eulogy

Some pretty heavy language here, just to warn you. This is a story I've had on backburner for a while. I've been working on novel material lately and I've needed to get a break for it. I kind of had this idea in my head, but didn't have the time to turn it into anything. Finally, I did and here it is. It's a very experimental story told in first person. In typical WA Ross fashion, it's a heavy-handed story dealing with loss.

My mother died on Tuesday. Natural causes, but she could have lived longer if she hadn't drank and ate herself to death. Fat and drunk. That's my mom.

Love her to death though.

Loved.

And ha. To death.

I call her fat and drunk, but I can't mean it as an insult.

I'm just as bad.

Tried to quit a couple of times.

But y'know. Shit just happens, y'know?

I didn't find her body. Susan did. Susan's my sister. Susan said mom was laying there on the couch taking a nap and she wouldn't get up. She was dead. Susan called and I cussed her out. “Fuck you,” I said. Hung up on her. I hate Susan. She's the only member of our sorry excuse of a family to make anything of herself. I hate her and mom hated her, but mom would never say it. Susan loves to flaunt around her money and her husband and even her sobriety. I mean, what the hell, right?

Susan calls me back and I believe her. I didn't see mom's body. I didn't have to and I didn't want to either. It's just mom but she can't talk back. It's okay, I guess. I don't have to hear how much her government checks ain't cuttin' it. Mom could be a real bitch sometimes. She drove crazy.

I loved her though.

She was my mother.

Found myself at a bar for the next couple of nights. I don't remember what all I drink. It's all cheap stuff that makes you drunk fast. That's all I wanted.

I wanted to forget.

I wanted to forget my shitty little life.

I wanted to forget all the nasty stuff Susan said about me.

I wanted to forget all the crap mom said about me.

I wanted to forget trying to find that dickhead of a father I apparently had. Let us when I was four, Susan was like six.

I wanted to forget I had to keep living.

I wanted to forget mom ever even existed.

I couldn't though. I'd wake up the next morning hungover, my head shooting guns, and the memories and pain still there. It hurt, but it wasn't like getting punched. I got punched of times. It wasn't like getting stabbed. I got shivved before. It's not the same. You can not care about those things, but this? I've got no choice but give a fuck.

It was Thursday morning when I took a beer bottle and smashed it against my hand. It was a Heineken bottle. I remember because it was green. But yeah, I was hungover as hell and everything hurt like hell. I just wanted it to stop. I wasn't thinking and I just smacked it down. Damn bottle was still half full. Bits of the glass stuck into my skin, blood was everywhere and it was mixing with the alcohol. It hurt like all hell. I didn't care about my mom anymore though, at least not for a few minutes.

I had to call Susan to take me to the hospital. She got out of work to take me and yelled at me the whole way in the car. I don't remember what about. Not like I cared though.

We got into the ER and the doctors had to put in twenty-nine stitches and yank out the glass.

Everyone asked how it happened, but I wouldn't tell.

They didn't need to know.

And I didn't want my sister knowing I was hurting. She couldn't see that. You've got to understand, I couldn't give her another reason to think she's better than I am. Just because you're a professor or whatever doesn't make you better. It just makes you a proud bitch no one wants to be around.

When we left the hospital, I asked Susan for some money.

She said no.

Proud bitch.

The funeral was on Friday. I didn't really want to go.

Susan made me do it though. Apparently mom left a last will and testament. She had nothing to give except for a couple of worthless family heirlooms.

A quilt.

A dress.

A couple of ties my granddad wore.

Some other crap I don't remember.

But it said something else. It's like she had this vengeance scheme all built up when she wrote it. It said that she wanted me to give a eulogy. I mean, seriously? Me? And who the hell's gonna come to my mother's funeral? Nobody, that's who. And she wants me to eulogize to nobody. I'm not good at speaking, not at all.

Not even a little bit.

But she wants me to-

Dammit.

I got drunk again that night. Didn't smash anything on my hand though. I learned that lesson good. I tried my best to tie a noose that night though. I couldn't do it though. It's not because I had some kinda emotional breakthrough where I realized life was worth living or anything stupid like that. No, I just couldn't tie the knot. Not matter what, it wouldn't happen. I felt so damn worthless. Then I must have fallen asleep because I just don't remember giving up.

