Chapter 8 Remembrance

• When I woke up the following morning, Taylor was tucked up in a ball at the far end of her enormous bed. Tyrone, on the other hand, was buried in the crook of my neck, his arm wrapped around my waist. Beneath the covers, our fingers remained intertwined, and our legs were a knotted mass. His body was crushing mine, yet I felt strangely at ease.
• I felt like I was falling in love with the most beautiful guy ever for the rest of that week, and I couldn't stop thinking about why I had pushed him away all those years. That is, until the week after when I heard Victoria boast to her group of friends that Tyrone had made an advance and had treated her badly. I sobbed uncontrollably in the middle of class because I was devastated. I thought Taylor was going to send me to Nurse Benson, so she gave me a weak explanation, dragged me into the girl's bathroom, and forced me to admit that I had given her brother my first kiss.
• She told him to back off, and he went behind her back, and for that, she was enraged. He guided me forward before abandoning me. And that was very out of character for Tyrone, the one guy who always put the needs of others above his own.
• He avoided me a lot whenever I remained at their place after that day and never came near me again. He also started wearing his hair differently, so I figured Taylor had punished him by taking a lock of his hair off or doing something equally stupid. Well, the twins were often pulling practical jokes on one another.
• Over time, our animosity did somewhat decrease, but the tension persisted. It was always there, lurking beneath the surface like a thin layer of slick ice every time we happened to run into each other in the school halls or at their house. We didn’t talk much, and when we did, it was usually met with sidelong glances, nervous stutters, and one-word responses until I learned about Taylor's sickness through his uncontrollable outburst during his last soccer game. Tyrone gave up on his dream of being Hillcrest High's soccer star on that day. After their heartbreaking defeat, George Scott and Ronald Young, his former closest buddy, hurled punches at him; nevertheless, Tyrone was able to break Ronald's nose.
• The fact that he had kept Taylor's condition a secret meant that none of his friends knew about it, nor cared to. Even with everything I've been through, discovering the true reason why my best buddy had stopped returning my calls and showing up to school was one of the hardest days of my life.
• I shuddered just thinking about Tyrone hitting Ronald. If Mark and Coach Wilkes hadn't pushed each other away, I have no idea what would have transpired. I guess a big part of Tyrone's decline was the fault of his teammates. Had they supported him following Taylor's passing, perhaps he would not have grown so alone, aloof, and depressed, losing all vestige of his former, carefree demeanor.
• Tyrone's grief was an intractable burden that followed him everywhere he went, hanging like a perpetual downpour over his head. Taylor's leukemia and death had left everyone in mourning, but his sadness went beyond just emotion into physical suffering. He became this soulless guy whose facial expressions meant nothing. He vanished from sight.
• I forced my eyes open, sighed deeply, and blinked slowly. I straightened up, splaying my arms behind my head, and grimaced at myself for calling Tyrone useless and demeaning. I understood the effects of grief on individuals. When I closed my eyes and allowed my nightmares to relive my worst fears, I felt that most nights.
• It took me a long time to feel okay again, even though I knew that the first year was the hardest. Every day, I still found it difficult to accept that aspect of myself; let's face it, I had eight years to find something to replace the void in my chest. I'm not sure why I thought her brother would return to his previous demeanor so quickly after Taylor's death, which occurred less than two years ago.
• A realization crept into my body as the last bell of the day rang, adding layers of heavy guilt to the pit of my stomach, and I gathered my books. I was positive that unless I apologized to Tyrone, this feeling would not go away.
• But how in the world was I going to apologize to the boy who would sooner burn to the ground than hear a word I had to say?
• ***********
• I pushed past the enthusiastic, chattering onlookers and ran to my bicycle, making sure to look out for Ms. Wilson, who was expecting me to go to my after-school detention. As if I was going to break my vow to my father and show there on time once and for all!
• The closest florist was a minute's walk from the local cemetery, so I rode my bike there. I put my hair back into a low ponytail, positioned my bike against the shop outside, and opened the door, oblivious to the bell overhead.
• Mrs. Holman, the elderly and chubby florist, emerged from the storage area behind the counter with great energy, clumsily balancing two enormous wreaths on her thin arms. Her blue eyes gleamed as they met mine, and a pitying smile spread across her lips.
• She babbled, setting the wreaths on the floor before straightening up to smile at me. "Good afternoon, dear. Your mother stopped by this morning and ordered an extra-large bouquet-a wonderful explosion of carnations. Absolutely marvelous, I must say, but it did take quite some time to prepare it," she said.
