. I rolled back over and looked at the glow in the dark stickers again. I was tired of looking at his picture, so the glows in the dark stickers were an easy distraction. I then heard my mother’s footsteps coming down the hall, and I quickly pulled the covers over my head. I didn’t want her to see the look on my face. Looking at Ben’s broken picture had left an ironic smile there. God forbid anyone saw me smile that day.
My mother stopped at my doorway. I could hear the floorboards creek under her feet. Her small fat legs would always cause the floorboards to creek in the house. It didn’t matter where she stood or where she walked, because I always knew she was coming and I always knew where she was. I hid under the covers waiting for her to say something. My muffled breath poured a disgusting heat across my face. She must have stood there for a good 5 minutes before composing herself and finally mustering up the courage to talk to me. “Honey, you should really start to get ready.” I pulled my covers away from my face and continued to stare at the glow in the dark stickers, only this time tears started to run down my face. My mother didn’t move from the doorway. “Lilly, please get out of bed. It’s going to be ok. You’ll do fine.” My mother stepped cautiously into my room, and reached over to turn off my alarm. The obnoxious wailing ceased with a single click. She was holding an old dishrag between her fingers. It’s funny… she was taking a break from her motherly duties to see if I was all right. It was so kind of her, but it was too bad she had nothing to worry about.
I sat up and looked at my mother with tear stained eyes, and a frown on my face that made my muscles writher in pain to make. “I’ll be ready at 8.” My mother moved forward to hold me. I put my hand up as if to tell her that I didn’t need it. She gave me a gentle smile and then turned and walked back down the hall. The floorboards began to creak with every step she took. I then heard her stop. The creaking from under her feet ceased. Was she thinking of coming back into my room to say something motivational? I was really wishing she wouldn’t. That would be incredibly awkward. I sat there waiting until finally the sound of the creaking floorboards started again, and she was soon back in the kitchen doing her motherly duties.
I sat there for a while just mentally preparing myself. I had to rehearse the tears. I was so use to putting on a show for other’s around me, so it didn’t seem like it would be that hard. How else would I have gotten Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen, President of Student Government at my college, and that rewarding internship at Time Magazine? You had to put on a show, so I had to make people believe that I was sorry that day. I was supposed to be the mourning girlfriend. I should wear black, cry, talk softly, and hold back emotions. Everyone was expecting a grieving girlfriend to arrive at the funeral. I had to prepare myself for my boyfriend’s funeral. My outfit was perfectly laid out on my daybed, and it wouldn’t take me forty-five minutes to get ready. I had to move slowly.
Ben had died on Friday night and it was Tuesday. I looked around my room to see paintings he had made for me. My mirror was lined with photographs of the two of us. Those piercing smiles, the awkward closeness of the photos, and the overall gratification that I had knowing I didn’t have to pose for those photos ever again.
Ben was the trophy boyfriend that any woman in her right mind would want. He was sensitive, artistic, smart, caring, and he had money. Scratch that. He had a lot of money. I would always receive extravagant gifts from him for any occasion. He had an incredibly sophisticated circle of friends, and I used that to my advantage. It was a perfect networking opportunity. There was one problem with Ben though… he wasn’t wound to tightly. I looked back at his broken picture frame.
“Couples aren’t supposed to fight. They’re suppose to love each other no matter what.” Ben was standing out in the rain outside my parent’s house. He was holding a small gift in his hand. He had that idea that if he presented me with something shiny that I would forget that he drove me absolutely insane. I just stood on my porch with my hands on my hips. I stood there silently, and didn’t say a word. “Come on Lilly! Don’t you want to be with me anymore? You’re the only thing I have in my life right now!” I still didn’t say anything. I just stood there hoping that he would go away. I was tierd of his crying. I was tired of his nagging. He wasn’t realistic at all, and I had used up everything that I could from him… so in retrospect I didn’t need him anymore. So I just stood there and said nothing. Ben started to cry about as hard as it was raining outside. He then turned and left. He got in his car and drove away.