Can't even kill myself right.

The funeral was at ten in the morning. I got there at ten-fifteen, my head throbbing like a jackhammer on steroids and a bottle of cheap whiskey in my hand. Susan saw me and she was furious.

“Where have you been?” She shouted at me. Maybe she wasn't shouting and she just sounded loud. I don't know.

“Sorry,” I shrugged.

“This is your own mother-”

“I said I'm sorry. Nothing I can do about it.”

“And what's this?” She took the bottle right outta my hands. “You can't bring-”

I nabbed it back, “Yeah, I can. It's mine. Don't touch it.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, okay, whatever. You put something together for mom?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“You didn't, did you?”

“Look, I said don't worry about, so don't worry about it. I've got this.”

“Okay, fine,” she threw up her hands like it meant something. “The preacher's going to say something and then you're up. Don't screw this up.”

“I said don't worry about it.”

She should worry about it.

She should so worry about it.

I took a massive gulp of my whiskey before going into the church room. The preacher was in there saying some God stuff that I don't care about. He just went on an on. And when I knew he was about done....

I bolted.

I ran.

I couldn't do it.

I got the shakes real bad and I just ran.

It's not cause I don't love mom. I just got scared. Real scared and I can't explain it. What's there to explain? I pushed open the front door to the church and immediately slipped on the steps leading down the street.

It hurt, but whatever. I didn't care. I just lay there. I think I was crying. I don't know. I don't remember.

Susan came to my side soon and she asked, “Hey, what are you doing? Are you alright?”

I pulled myself up to where I was sitting and looking at her and I said, “I can't do it.”

“Oh, come on! All your life, you've-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Susan! I'm not a failure, I'm not.”

“I didn't say that.”

“But you were going to do.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Just as good.”

She spat, “Stop it! Just stop it!”

“I can't do it.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I- I can't.”

“Why not?”

“I just can't, alright?” I shook my head. “I didn't write her the speech. I got drunk last night.”

“I know.”

I scoffed, “Yeah, I'm sure. You think you're so much better, then why don't you give the speech?”

“Will you stop with that?” Susan looked pissed off. “I don't think I'm better than you. I'm not giving the eulogy because mom didn't ask me to. Mom wanted you to do it.”

“Funny how she gets back at us, right?”

She shook her head, “Do you know what the will actually said? It said for you to give the eulogy because she loves you. She gave me some crap on there, but she said she loved you twice. There wasn't- there wasn't anything like that for me. Mom loves you. Not me. She just wants you to say some nice things about her. You love mom too, don't you?”

“Yeah,” I looked down at my bottle. “Yeah, I love mom. She was a good lady.”

“Yeah,” a tear came down Susan's cheek. “But she loved you more. I've got a lot of things you don't have. I've got a job, money, a house, and- but you've got the one thing I'd burn all of it to have. Mom loved you. She never loved me. As soon as I got ahead, she hated me.”

“She didn't hate you.”

“Sure she did.”

“She didn't hate you,” I put my hand on my sister's shoulder. “She just didn't know what to do with you. Mom always thought you were better than us. You are better than us. Mom just didn't wanna- I don't know. Look, I'll go in there and say stuff about her.”

I got up and started to walk inside. Susan grabbed my arm though and said, “Hey. Look, I know it's rough, but, look, no matter what, we're family and I love you.”

I put my arms around her in a hug and she hugged me back. By that point I knew I was crying. I wasn't just crying, I was sobbing, I was bawling. “I love you too,” I choked.

I let her go and we looked into each other's eyes. We both had mom's eyes. It was weird seeing her again like that. But she was there. I looked down at the bottle in my hand and I gave it to Susan. I told her to hold onto it. She didn't though.

The bitch threw it.

It flew right across the street and shattered onto the curb.

The amber juice splattered as the clear glass shattered.

It made me mad at first, but not for long.

I took a deep breath and told Susan, “Thank you.”

“Go,” she nudged me to the door.

