Page 3 of Between Hope & Tragedy

I was mindful of what I spent, even though I knew I didn't have to be. The most expensive things I had purchased with cash were my home and car, because I didn't want to have todeal with remembering when the payments were due. Not to mention, doing it that way meant that I finally had something that belonged tome,and no one could take it away.

With my carry-on bag over my shoulder, I walked through the main doors and looked at the information board for American Airlines departures. Once I found the gate I would be leaving from, I made my way to security and waited. The line wasn't as long as I expected it to be, but I always liked to arrive early so I didn’t get stuck in line, with the potential of missing my flight. I put my bag down and let out my breath in a huff as the people in front of me trudged slowly along. When I finally reached the front of the line, I picked up thebagI had been kicking along, and pulled my ID out.

The TSA agent scrutinized my ID for a good three minutes before he was satisfied that I was, indeed, the smiling Zaydee G. Lansing in the photo, and handed it back to me. I understood, though. I hadn't smiled in such a long time, and I walked around with such a stoic look on my face, that when I had to show my ID for any reason, everyone usually did a double take.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I took my ID and put it back into my bag.

I quickly found my gate and sat down in the section of half empty chairs, choosing one that would face the window, so I could watch the sun as it started to break over the horizon. An hour later, the flight attendant started to call rows. I never did get to see the sun come up because when she called first class, I stood up and grabbed my bag. I walked over to the small podium, handed the ticket to the woman in the red and blue uniform, and waited until she nodded for me to continue to the plane.

There were only three of us in first class, so it took no time to pop my carry-on overhead and get comfortable while I waited for everyone else to board. The only reason I ever liked to fly first class was because it was first on and first off. I hated waiting in lines–patience never being a virtue I possessed–and instead of being in a shitty mood when I reached my destinations, I always bought first class when I traveled.

I rested my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes, securing my seat belt blindly. I couldn't recall a time that I had ever comfortably slept on an airplane, but I was going to give it one hell of a try. I was going to have a hard couple of weeks in front of me, and I needed to arrive fresh and ready to take on whatever hell my family would be throwing at me.

My head rolled slightly to the right, and as the plane started to take off, I slipped away into another dreamless sleep. What felt like minutes later, I felt a hand gently rocking my shoulder and I opened my eyes groggily. I glanced out the window and smiled slightly at the sight of the LAX runway.

"Thanks," I said to the flight attendant in a thick voice, stretching my arms over my head. She smiled at me and nodded before she moved on. I assumed she was looking for more potential sleepers, but I didn't stick around long enough to find out. I retrieved my bag and headed out of the plane and down the runway toward the airport baggage claim area.

I stood as close to the conveyor belt as I could, and waited until I saw the blue piece of silk I always tied to my bags. It made them easier to pick out and it would also mean less time spent standing among people I didn't know. Once I had my bags, I went down to the lower level and walked over to the rental car counters. I found the company I had my reservation with andwent through whatever process they needed from me so I could get the keys as quickly as possible and leave.

Once everything was signed and the keys were handed to me, I gave a quick, tight smile to the representative and walked out of the airport toward the parking garage across the street. According to what I had just been told, the rental cars were on the fifth floor, and mine would be in the third row in a spot marked 24. When I got to the sleek, black Cadillac Escalade, I popped open the trunk and threw my bags in.

After I closed it, I turned around and slumped against the back of the SUV. Every fiber inside of me was telling me to just go back to the car rental counter, hand them their keys, and take the next flight back to Orlando, but I knew I couldn't. I had come this far, and the very least I could do was pay my final respects to the greatest man I had ever known.

I had spent what was left of my Monday picking out something respectable to wear. I had brought almost every dress, skirt, and blouse I owned. I finally settled on a pretty, brand-new, black halter dress with a wide, white stripe around the waist. I paired it off with a white shrug and slipped on my best shoes; a pair of white Nine West dress slip-ons.

I left the hotel room on Tuesday morning at eleven-thirty-five, and drove the ten miles to the funeral home. When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw that it was almost full and smiled, thinking of how many other people loved Grandpa Frances besides me. I saw an open spot near the back of the parking lot, and backed in.

Cutting the engine, I rested an elbow on the window and pressed my hand against my forehead. I had suddenly developed a huge headache, no doubt from knowing what waswaiting for me once I went through those doors. I desperately wanted to see Grandpa again, but not like this.

It’s too late to back out now, Zee. Get out of the car and get it over with.

I entered the funeral home timidly. I hadn't seen my parents–or any of my family for that matter–in ten years, and I wasn't sure if I would be welcome. I loved my grandfather dearly, though, and if anyone tried to keep me from paying my respects; I would leave quietly and just show up at the burial. Out of respect to him I wouldn't cause a scene, but they wouldn't be able to ban me from public property.

With a shaky hand, I pulled open the black, iron door handle and walked into the dimly lit hallway full of people. I kept my head down as I walked over to the open book and signed my name, taking a prayer card and dropping it into my purse. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the casket and the top of my grandfather's head. I didn't want to go in just yet though, because the wailing coming from who I assumed to be my mother made me nervous.

How was she going to react to my being here? Would she hug me and tell me she missed me? Or would she get angry and yell at me to leave?

I bit my lip and decided to go over to the board with pictures on it. It would buy me some time, and I would at least have something to hold my attention for a while. I quietly made my way past the groups of people that were standing in various locations in the room until I made it to the picture board.

The first photo in the top left corner made me smile. It was a picture of Grandpa in his early twenties, looking dapper as everin a suit and tie, with a cigarette in his hand. I wasn't sure what exactly had happened on that day that had warranted such fancy clothes, but he was laughing in the picture. Even though it was black and white, I could still see the sparkle in his brilliant blue eyes. His dark-blonde hair was slicked back and every hair was neatly kept in place. Grandpa had been like that his entire life though; very proud of his appearance and always making sure he looked neat.

My eyes wandered from picture to picture. The one of him and Mom when she was about five years old, looking up at him with adoring eyes and a smile so wide that you could see she was missing her front teeth. I looked at each picture in turn, a sad smile etched across my lips until I finally reached the end. The feeling of sadness gave way to anger when I saw that one of the pictures that should have been me and my grandfather had been ripped down the middle so it was just him.

I knew I should've stayed away from this.

A hand on my shoulder brought my attention away from the picture board of now broken pictures and torn memories. Shrugging the hand off, I turned around to address whoever it was and came face to face with the tired eyes of my father.

"I thought that was you, Zaydee," he said quietly. I crossed my arms firmly over my chest as he slid his hands into his pants pockets and sighed. "How did you find out about this?"

"I check the online obits from time to time to see if any of you are dead. Unfortunately, it turned out to be Grandpa," I replied in a snarky tone.

For a moment his face darkened, but he seemed to relent on his feeling of whatever had come over him, because he knew I hada point. It was a miracle in itself that I was even standing there having a conversation with him, so he knew not to push me too far.

"Are you going to go in?" he finally asked, running a hand over his face.

"I'd like to, but I don't know how she'll react to me being here," I admitted, jutting my chin toward the room full of mourners.

"She's so wrapped up in her grief right now; I'm not sure she thinks anyone else is here with her. Come on, I'll walk you in," he said, holding out an arm.

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