by Mandi Lynn
I realize that I have no idea why I came here. There is no way I can offer comfort. I can only tell them that their daughter’s death was my fault. I can do nothing.
Helpless I head back to Phantom Lagoon for two reasons. First, I’m running from what I caused—something I should have never done. I was stupid, and there is nothing I can do about it now. Second, I realize the sun is coming down. There is no way I can survive nightfall outside of the lagoon again. The memory of not being able to breathe and being crushed are still too strong.
Kenzie is the first to greet me and gives me a hug. “Where were you? You missed Una’s stories!” A small laugh emerges from me as she pronounces Luna’s name wrong. I’m happy she has no idea what her parents are going through.
Kenzie goes into great detail about the story. This particular story is about us—or what Kenzie thinks we are: angels with wings, acting as a normal person, but having great powers that you can’t even imagine.
I sit down as Kenzie proceeds to retell the story to me. She slowly drifts toward sleep and starts to slur her words. Within a few minutes she is in a deep slumber, smiling as she thinks about angels.
Chapter 20
Sunday
It’s today. I have to decide if I’m attending my own funeral. Until now my days passed with obscured edges, never allowing me to make out what is today and what is tomorrow. The physical world is a universe away, yet it presides to go on in its slow pace. The arrangements for my memorial were all made without my attention, and people gather to remember my life. Eliza is going because she had known me in school. It’s all part of her act—being human. My family will be going as well. I’m not being forced to go. I’m not being forced to stay here in Phantom Lagoon either. But there is a smaller part of me that wants to know. I tell myself it will be too hard; that seeing everyone will make me feel worse than I already am. Then there is that little tingle in my stomach that itches at me until I tell myself I will go.
On and off—I can’t decide.
Finally I come to a conclusion. I will go; I will have to hide, but I want to know who will be there, who will be crying, who cares about me?
I’m surprised when I arrive. There are so many people. I’m able to recognize all the faces, but I can only put names on very few. The principal is there, and so are some teachers. Sadie is there with her parents. There are fresh tears in her eyes as she clings to her mom, while her dad stands a foot away looking at his daughter.
Eliza walks up to Sadie as if they have been friends for a long time and gives her a hug. Sadie is surprised at first but welcomes it anyway. They go inside the church to find a seat together.
My parents are at the door of the church talking to everyone entering. My mom has tears in her eyes, but she is controlled. My dad is standing tall, showing he is the head of the family and strong.
The teachers all have tears but not the same as the others. They are crying over the death of a teenager, not one of their students who they’d known well.
There are students at my funeral that I had no names for. Some looked uncomfortable being around so many crying people. A small group of girls are huddled together, silently weeping.
As I scan the entire parking lot, each person is either crying or looks like they were about to. I only hope my mom can follow up on her promise.
One by one everyone goes inside to find a seat. I quickly run across the open parking lot and to a window with a bush that can camouflage me. I hide in it while looking through the stained glass window of the church.
My drawings are being displayed, as I had asked. Each pew has one hung at the end of the aisle. I feel pride as everyone marvels at my work. They are beautiful, and I can be proud of them—at least a little piece of me has been left in my place.
In front of all the aisles is the casket that holds my body. It’s wooden and stained a natural, warm brown. There are flowers covering the top. Alongside there are some of my smaller drawings, making the scene appear beautiful—almost like a collage.
The mass passes slowly, but everyone stays at full attention. When it comes to the part where people say things about me, my mom is first to come forward. She walks to the altar faster than I had thought she would.
With a long breath she gathers herself, looking toward the crowd of people mourning my death. “Emma’s death was a sudden and tragic end to her life. I know for sure, though, that she will never leave us. Emma is here in spirit every day, even when you can’t sense her. I know that if she were here now, she wouldn’t want us crying but remembering her. Displayed around are some of her drawings. Emma made them but never showed anyone. I understand now how much talent she had. I only wish that I could’ve known this when she was alive.”
She looks at my casket for a moment, staring at the displayed picture of me. A fleeting second passes, and I think she’s done. A tear runs down her cheek, and she looks up, toward me where I hide outside the church, peeking through the stained glass window. My mom wipes away her tear and smiles at me before she continues.
“Emma was always cooperative. She moved here, even though she wanted to stay back in Florida. She did this because of me. We’ll never really know what happened to Emma to cause her to leave us, but we just have to remember that she’s watching now.”
My mom looks on, past me and out the window to something else, which holds her gaze. She’s not broken or lost, like I thought she would have been without me. My mom is strong, and I’m glad to have her. She releases the tension in her body and steps off the altar, wiping another tear from her eye and goes back to sit with my dad.
Sadie steps up to the altar next with red-rimmed eyes. I can see her body sway a bit as she stands in front of the crowd, but she carries on to remember me anyway.