I went in there and I stumbled through a story of two about mom doing nice things. I told everyone about how she used to go to the old people home and help them out. I told them about this time mom destroyed the clutch in our first stick shift. Twice. I lied about how great she was, but it felt good. It's like I was convincing myself how bad things weren't. Maybe they ain't that bad. Maybe.

But Susan found my afterward and hugged me again. I told her I was sorry for my shitty excuse for a eulogy. She said it was good and mom would be proud. I didn't believe her. Didn't matter though. Nothing felt better than having my proud old sister telling me I did good. We went out to lunch together.

She paid.

I didn't get drunk that night. I stayed at my sister's place. I told her I wanted to get clean.

I don't know if I really meant it, but Susan's reaction told me one thing. She smiled and encouraged me to find help. That told me one thing. It told me that when said she loved me, she meant it.

And that means everything in the world.

I love you.

time and regret (improved)

As a boy, Nick discovered his curse; at age eight he found that he could manipulate time. It started one afternoon in the kitchen when he accidentally burned his hand on the stove. Shutting his eyes tightly, the burns disappeared as he moved backwards into the hall. Everything moved with him and all that should fall down fell up. When he exclaimed, “Stop!” it stopped. Scared, the boy asked his mother if she knew anything about this phenomenon but she told him that he was crazy and should stop watching so many cartoons. But he wasn’t crazy, no, he was the sanest of them all.

A full year passed before it happened again. The occurrence was when the resident bully took a swing at Nick. Falling to the ground, he suddenly rose back to his feet and the fist pulled away. When time resumed its course, Nick ducked and then struck a blow of his own; knocking the surprised bully to the ground. He became the hero of the day but his deeds were soon forgotten and the outcry soon became the normal as life went on. But not Nick’s, memory stained his life forever.

Within the month, the power manifested itself yet again. On strange impulse, Nick confessed to his crush of his love for her. Before she could respond, fear overtook him and all reversed. He felt his lips mutter those three nervous words in reverse, all the more painful this time. When he mentally told it all to stop, time resumed, and he instead asked what they had for homework. She smiled and delicately told him. Of course, he didn’t need it. He would ask for a lot of things he would never need. And he could get them.

As the pubescent years dawned, he focused and tried to learn to control his strange, anomalous power. In his darkened room, he lit a candle and then blew it out. Nick soon found that it wasn’t any form of focus that granted him his power; it must be something else. It would have to have be something present each time that he performed his deed. Perhaps it was emotion. Doing his best to draw up various feelings, he finally found one: regret. It tied together every instance perfectly: he regretted touching the stove, antagonizing the bully, and then saying, “I love you.” He made himself feel regret and the candle lit once more. He laughed one of the few laughs of his lifetime.

Soon, he began to use his gift. In math class, he answered a question aloud incorrectly and drew scrutiny. But once the teacher gave the correct answer, he went back and gave that one instead. His life became easier. He received good grades in school and appeared to make no mistakes, but he was pained, afflicted. He had to live with every mistake that was only technically uncommitted. Nick regretted what he did not do. He could forgive, but he could not forget, especially for that which never happened. Sorrow and then depression took in for what others could only see as madness. Not a man, woman, or child understood this boy.

For a time, thoughts of never again using this curse filled his mind. Nick went a week in its entirety where he failed such sweet, sweet failures. But then the reality hit him that these were public failures, not the secret ones from before. They were real. And what pained him most was that they were. Tests were failed, relationships destroyed, and feelings were hurt beyond healing. Profusely, Nick apologized but none of it was enough. It wasn’t enough for him or for anyone else. When it was too much, he went back and lived the whole week over without failure.

No one told Nick that they were sorry because he covered up the mistakes of others as well. There was not a way for him to fix everyone’s mistakes, but he could try. For a while Nick believed that he was a superhero; that destiny had called him to fight for justice. Images danced in his imagination for hours on end. He could fly, he could save the world, and he could save himself. But that was when it stopped: when he realized that he could either save himself or the world; not both. Every time he went back, part of his soul would erode. He would see a friend do something he never thought possible and he would go back to stop it. But he knew what his friend was capable of and could never fully trust that person again. With that, his social life faded away along with his humanity.

