Becoming Sarah - By Miranda Simon Page 0,20

yelled, as I slammed the door in his face.

I felt marginally better after that, at least until the taxi pulled up to St. Michael’s. My mother wasn't a regular churchgoer, but she'd dragged me to an occasional Easter Sunday here. I associated the church with flowered hats, kids with scrubbed faces and slicked-back hair, women in bright suits, and smiles all around. Now I saw instead little clusters of people in dark clothes on the sidewalk talking softly, solemnly -- strangers and neighbors, my teachers, my friends. Some dabbed at tears. Some smiled, then covered their mouths with nervous fingers.

I didn't want to get out of the cab; I didn't want to go into the church. Yesterday I'd been kind of excited about the idea of the funeral. I'd get to see who cared enough to come. I'd get to hear what people really thought of me. Now it didn't seem like such a great idea.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The driver cleared his throat. "You said St. Michael's, lady, didn't you?"

"Sorry." I paid him, got out, and walked slowly toward the church's front stoop.

Inside, I glanced around. I'd never seen so many people here, not even at the Christmas Eve service we'd attended once. I recognized maybe two thirds of them. All my teachers were here, and a lot of my classmates. I nearly raised my hands to cover my face, to hide from them; I kept forgetting they wouldn't know me. I felt like an intruder, somehow.

There was my mother, near the front pews. Aunt Janelle stood protectively on one side of her, Maria on the other. My mother wore black wool pants and a too-small jacket, one she'd bought herself last Christmas. She'd put on weight since then. I had to clench my teeth against the pain of seeing her look shabby. Quick tears sprang to my eyes.

As I watched, she bowed her head. Her shoulders slumped forward. Aunt Janelle put an arm around her, and my mother leaned heavily against her friend. I wanted so much to go to her at that moment. I wanted to make it okay. She didn't need to go through this. She didn't need to grieve for me.

I took two steps forward. At that moment, Maria looked up and saw me. Her face registered shock, then anger. Detective Todd said she'd complained about me. No one would make a scene today, would they? What would they do, toss me out?

I stood frozen as Maria touch Mom's arm and whispered something into her ear. They both turned to glare at me. I lowered my eyes and refused to meet theirs. When I looked back, they'd turned their backs on me. I breathed a sigh of relief, but my stomach was in knots. They knew me now, and thought I was some crazy woman with a weird fixation. How the heck was I supposed to get close enough, now, to convince them of the truth?

I moved slowly down the aisle, always careful to keep my distance from my mother. The crowd parted around me, and I saw it: the casket.

Oh, God. That was me in there, dead. I'd only seen a couple of bodies in my life -- my grandmother's, and one of my mother's co-workers. The co-worker I'd never met, and my grandmother I barely knew; she'd lived in Chicago and had more or less disowned my mother years ago. I'd viewed their bodies with a sort of morbid fascination.

This was different. I'd figured the coffin would be closed, but it wasn't. I couldn't stand to look and yet I knew I needed to. I needed to see my old body to know this was real. Closure, they called it on the talk shows.

I got in line.

The line moved slowly, too slowly for me. Irritation twisted up inside me. Look at these people, here to gawk. They paused in front of the casket. Some of them gasped, others broke down and sobbed. I wanted to get up in front of them and shout, "I'm not dead, you idiots!"

When it was my turn, I closed my eyes as I stepped forward. I couldn't look, and then I did.

Me. Jamie Lumley. Still and pale, pancake makeup layered on my cheekbone where Ricky hit me.

My body wore an outfit I'd never liked, a long flowered skirt and a white turtleneck sweater. The turtleneck to hide the bruises, I supposed. My hand went involuntarily to my neck -- Sarah's neck.

I wasn't as homely as I'd thought. That's what surprised me