“I only met Emma this year, and I may not know her as well as the rest of her family,” she says, looking at my parents who hold each other’s hands. “But I know I’ll never forget her. If Emma is in Heaven today, listening to us, then I need to say this. I miss you, and I’ll treasure the time we did have together.” Sadie’s voice clips at the end of her sentence, and I don’t know if she had planned to say more, but she steps off crying and goes to sit with her mom, dad, and Eliza, who hugs her while others go to make a speech.
Other family members that I haven’t seen in months tell stories of our fond memories at the beach or parties. The funny stories about me when I was little are what cheer up the crowd. In fact, in the end, everyone is happier than when they arrived.
Now my friends and family drive from the church to the cemetery. My parents are the first to get out of their car and go to my new grave. Soon everyone follows behind them in a quiet procession. The marker is a beautiful black stone, shaped as a heart; on it the most important words are carved.
Amelia Clarice Barton
1994–2009
An angel was torn from Earth one day to be taken back home but will always be in our hearts.
She can’t be forgotten, and she can’t forget us.
God rest your soul, Emma.
The casket is lowered into the ground and everyone puts flowers on the grave. What had once been a brown mound of earth is now a colorful pile of flowers ranging from yellow to blue and every color in-between. Eliza told me that items had been placed inside the casket during the wake. I chose not to go to that because I can’t handle seeing my body again—it’s something that is hard to comprehend, not only emotionally, but mentally. It’s hard to make sense of it, as in why I am looking at myself until, again, I realize I am dead.
Saying their final good-byes, everyone leaves the grave and sends their prayers to my parents before making for home. I wish there is some way I can show them that I’m watching. If I had been a real angel like in Luna’s stories, I would make a shadow shaped like a heart to show that I loved them; but I can’t. Instead I hang in the far distance, just close enough to wait, but far enough to not be seen.
Chapter 21
ER
The nex
t day I visit my mom to thank her for arranging everything, but when I get to my house, something is wrong. It’s quiet—normally I will hear the TV on inside or someone talking. But today…nothing. I run inside using the back door that my mom always keeps unlocked for me. I search each room; nobody is home. The floorboards creak beneath my feet; the silence of the house scares me. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what.
I stay there for three hours, waiting for someone to come home. The sun moves across the sky, reminding me I only have a limited amount of time in this place I used to call my home. I’m pacing inside the dining room, switching my view from the phone to the driveway. More time passes, and no one comes. It starts to get late as the sun kisses the tops of the trees, moving closer and closer to the horizon. The sky turns orange, creating a beautiful scene as the clouds look like a watercolor painting.
Staring out the back window, I look to the trees that call me to leave to the safety of the lagoon. I walk toward the back door, but the sound of an engine stops me—it’s my mom. She walks out of the car looking worried. I sprint to the door and out to her.
“What happened? Are you okay?” I ask, looking her over. Nothing seemed to be wrong, but where is my dad?
When I look into her eyes, I see nothing but pain. Never before have I wanted to give her a hug so much. My mom wears no makeup, revealing dark circles under her eyes that tell me it’s been too long since she’s last slept.
“Your father. He’s in the hospital,” she says in a quiet voice, looking through her purse for something. When she doesn’t find whatever she’s looking for, she lets out a deep, heavy sigh.
“What do you mean? I saw him yesterday,” I say.
She mumbles, looking through me. “We missed the symptoms. He’s been complaining about headaches and dizziness. I didn’t think much of it. Then he was vomiting, so I thought it was just the flu going around. We went for a walk to get fresh air, hoping that would help, but he kept tripping. He told me not to worry about it. He said he just needed some sleep. But he’s been sleeping a lot for weeks. When he woke up this morning, I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I called the doctor—I didn’t know what else to do. They told me to bring him in immediately. They said he had all the symptoms of a stroke.” My mom’s eyes start to get glossy as tears came down her face.
“The ambulance took him to the ER. Emma, he had a seizure,” my mom whispers, finally making direct eye contact.
It takes me a minute to process what is happening, before I can put all the pieces together. My dad had a seizure. “What? Mom, is he going to be okay?”
“We don’t know yet. They have to do tests.” She starts to shake her head, obviously overwhelmed by the day’s events.
My mom’s phone rings, and she holds it up to her ear. She stays quiet, just listening, while her face is blank.
“Okay, thank you. I’ll be right over first thing in the morning.” She hangs up the phone and looks at me. “They just performed an MRI, and they think he might have a brain tumor. That’s what caused the seizure. They have to do more tests to see if it’s benign or cancerous.” Her voice breaks as she tries to tell me this. My mom begins to sob into her hands, and her entire body starts to shake.
“What?” That’s all I can say.
“They can’t know for sure yet,” my mom tells me, the frame of her body quivering.
“But that’s what they think?” I ask.
My mom just nods in reply, walking back toward the house for shelter. She will be alone tonight. My dad isn’t there, and I can’t be there. I watch her as she struggles to open the door and stumbles inside with shaky footing. She doesn’t look at me as she closes the door behind her. No good-bye.
This is second time I had to leave her at night while she cried herself to sleep.