I opened my top drawer to see a flood of papers emerge from it. Each crumpled up piece of paper held the hopes and dreams that Ben had for the two of us. For every love letter there was more than enough equally sappy and pathetic poems he constructed for me. I would receive a letter every week and a poem every two days. I arbitrarily pulled out one of the letters from the drawer.
“Your love surrounds me like a lake. I just keep walking deeper and deeper into my own fate. It’s not a horrible fate. It’s a loving fate. I’m surrounded by your love, and it doesn’t suffocate me. It cools me and soothes my soul.”
“Ugh Please.” I looked at the flood of papers shoved into that small drawer. I realized that I might need that drawer in the future. You know, to keep some jewelry or spare change in. I reached in and took the entire pile of papers. The words of love and rhyming were crinkled between my fingers. I went across the room to pick up my purse, and shoved every last piece of paper into the tiny black bag.
I turned to look at my reflection in my mirror and tilted my head to the side. I examined my eyes. Those cold emotionless eyes that I’d been so able to hide behind. They weren’t a beautiful blue, but rather a piercing green. I focused more and more on my tiny eyes. It was as if I was having a staring contest with my own reflection. Slowly I began to see a single tear emerge from my face. Then another, and another, and another… until I was crying to myself. Cries of pain and emotion filled my room. I was weeping to no one. My mouth had to be equally pathetic, and I made sure my reflection was unrecognizable to my true emotions.
And as quickly as the tears came, I stopped them. I straightened myself up and stared at my normal reflection smiling back at me. “Perfect.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned to make my bed. I rustled through my dreary wardrobe when I glanced across the room to notice my phone. It was just sitting there like an ordinary phone, but it had a double meaning that day.
I walked across the room to the lonely machine, and placed my hand on the receiver. I could’ve stopped what happened. I just remembered Peter on the other line begging me to go to his house.
“He said he won’t come out of the bathroom.” Peter sounded nervous and I could hear my friends knocking on the bathroom door… begging Ben to come out.
“That’s not my problem, Peter.” I wasn’t even the bit remorseful that we had gotten into an argument that day. “He refuses to fight. He thinks everything has to be sunshine and puppies. Well tell him it’s not going to be like that.”
Peter’s voice became quieter. “He’s threatening to kill himself, Lilly.” His voice started to crack and I could tell he was holding back tears. “You have to come over here.”
I sat on the other end of the phone for a few moments. I didn’t believe him. I was calling his bluff. Ben wouldn’t off himself over me… would he? I had to prove a point. I wasn’t going to just drop everything because he was crying in the toilet. “Tell him I said prove it.” And I hung up.
Ben killed himself that night. I don’t know how I could’ve taken it. But I’d have to say I was taking it pretty well. Was it my fault? Possibly. Could I have done anything about it? Most likely, but I didn’t like to dwell on it.
I arrived at the viewing dressed in black. With my true emotions I would’ve much rather had worn a pretty shade of pink or blue, but that would’ve been inappropriate. My expensive high heel shoes clanked against the sidewalk outside of the funeral home. I walked slowly to scope out the situation. Click Clank. Some friends from high school. Click Clank. Some friends from college. Click. Uncle. Clank. Cousin. Click. Mother.
Shit… it was his mother. She hadn’t seen me yet, so I quickly turned my body and rushed to the side of the funeral home. It’s a shame that I wasn’t in my regular footwear, because I didn’t move fast enough. I heard a cry come from the direction his mother was standing. “Liliana!” I stopped. Composed myself, and slowly turned to face my dead boyfriend’s mother. “He loved you so much!” She began to walk towards me. She was wobbling in her high-heeled shoes. Her emotions were inhibiting her ability to walk. She looked like a drunken sorority girl with her black suit jacket and short white skirt. Her giant obnoxious black hat with accustomed black veil draped in front of her face added another dimension of pathetic. “Why didn’t you come to the house?” Her face was directly in front of mine. “You didn’t come over at all. Are you alright?” The tears rolling down her cheeks left trails of mascara smeared across her contorted expression.
