sending their final condolences.
Somehow I made it through the rest of the day with little fanfare. Friends and family came to the house for the next few hours sampling the numerous delicacies on display. Casseroles piled up on the kitchen island untouched, brought to us by well-wishers with offers of sympathy and help. Even in her grief my mother wanted a certain aesthetic to be kept. No homemade lemon squares or tuna noodle concoction would mar her perfect catered affair, even if it was just an informal gathering.
The standard, “please let me know if there’s anything I can do,” was heard numerous times. But I knew as time passed those promises would be forgotten, and the people who uttered them would go on with their lives oblivious to my family’s pain. I didn’t blame them per se, but by the end of the evening the hypocrisy of it all was tiring. Besides, my mother who was normally a formidable woman refused to leave my side, clinging to me as if she depended on me for oxygen. She barely let me out of her sight. Whenever I tried to step away for air, she’d start to shake, and her legs would wobble like a full breakdown was on its way.
I understood that she was in a highly emotional state, but I also recognized she enjoyed being the center of attention, therefore playing things up a bit. Who was I to judge her while she resided in this highly emotional state? Everyone handles grief differently, so, I indulged her. I can’t imagine how it must feel to bury a child, nor do I wish to find out. Losing a brother was painful enough.
Finally, after all the guests had left, and we turned in for the night, an unsettling quiet fell over the house. It had been a long day, and in most circumstances, I’d be in bed. Instead, I restlessly paced the room which used to belong to me when I lived here as a child and teenager. It was exactly as I’d left it with the pinup girls from the 90s and posters of my favorite movies.
My comics, some of which had never been taken out of their cellophane wrappings, were still stacked on the desk I used to do homework on. Being here was like stepping back into time. I glanced at the framed photo on my nightstand. It featured me, Kenny and our sister Robin, taken on the day of her high school graduation. Kenny’s smile was the biggest. He always had a smile on his face, and now he never would again. All because of one greedy whore.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t remain complacent any longer. After changing out of my pajamas I headed downstairs and grabbed my keys making as little noise as possible so as not to awaken my mother.
It was only when I was behind the wheel of my car, did I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I convinced myself that I was only going for a drive a few times around the block to clear my mind, but that was a fucking lie. It didn’t matter how late it was. I intended to confront the source of my pain, and nothing could stop me.
I’d only visited Kenny’s house a few times, but I knew my way there by heart. I’d bought it for him as a wedding gift. What a fucking joke.
Speeding the entire way to my destination, I marveled at the miracle of not getting pulled over by the police. Parking on the side street in front of his house, I wasted no time heading up the path to the front door. Before ringing the bell, I noted the lights were still on, not that it mattered. I’d knock and ring for as long as it took for someone to answer.
Fuck the doorbell. This situation didn’t call for niceties. I banged on the door hard and loud, letting the occupant know this wasn’t a friendly visit. It didn’t take long for Frankie to answer. Without waiting for an invitation, I pushed passed her.
“I didn’t say you could come in,” she protested.
A smile curved my lips, but I felt no humor. I felt nothing besides the boiling rage within the depths of my being. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask.” When I finally gave her a good look my smile fell. “What the hell happened to your hair?”
She touched her short tight