_________________
In the hospital my dad lays lifeless on the white linen. There are tubes hooked up to his arms and nose. The heart monitor on the side of his bed tells me that he is alive and well—for now…is all I can think.
“He must have had a stroke within the last few days,” a doctor tells my mom.
“How is that possible?” she asks in return, watching my dad’s still form.
“It’s not uncommon. He probably didn’t even know it had happened. You’re lucky you brought him in on time. The situation looks bad, but it would have been worse if he had had the seizure while he was alone.”
My mom nods and follows the doctor out of the room. I’m alone with my dad.
His heart beat goes up rapidly, and I view the machine and see the loosely patterned up-and-down movement on the monitor. Looking back to my dad, I see his limbs flail and shudder, and I can’t help but scream. I rush over to him, afraid out of my mind that I may lose him.
“Help! Someone, my dad is having a seizure!” I drop to my knees at his bedside, while I begin the tearless sobs of an Essence.
Nobody comes to my aid as a nurse walks past the room without a glance in my direction. The machine beeps and wavers to warn of my dad’s failing health, but no one stops to notice.
I try to help my dad and put my arms out to restrain him from hitting the furniture. The next thing I know, I’m passing through the human world, both my dad and his bed—then the floor.
Headfirst, arms out, I fall, screaming the entire way down, waiting for the world to catch me. As I do, all I can remember is my dad’s face as his body flung itself wildly out of control.
I jolt forward off the ground. Back in Phantom Lagoon I realize it was a dream. I spend the rest of the night praying, hoping—screaming to myself, the Heavens, and everyone within the area—that it is something else besides cancer; something that my dad can be strong enough to overcome.
_________________
The next day brought with it numbness. I operate as if I’m a robot, programmed to do one thing. There are no cries that escape. As hard as I try, I cannot find emotion. It had been drained out of me during the night. I had not gotten sleep or found peace of mind. Somehow I’m able to get through the day but not without a thought of death, bad luck, or karma—what had we done?
People murder. People steal. People destroy everything. My family had done nothing. We didn’t deserve this. But who does? Who deserves to have their heart torn straight out of their chest, where it’s left raw to slowly rot until the pieces are picked up from birds of prey?
“What goes around comes around,” my mom would always say. People who murder, their families don’t get hurt by karma. Even if they did, the murderer doesn’t care enough to be hurt by it. The truth is, those who kill, there’s nothing out there they care about. Only themselves. So it makes sense for us to be the only ones affected by karma. The ones who make common mistakes and aren’t perfect—people like me—we’re the ones hurt; we’re the ones who suffer.
Caring is our curse. If we don’t care, we can’t get hurt. But if we didn’t care, the world would be a dark place to live. We have to deal with it and realize life isn’t fair. People are taken out of our lives, and others live who don’t deserve to continue.
I still find myself asking why. Why me? Why my family? But then I ask why not me? If it weren’t me, it would be someone else—maybe someone who already has a bad lot. I know I can get through this. My dad won’t live forever, and I know that my mom won’t either. I have to learn to stay strong. I have other people in my life now. Eliza has gone through loss just as I have. Kenzie isn’t old enough to fully understand what has happened—she may never. But they will act as my family when my mom and dad pass away. They’ll be my support system, and I’ll be theirs.
That’s all I could think of last night—why?
But I’m able to function. I get up to make sure Kenzie is okay and find a way to entertain her. Eliza keeps asking what happened with my dad, but I can’t get myself to say the words. The emotion is drained from my face, and when I try to smile, it feels unnatural and forced.
I become restless and return to my house to see if my
mom is still there, or if she’s left for the hospital to be with my dad already. Her car is gone when I walk into the backyard; there’s no sign of her. Stepping inside, I go straight to the phone and dial her cell phone number. It rings five times before she picks up.
“Hello?” She sounds drained.
“Mom? How is he?” I ask into the phone.
“He has brain cancer, and it’s already far along. They’re going to treat it with chemotherapy and radiation. If they need to, they’re also going to perform surgery.” Her voice is monotone. The information isn’t new to her anymore, and all her emotion is gone along with her energy.
“When will he be able to come home?” I ask.
“We don’t know yet. They said they can’t let him out of the hospital until they know he will be okay.”
The only way he would be released early would be for a hospice. Or the doctors will say there is nothing they can do and send him home to die in comfort. If he’s in the hospital, that means there’s hope.
My dad could die very quickly. If he wasn’t in the hospital right now, he’d most likely be dead. When he does die, I won’t be able to see him in the afterlife. I know his life is limited, now more than ever. He won’t grow old like I thought, but he’s alive at present.
I hear him quietly grunt in the background of the phone. I wish I could be there to hold his hand with my mom. Then there are other voices—doctors and nurses—talking about different treatments and how they might help or affect him. Others rush to my dad’s aid and coax him into taking medicine—not that it matters with an IV—and I hear him try to say he’s fine.