I hadn’t seen Ben’s mother. I never went to the house to express my condolences, or see how she was doing. I didn’t really have the energy to put on that performance, and I suspected that Peter would’ve told her about the phone call. I didn’t really plan on what I would do if she saw me. So I did the only thing that I could do. I broke down. I did the same act I performed for myself in the mirror. My emotions wailed from my mouth. I collapsed to my knees, clutching onto Ben’s mother’s legs. “I’m sorry! I loved him so much! I didn’t want anything to happen to him. Forgive me! Forgive me! Please forgive me!”
The lies poured out of my mouth like an avalanche. My vocal chords were vibrating furiously. My screams filled my ears, and my eardrums began to ring. I couldn’t stop. It was just too easy. Ben’s mother looked down at me with sheer amazement. Her face had a million questions running past it. I guess she didn’t expect this reaction from me. I continued screaming in the middle of the parking lot, and hanging off of her legs. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was a fight. It was just a fight. I was angry, and I didn’t believe him. I’d do anything to fix this. I swear to God.”
Ben’s mother bent down and held my shoulders. She was shaking from emotion, but didn’t say a word. She just looked at me and started to cry. She cried louder than I did. She pulled me closer to her and held me like I was her own child. I just kept lying to her. I kept telling her I was sorry, and the tears kept rolling down my face. No one should’ve known that I would’ve rather been laughing at her pain. I would’ve rather been watching television on my couch as if nothing happened. Instead I was putting on a face for everyone to see.
Ben’s mother eased her grip on my shoulders and pulled me away. She looked into my eyes for a moment, and composed herself. She pulled her veil back to reveal her face. “Oh, sweetie.” She gently pulled the hair away from my eyes. My tear stained face left pieces of my hair sticking to my cheeks. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She gently brought me back to my feet. “It’s not your fault. Ben was very sick. I’m sure he knows how you feel.” Yes, he did. And it wasn’t the display that I performed. Ben’s mother gave me a long loving hug. I almost felt guilty. “Do you want to stand with the family? He loved you so much.” I was almost taken aback. I didn’t even think that Ben’s mother would ever consider an offer like that.
I shook my head and smiled gently at Ben’s mother. My body slowly backed away from her loving embrace. It terrified me, and made me feel extremely uncomfortable. “I couldn’t.” That was the only honest thing I could ever say to that woman, but I quickly picked it up with a lie. “I just want to see him then leave. I can’t stand there all day.” I couldn’t stand there with his family pretending to be upset all day. “I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. I hope you understand.”
Ben’s mother smiled and kissed my forehead. “He will be watching over you.” Jesus Christ I hoped he wasn’t.
“I just want to find someone in line to stand with.” I started to walk away from her, and made my way into the line wrapped around the funeral home. She smiled and turned to enter the building.
As I walked down the line there was an abundant array of mourners. Some of them waved to me… others ran out of the line to hold me and comfort me. I just recited the same lines “Thank you.” “It means so much to me.” “If I need you I’ll call you.” It was becoming a very difficult performance. My energy was just about worn down when I saw Pete.
Pete was dressed in a black suit with his long straggly hair parted to the side. He didn’t bother to dry his hair. He just added copulas amounts of moose to his nappy head to give the illusion of cleanliness. In reality, he still looked like the stupid dirtball that he was. Unfortunately for me, this dirtball might have been the only person who knew what I was feeling that day. He knew what I said on the phone, and he knew I wasn’t too happy to be with Ben. Pete was the one person I had to convince that I didn’t kill Ben, and that I was sad that he was gone. It was easy to push Ben’s mother into my point of view, and the mourners in line wouldn’t even think to blame me. Pete, on the other hand, wasn’t as easily swayed.
I slowly walked up to him and waited for him to make eye contact with me. I waited, and waited…. And waited. Was he avoiding eye contact? Did he dare to ignore me, the mourning girlfriend? I cleared my throat. Pete just nervously tapped his right foot onto the concrete and stared at the outer wall of the funeral home. “Hi Pete.” I stepped closer to him and noticed that he reeked of cheap cologne. “Pete… I don’t want you to think that….”
“Just Fucking save it Lil.” His voice was so loud that half of the people around him turned to stare. How dare he scream at the corpse’s girlfriend! Pete noticed that he caused a stir, and took me by the arm. He walked me away from the crowd and his voice went from a powerful anger to a soft stern parent. “I don’t even know why you showed up today Lilly. You don’t give a shit about Ben, about his family, or about his friends. All you care about is yourself, so why did you even show up?”