But Hope would always come knocking. That was her name: Hope. She knocked on his door one day when Nick's life was his own. He promised himself then and there that he would marry her. She was truly and absolutely beautiful, not just in appearance but in spirit. Her cerulean eyes were timeless in his and something kept him from going back when he was around her. She was intoxicating in the greatest of ways. Hope was his cure. With her, there was nothing for him to regret and it was regret that gave him his power. Hope took away his regret and his power, but in other ways she empowered this boy more than ever before. She put light where there was darkness, but obscured other places. Nick would never fully know her; the infinite mystery. The best part was that she shared his feelings. Not his problem, but his feelings. They shared things that only go to and fro with soul-mates; because they were indubitably soul-mates.

But his life turned upside down when he made a terrible mistake. And this one would have to be faced because with Hope, there was no regret. He hurt her. His depression and agony took reign again and then he hurt his one salvation. Through the next days, he found no control because he found no regret. Without regret, he could only justify his actions no matter how atrocious. His salvation was his destruction. She left him and then he finally regretted. When he called upon the pain of regretful sorrow, it only turned her away. She had fallen in love with the boy who regretted nothing. From her perspective, Nick faced life head on without looking back. But when he tried to at least fake regret with her, she found no attraction. Worst of all, she saw his lies.

Nick used his regret to try tried going back but it all stopped at the last time they were together and he had to feel her departure once again. He tried more than once because his former bride was worth all of the pain. But finally, he learned. He learned that he would have to win her back the way he had stopped a long time ago: the hard way. Nick would fight long and hard, journeying however he must to win back his dear Hope. Without her, he had none.

After a month passed, he prayed that Hope would be open to listening; to at least hear him out. When she did, Nick tried to explain his problem. He explained how he had become addicted to reversing time and that it was fueled by the stains of regret. Nick tried to explain to Hope that she cut off his feeling of regret and that she loved what she had caused. She completed him; healed him. But this was beyond proof. She had lost faith in him. This was beyond belief to her because Hope no longer saw a soul-mate: she saw a crazy person in the sanest of them all. Hope had not faith and so he had none.

They say that hope is the last to die. But for the boy, it was first. Instead, all he had was his fuel: regret. All of his life, Nick regretted and the more he tried to stop it, the more he regretted. What was thought to be his cure was his affliction. So this is when he decided that life was where it had all started. A noose was tied to the ceiling and the boy kicked the stool away, dropping his miserable body to the end. His life flashed before his eyes and in that there was a certain beauty that could not be wasted. Nick knew he would regret his death. Taking in the regret, he spun the wheels of time back again. The stool came back under his feet. He took down the noose and realized that life was still miserable but still worth living. Perhaps he could find a way to start over. His sanest decision was his biggest mistake.

Hope came by his home and looked in the window. She found him sitting on his couch with a weary smile. He didn’t notice her. Something on his face told her that it would be alright. Reassured, Hope left, never to see him again. Eventually, the boy attempted suicide again, this time he was dead with no turning back. There were no more regrets and no Hope. Regret overtook her and she joined him in death.

Had he not reversed time to save himself, Hope would have found him dangling and dying. She would have broken in and then saved his life where she would heal him again. With that healing, their relationship would mend. They would remarry and have children. The boy and his beloved Hope would live together until they were old and finally dead. Their life would seem nearly perfect to the outside observer, but to the boy: flawless. The ideal that he had tried so hard to regret himself to simply could never be.

Through chamber and barrel, death pierced his brain. Days later, lead and powder destroyed Hope. Regret, the single strongest of all feelings, for once, gave something. The boy received the gift of erasing anything that had come to pass. It had even come to allowing itself to be removed by way of truest and purest love. But even its gifts were too strong for man to bear. Regret destroys as when it seems to build. Its wrath not only caused the destruction of its experiment but also its love. Regret made a man worth less than his own life because it had directly ended another. Had he never existed, Hope would live on. But it was this logic that had killed her in the first place. This sane logic kills.