1Six Months
In a black elegant dress, a small, dark veil on her head, her small lithe frame sat stiffly on the leather seats of the limo. Sophia looked out of the tinted windows as it slowly pulled off the cemetery yard.
You didn't care about her, and we don't care about you.
Barely choking back a sob, she could feel the hostile stares on the back of her head.
I do care...Why can't you?
Clutching her mother's withered hand, she gave a slow measured breath, grateful for the support. Though her mother didn't know what it was like having your family hate you for being an outsider, her presence was appreciated. Mom was the only person she could lean on, and that was enough.
We didn't need you to live. Mom raised me without your family's help.
She knew what those stares would tell her, she'd seen them enough to know their message loud and clear.
You have no place here. We don't need you. Now that Aunt Lauren is gone you can go back to the life you had before and not come back. Your duty in keeping her happy is over.
We didn't know where any of you were!
Even if we wanted to be close to you, it wasn't like any of you tried to contact us anyway! I've lived my whole life in one place, and did you visit?
No! You didn't...
Sometimes she wanted to tell them things she didn't know how to say. It wasn't like she could have just said what she thought. Ever since she could think for herself, she always said what was appropriate, what wasn't insulting or bold.
She raised me right. Without you Aunt Lauren.
She'd collapse on spot and they'd call her pathetic, she wasn't allowed to blame them. She wasn't part of them, she didn't have the privilege.
She wanted to.
Walking back to Cousin Eleanor's house, she went straight to the guest home she shared with her mother. Helping her mom through the garden path, she made tea, turned on the TV, and helped he mother to bed.
When finished, she went to her Earth Room and closed the door softly behind her.
Methodically, she changed her clothes, the veil off first, so as not to be damaged when she changed. The beautiful, simple dress wrap that Cousin Eleanor had chosen for her. Ballerina flats in silver so dark, it looked like leather.
A brief, flat twitch of a smile was on her lips, her cousin might be old, 45 years, actually - but she was a genius with appearances.
Sighing, she went to the Master Bathroom connected to her mother's room. In there she took off her lace under things - worn only for special occasions – black as well.
She slipped into the shower and turned on the jet powered shower, the initial blast of water coming at her so strong and from everywhere, she was sure it was going to bruise her delicate skin.
Her eyes closed, she tilted her head back and relished the burning hot water. So hot it almost felt cold.
She wasn't thinking, how funny when she was around people, she couldn't get her thoughts to shut up. Couldn't get the screaming voices to be drowned out by others around her in the physical world. Suffering in her own personal hell, devils and ghouls surrounding her from everywhere.
Yet here she was, alone. Not even the sound of rushing water flooding her ears could penetrate the deafening silence in her mind. Her thoughts could wait a while.
However, once acknowledged, they came back with a vengeance. So silent but swift. Clawing themselves into her mind with claws, and blood thirsty mouths, like zombies with a craving for brains.
Thoughts got darker, twisted, and painful. No regard for the quiet poise she had built up over the years. They were so real, so true - those thoughts. Weren't polite, not fit for the elegant image she presented.
She started to cry. Her wails, crooning and painful. So powerful her body was shaking. It wasn't silent, but it wasn't loud.
She sank to the ground, water beating at her back, face twisted in emotional torture. Her mother wouldn't hear. Mindless crying was what she did best.
She wasn't thinking then, she felt numb, but so alive. How mortal she was, emotions clouding her thoughts in the way they were meant to. Pain in her soul.
Eventually the tears stopped. The gasping ache in her chest decreasing slowly. Her tired eyes drooping and weak. Then she stood up slowly and continued with her shower.
Grabbing a loofah, she covered it in soap and scrubbed herself raw. Cleaning every inch of her skin.
Books about characters who felt grief did this, needed it. Doing it to start over - become fresh. Cleansing one's self of not only the bad things that had happened in the past, but in the recent.
It just felt like she needed to do something with her hands, herself. The make up would be gone, her skin pink and chafing once she forced herself to stop, and breathe.
Appreciating modern water pipes for keeping the water hot, she felt pangs of guilt in her chest. She knew wasting that much water wasn't right, but she did need it. To be selfish, just once - right now.
Letting go of the loofah, she stepped closer to the shower heads and braced herself, she turned the handle and antarctic cold replaced volcanic hot.
1 second, 3 seconds, 5.
She stopped the water, turned and left the shower, freezing. The drain washing her grief down it's pipes.
Shiver. Shake. Shiver. Shake. Shiver. Shake. Shiver. Shake. Shiver. Shake. Shiver. Shake. Shiver.
Taking a large soft towel, she started to pat herself down. A mantra playing in her head and her body following.
Breathe. In. Out. Pat. Pat. Pat. Swipe. Breathe. In. Out. Pat. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Breathe. In. Out. Pat. Pat. Swipe. Swipe. Breathe. In. Out. Pat. Swipe. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out.
The words jumbled in her mind and they played a tribal beat in her head.
Catching her reflection on the large mirror she set the towel down and walked closer to it.
Before she saw herself, she closed her eyes first.
Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out.
