Page 82 of Pieces Of You
Obviously not because I wouldn’t be asking.I bite back my agitation. “Knowwhat?”
His expression changes to one of sadness and regret, and it’s as instant as it is confusing. Because it’s the same emotions I’m carrying. Only mine are buried deep, deep inside me. “Bro, her mom’s name was Dahlia.”
My heart plummets, finds a home by my feet. I’m afraid to ask. I do anyway. “And?”
“And today’s the one-year anniversary of her death.”
Jamie
I finally got a headstone for my mother’s grave. It has her full name, appropriate dates, and a small sketch of a dahlia.
I’d spent the better half of the past year trying to come up with the words to put on her final resting place, and I kept coming up blank. It was only recently that I realized that maybe… maybe she didn’t need any last words.
Maybe her story is still unwritten.
MaybeIam her story.
I don’t know what I thought I’d achieve by coming here. I guess it felt like the right thing to do. And I don’t know why I decided to wear all her damn mood rings. They take up every finger, some with multiples. I guess, in my heart, it made sense to reunite the only thing she loved in the world with the only thing I can continue to love.
I sit down beside her plot and flick at the dirt around it, not knowing what else to do. The cemetery had only put the small headstone in yesterday so there’s nothing to really clean. I don’t even know if you’d call it a headstone. It’s just a plaque stuck in cement and placed into the ground. Beneath it is what’s left of her: nothing but ashes —fragments of her bones and flesh and those organs that failed her as much as she failed herself.
Liquid warmth trails down my cheeks, useless and unwanted, and I’m quick to rid their presence as I look over at Zeke. He’s standing a few yards away, leaning against his truck, making it obvious that heisn’twatching me.
I’d asked him to come with me because… because he’s the only one in my life who knew her. Even if only for short moments, and even if those moments meant nothing to him—they meant something to me.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” I whisper, looking down at her name in raised copper. I try to push through the burning ache in my throat while more tears flee from my eyes, and this time—I let them flow. “I love you.” But I don’tmiss you. “And I wish you were here.” A sob escapes, and I suck in a shaky breath, and for a moment, just one, I let grief overpower my anger. And I let heartache control my pain. “A boy broke my heart, Mama, and I could really…” I sniff back the hurt. “I could really use someone to talk to about it, but you’re not around. And even if you were… I don’t know if you’d hear me. If you’dunderstandme.” I’m quick to get back to anger, to disappointment. “God only knows what genius advice you’d offer. It’s not as if you’re known for making the best decisions when it comes to men. Orlove.” I take a breath. And then another. “You’ve made me so afraid tolove, Mama. To care. To let anyone in. And maybe that was the purpose of all this… to teach me to keep my walls up, so I don’t get screwed over like you did.” I keep my voice low, my jaw tense. This isn’t the place where people come to hear hatred or outrage. It’s for longing and mourning and despair. Too bad I don’t feel any of those things. “I just want you to know that I’mnotokay. And I don’t know if I ever will be.” I get to my feet, swipe my hands over my jeans to clear any dirt. “Happy dying day, I guess.” I start to leave but stop only a step away. Tears blur my vision while my heart throbs against my ribs. I turn to her, release one final cry. “I love you, Mama.” And then I make a promise to myself that it’s the last time I’ll ever say the following words to or about her. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t fix you.”
I cryin Zeke’s truck, silent tears to go with my silent sobs, but he knows. He knows, but he doesn’t ask. Doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay, and he doesn’t force me to talk about myfeelingsor my fears that I have no feelings at all.
We simply drive.
And when we get to the bridge I knew we’d be crossing, I ask him to pull over.
Without hesitation, he does. As soon as the truck’s stopped, I get out, already removing each and every ring from my fingers. And then I throw them all into the Tennessee River with just enough withheld rage to make me lose my breath.
I get back in the truck, and we drive.
We drive the winding roads surrounded by large trees, their leaves the perfect mix of oranges and reds and browns, and if I worked confidently with color, I’d paint those trees, those leaves, exactly like this—at their prettiest—right before they die.
“We can pull over if you want to draw them,” Zeke says, and I face him for what might be the first time since I got in his car. It’s like time hasn’t changed him at all. He’s still the same man who smiled down at me the first time we walked into his diner. Still the same backward ball cap. Probably the same flannel shirt and jeans, too. “It’s okay,” I croak, my voice low, harsh against my throat.
He glances at me quickly before looking away.
I face the window again, wipe the tears from my cheeks.
We drive some more until the leaves are gone and the trees are replaced with buildings and traffic lights. He pulls into the parking lot of a Staples and finds a spot. “I have to run in quickly and grab something for the diner.”
I wind down my window and nod, breathing in the crisp, fall air, let it fill my lungs and bring me back to life. When he returns only minutes later, he sets a bulk box of markers on my lap—the same markers I use to draw.
“I figure you’d get more out of those than flowers,” he tells me. “Flowers die. Kind of seems shitty to give them to you on a day like today.”
I stare at him—the only reliable man I’ve ever known—a man who knows too much and sees too much. And I don’t know why it’s taken me all this time to realize how well he knows me. How much he must watch me. How much hecaresfor me.
“I pray for you every night, Jamie,” he says and then clears his throat. “I still remember the first time I met you and your mama. You came in—this tiny little thing—nothing but skin and bones, and I saw in you then the same thing I see in you now. You were so lost, so afraid, but,jeez, you were determined.” He smiles, his beard shifting with the movement. “You had a fight in you that your mama didn’t, and I could tell—even then—that you were fighting for the both of you. And not once, through all the shit you’ve been through… from the beginning until the end of your mama’s life… not once did I see that fight leave you. And I swear, Jamie, I hope it never does.” His eyes hold mine, filled with nothing but clarity. “And you may feel like you’re alone, that your life and your burdens are something that you need to tackle on your own, but you don’t, sweetheart.” He sucks in a breath, releases it slowly. “And I know that it’s hard for you… and that you may not feel loved…” He pauses a breath. “But you are.” He nods in affirmation. “You understand what I’m saying?”
I push down the lump in my throat, my heart beating out of my chest while my unshed tears make it hard to see. “Yes, sir.”
Holden