I wasn’t about to panic. I dealt with Ben’s mother, and I certainly could deal with Pete. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A tear conveniently rolled down my cheek. This acting thing was beginning to be too easy for my own good. “I came over here to be with a friend, and now you’re accusing me of killing Ben?”
Pete shook his head. “That’s a nice little act you have going on.”
“It’s not an act.” My body started to slump, and my tears were sliding down my face one by one. “Pete, I haven’t talked to you in days. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” I decided to give him what he wanted to a certain extent. “I wish I listened to you. You were right. I was stupid and didn’t listen.”
“Get in the back of the line. Lilly. I’ll be sure to tell everyone how good your acting lessons are. They’ll all know this is your fault.” Pete turned his back to me, and I decided to give up a fight not worth fighting. Everyone else saw that I was depressed, and that’s all that mattered. Ben’s mother was putty in my hands, and everyone else should see that Pete was the asshole. It didn’t matter if he was going to tell his little friends that I killed Ben. I was sure that no one would believe him.
By the time I reached the casket most of Ben’s family had paid their respects. Usually at a funeral there was pictures and slideshows of the person’s life. Ben’s funeral, however… was dark and empty. I was expecting a slideshow projected onto a screen with a Pink Floyd song playing in the background. I didn’t see any of that. No baby pictures, no collages of friends, nothing. All that was in the room was Ben’s casket surrounded by flowers, and his mother standing to the right of the casket. She had a blank emotionless stare on her face. I couldn’t tell what she was looking at. Was she looking at him, or the wall? I really couldn’t tell.
I walked up to the casket, and I couldn’t see Ben’s body yet. The room got silent, and everyone’s eyes seemed to jolt right to me. I heard murmurs of the words “girlfriend”, “called”, “killed himself”. Had Pete worked his magic on the crowd? I didn’t listen to them. I just couldn’t take my eyes off of the casket. Ben’s mother came up next to me. She held me for a few moments and kept repeating the words “it’s ok”. I didn’t look at her. All I could do was stare at the casket.
I slowly walked closer, and was preparing myself for the biggest performance of my life. I knew once I would see Ben’s body I would laugh. I would laugh at his lifeless body that was never going to annoy me with his hopeless romantic nature. I would laugh at the poems he wrote me, the love letters he sent me, and the tears he shed for me.
Then I saw it. Ben was laying there motionless; unable to speak; unable to cry; unable to breathe… he was dead. It wasn’t Ben laying in that casket, but the hollow shell of something I once knew. The gravity from the world was pressing down on his lifeless skin, and you could tell that there was no soul left in this corpse. This was a human being at one time. He was stuffed in the business suit that he hardly wore, and the makeup caked onto his lifeless face made him look like a wind-up doll.
I reached down for my tiny black purse. I slowly opened it, and then held it upside down. The love letters and pathetic poems flowed out of my purse. The paper landed in his lifeless chest and began to cover his doll-like face. The room was still silent and every face was looking at what I was doing. They didn’t know what to think. Ben’s mother looked at me with her mouth hung open. I don’t think she knew weather to be mad or sympathetic.
I turned to her with the most sincere look painted onto my face. “He would’ve wanted them.” I put my hand on her arm, and then slowly started to walk away from the casket. Pete grabbed my and swung me around. He looked mad. He looked like he wanted to punch me right then and there… but everyone was already looking at him. Don’t you dare hit the corpse’s girlfriend! She can’t bear to own his love letters anymore.
His voice was at a low whisper and being clenched between his golden teeth. His fingers dug into my arms and he asked, “Why did you do that?” He didn’t know if I was seriously upset about Ben’s death. He had no idea. So I decided to give him what he wanted to hear.
“I needed room in that drawer.”
It was what I wanted to say . As I pulled away from Pete I wondered if I would ever feel any remorse for what I’ve done. If I will ever feel guilty about the things I have thought or said. Does this make me evil? Or does it make me as sick as Ben was? I guess I’ll never care to find out.