• I moved toward the front desk, being careful not to stamp on the several flower arrangements that had been thrown aside and were in the way. The entire boxy shop was filled with bouquets that had yellow, red, and white petals all over them.
• "Really?" I asked, nodding as I met her gaze and realized that I was not even somewhat listening to her phatic chatter.
• Mrs. Holman gradually realized that I was not paying attention to her, and she smiled sympathetically again, flashing her beautiful whites, which made my insides churn. A knot of frustration rose in my chest, but I forced a tight-lipped smile at her. All I want is for her to stop treating me like a hurt dog.
• I leaned on the counter and cleared my throat, wearing a deep scowl. "She didn't look too bad, did she?"
• Her blue eyes flickered uneasily, flitting around the shop and landing on my face.
• "Lucy seemed quite..." Mrs. Holman trailed off, looking away and concentrating on the counter in front of us as she tried to think of the correct phrase. "...unsettled and restless."
• When her blue eyes locked with mine, my chest constricted, telling me the truth—that my mother had entered the store completely disoriented, either drunk or under the influence of antidepressants. I suddenly felt bad about turning down Mom's invitation to go see my father in the morning. Perhaps she would not have felt the need to look for bravery in a bottle.
• I swallowed the knot in my throat and quickly counted to 10 while holding onto my composure. Mrs. Holman smiled reassuringly at me as she studied me behind her big spectacles, acknowledging my dropped shoulders.
• "You shouldn't worry, she's the second strongest person I have ever met."
• My eyebrows slightly raised. I turned to face her head-on and shot her a curious look.
• I questioned shakily, clearing my scratchy voice, "And the first being?"
• She tilted her chin to face me, and the warmth of her smile scorched my cheek.
• "Why, you, of course," Mrs. Holman said with a chin-wobbling laugh. "Well there is this young man too, but I needn't worry you about his affairs. You probably don't know him dear, but he has been through a lot. I think it's truly remarkable that the soul can withstand the burden of loss at such a young age."
• I glanced at her, perplexed, trying to understand what she was saying, but I decided not to cut her off. Mrs. Holman would frequently express her opinions, digressing and regaling me with details about her clientele. There were moments, as now, when I couldn't bear to listen to her babble about everyone's problems; at other times, her stories were humorous and heartwarming.
• I looked at my watch as Mrs. Holman vanished into the storage area and sighed in realization that I had been in the store for about ten minutes.
• She asked me in a strained voice that seemed to be straining from exhaustion, "Enjoying your birthday?"
• Yes, I said in a dry, sour voice, "I'm thrilled to be able to legally consume alcohol."
• Mrs. Holman giggled while preparing the seventeen-inch velvet red carnation wreath that my father had requested.
• "That's three years away, sweetheart," she sang, sensing my irony. "But it's legal for you to drive if that's any comfort to you."
• The idea of learning to drive made me cringe and sent shivers down my spine.
• "I've had that privilege for two years now," I responded. "And I'll never resort to driving."
• I glanced past the open door and saw Mrs. Holman stooping to get to one of the upper shelves. I didn't blame her; even at twice her height, I had trouble balancing the enormous wreath when I went to see my father.
• I dug through my bag for twenty dollars to pay for the wreath when she came back.
• With a smile, Mrs. Holman passed the wreath across the counter and took my money. "You shouldn't let your past experiences define you, dear. Driving would save you from waking up so early to walk to school," she said.
• "I don't mind walking or riding my bike to school," I said in defiance. "The fresh air helps me clear my mind."
• She hummed in agreement and nodded at my remark.
• It dawned on me when Mrs. Holman unlocked the cash register, that I also owed Taylor my respects. I mentally smacked myself for forgetting my own best friend, and guilt nearly choked me.
• I hurriedly said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I forgot to ask for a bouquet of white lilies with a single red rose." after exclaiming, "Oh I forgot!"
• Her thinning lips were surrounded by deep creases that caused her grey eyebrows to arch quickly before falling back down and scrunching up.
• Mrs. Holman said, so gently, that I would have missed it if the store hadn't been dead silent. "What a weird coincidence."
• I asked, seeing her blinking gradually till she shook her head and gave me an apologetic grin. "A coincidence? What is?" she asked.
• "Oh forget I said anything dear."
• I heard Mrs. Holman mumble instead of her customary humming as she vanished into her storage room once more. For a brief while, I pondered, "What on earth could she be talking about?", then I shook my head and let it go.