Rage and Ruin | 2

1 | 8

G I G I

I got out of a car in the front of funeral procession. We'd been driving for what had seemed like years, but I hadn't cared. This was where it officially ended. I had to face reality now. There was no denying it once I saw my mother's coffin being lowered into the ground.

No. I didn't want to think about it.

"This way, Miss Henderson," a kindly older gentleman spoke, touching my arm lightly and pointing to direct me in the right way. It wasn't until then that I realized everyone had gone ahead of me as I'd stood frozen in place.

I forced my feet to move. I had to do this. I had to. For her.

My heeled feet sank into the plush grass. Any other day, I would have admired the beauty of the place, even if it was a cemetery. It was a surprisingly mild day for Maryland, with bright blue skies and a cool breeze rustling through the grass. The gravestones stood out starkly, bleak white marble against the colors of the countryside.

The beauty of the world wasn't affected by death. Mother Nature kept on going even if a creature lost its life.

I wished I could be the same way. It was unfair of the place around me to be so beautiful when my world had come crashing down.

I could see the funeral set-up ahead of me. Everyone was dressed head to toe in black. I knew my mother better than anyone. She wouldn't have wanted us to stand around in black attire, crying over her casket. I found myself wishing I'd worn something more bright and cheery, like my mother's personality. The darkness didn't suit her.

It didn't follow her like it seemed to do with me.

I was conscious of every footstep I took towards the open grave. I felt numb. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The eyes of the entire group were on me as I approached. They pitied me, I could see it in their expressions. To them, I was a poor, quiet girl who'd lost her mother to an unfortunate home robbery. They couldn't have been father from the truth.

      I stood at the front of the group with James, an old family friend. He looked me up and down before asking, "How are you holding up, Julia?" He used my real name this time.

     Staring at the open hole in the ground, I answered, "I've been better." The grave looked like a mouth ready to swallow up its next victim. My mother.

      "Do you have a eulogy ready?"

      "Yes." I didn't. I hadn't wanted to think about what to say about my mother's life cut short. I hadn't wanted this. I hadn't wanted this. I hadn't wanted this.

      He patted me on the back. "I'll speak first. That way, you can get your words together."

      He took a few steps forward until he stood next to the shining mahogany coffin. I hadn't let myself look at it until now. Next to it, a picture of my mother was propped up. I saw my own chestnut skin and wide eyes mirrored in her face. Would I ever be able to look in a mirror again?

      I looked away. I wouldn't torture myself like this. I wouldn't. I couldn't.

      James began to give his speech. "Thank you for joining us today to celebrate the life of Imani Henderson. She would have been so happy to see your faces here today. We all experienced a deep loss when Imani, a lifelong friend, was taken from us."

     I stared at the ground. I couldn't bear to see them looking at me sadly any longer. "Imani was an extraordinary woman. I originally met her through work, but she became much more than a simple colleague to me. We both worked in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The day I met her was my first day being stationed in Washington D.C. She greeted me with kindness and made me feel welcome. After that, we spent many nights together working late while eating Chinese takeout from the restaurant down the street." He chuckled a little then, remembering the good times.