Dan London

Get a Grip, Kid

The boy sat in the chair and cried. He could smell the flowers. Smell
the candles. Smell the perfume in the air. It smelled heavy. Like he
was inhaling powder. Through the tears he could see people he knew and
people he didn't. He did everything to not look at the casket. The
white casket. Closed. He tried not to look at the picture of her next
to it. Of her with the koala bear. Or the guy in the koala suit. They
had gone to some amusement park. The boy didn't want to pose with him,
so his mom did. He could see the Chinese woman walking in the
background. She stood out. Captured forever in that photo. The boy's
dad stood next to him. Two people came over. The child new them. He
played baseball with the boy. His name was Stephen Moore. He hadn't
seen him in years. He had grown. Stephen bent down and touched the
child's knee and said, "I'm really sorry." The boy couldn't look up. He
couldn't stop crying. He couldn't take his hands from his face. Slumped
over. Head hanging. They walked away. The boy's dad looked down and
said, " you have to make eye contact with people. You should stand up
and talk to them when they talk to you. You need to say thank you. You
need to tell them you appreciate them coming." The boy just sat and
kept crying. He knew he was alone.

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Dan London.
Published on e-Stories.org on 09/11/2006.

 

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