When her eyes opened, she squinted at herself. Glazed over, tired eyes, assessing even after emotional meltdowns. They weren't red, the cold water helped with that. Flat wet curls, drooping with dismay. Her usual tan skin, pale with exhaustion, stress.
She could see it, what the others were whispering about when they first saw her.
Her brown eyes flicked to the pictures taped to the sides of the mirror. Five photos of a man throughout her mother's life.
A young 20 year old man with chiseled features carrying a small curvy 18 year old woman in his arms. They looked so in love. So happy. They were in front of a limo.
Both are smiling and have their foreheads pressed together. Obviously, just married and on to their Honeymoon.
The same man, older but young still. He had shorter hair and was a little more muscular, in Marine uniform, sitting on a hospital bed. He was cradling a baby, a girl, and looked at her, foreheads touching.
His wife next to her looking tired but happy. Her long hair patted around her with sweat, and one of her fingers clutched in the child's strong fragile grasp.
His face was a picture of amazement and love.
A birthday party, the little girl's, it seemed. Wearing a cute little dress, her chocolate brown hair was a curly halo around her face. In her mother's arms, she looked around curiously. Her mother was trying to coax her into looking at the cake in front of her.
Her father was holding a small cake knife and making funny faces at his daughter to get her to look at him.
Behind them and the rest of the many family and friends was a big homemade banner in bold, colorful letters: Happy First Birthday Sophia!
Sophia, 2 years old, had her tiny body curled on her father's broad chest. They where on a couch, sound asleep.
His wife and her mother looked at them in exasperation, and the kitchen behind the couch was caught in the photo.
There was an almost wiped clean frosting bowl, in some places on the island flour was spattered and lots of candy sprinkles everywhere.
The photo is printed on a Christmas Card.
Then, a tombstone, not extravagant but beautiful.
Behind in front was the mother looking away, only tears visible on her cheek. A 4 year Sophia in her arms. Both are wearing black, Sophia looking at the slate stone in wonder.
Her mouth looked like it was moving. Asking her mother why they were in the cemetery. Full of grey stones and green grass.
On the stone, carved on the back of the angel was the engraving:
Here lies Eriston Ortiz.
1968-1994
Loving Husband to Priscilla Ortiz.
and
Beloved Father to Sophia Ortiz.
She touched the pictures, feeling the old, rough surface. Remembering their whispers, she closed her eyes and Aunt Lauren's face appeared in her mind and her own stone.
"She looks just like-"
"...color as Eris."
"...has Lauren's cheekbones.'
"Eris' eyes!"
"Cilla's smile..."
Her lower lip trembling and her hands shaking, she meets her mirror's eyes and speaks.
"You can look like them, but you are not them, you are Sophia Ortiz."
Sigh.
"Nothing is wrong with that."
Half a year.
6 months.
So much had happened since then.
She and Kristen had bonded over their artistic talents, their drawings getting even more personal and detailed.
Keith had helped her with her feelings, being more sensitive to her than anybody else, telling her it wasn't such a bad thing to cry. It was funny, they called each other shrink, understanding when one needed to talk just by the actions in their movements. Sometimes they were just so tired of thinking, feeling, all they needed was silence and company.
Kevin had been her funny man, making her smile when he could tell her mood was down. Both had turned their frustrations on to bakery and cooking. Whenever people would visit, they would make so many different foods in advance just to stuff the hungry people full.
Kimberly had been the hardest to crack, closest to her age and as stubborn as she was. They hadn't talked until months after the funeral. The relationship they had started with fights, tears, then insults were flowing throughout the house twenty to thirty minutes before lunch.
Always.
It was like a schedule.
Then Kimberly had gotten sick, she visited, and they forgave each other with biting words and sarcasm dripping from their lips, It helped and pretty soon they were rigging the doorways and hardwood floors with ice and oil. They bonded over their insults and pranks, laughing until they couldn't breathe.
Walking into the main house, Sophia yawned, and rubbed at her eyes before blinking at the neon lights on the wall. It was two hours after noon, and she was still tired.
Thankfully only the adults were in the kitchen, her mom making pancakes, and Cousin Eleanor cooking rice. She was always more comfortable around adults, they weren't that crazy as teenagers.
Asking where those crazy people where. All she got was a smile and an, "In the Game Room."
Giving a small smile of her own, she vaguely waved her hand behind her and left with a fading, "What's for breakfast?"
Leaving behind a laughing group of old parents, she rolled her eyes and walked to the delicate archway leading to her destination. Maybe she was wrong, they were crazy, senile and old.
Pausing to take in the predictable sight, she smirked to herself. They were playing DDR, and nobody could play better than she could. They knew that and probably practiced right after breakfast, knowing all about her sleeping habits.
Walking forward stealthily, at least that's what she thought.
"I can see you!"
Kevin, dammit.
So she goaded, "Well so what? It's not like you can beat me in DDR, and all of you know it!"
He looked pointedly at everyone else, "Well, we'll see about that."
Laughing, she took her place on the right, bracing herself, and did what she did best.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
A/N: Based on my life. It's getting personal. ^.^
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