Free Love Thy Neighbor by Janna Dellwood Page B

someone—“
    “ Dammit,
don't you know yet what kind of basket case I am? Why do you like me?
You're not supposed to.”
    “ That's
the bullshit talking.”
    “ No,
this place is bullshit. It's just not me.”
    “ Five
minutes ago, Janna. Five minutes ago I saw a different person. A
confident person. A beautiful woman who was starting to come out of
her shell. What changed?”
    “ Just
never mind, okay? It's not important.” She stormed to the car.
He stood under a flashing E with a disgusted expression on his face.
For as hard as her problems were for her, they were as equally as
foreign and confusing to him. He had never meant someone with
Bi-polar disorder before, or whatever it was that plagued her. He
didn't know if could deal with it.
    “ I'll
take you home on one condition. You tell me exactly what happened.
You were having the time of your life in there. What changed?”
    Her jaw trembled. “My freakin' anxiety disorder, okay? I had a
panic attack. That's how it happens. Everything's dandy, then hell
breaks loose.” She flicked her fingers together. “It's
instantaneous. I can't imagine the process of dying being much worse.
If you don't want to ever see me again, I'll understand. I know I
come with an unusual sort of baggage. I thought I'd changed tonight
by coming here. I was having a wonderful time until my anxiety got
the better of me. I guess a few hours of fun can't remedy something
that's taken several years to acquire.”
    Baron had no response. He felt sorry for her, but he had nothing else
to say. Perhaps it was best he did take her home and leave her alone
for a while. “Okay, let's go back. It's gettin' late anyways.”
His voice sounded bleak.
    ***
    Neither
of the two said anything during the drive back, and when they did get
back, all they said was goodnight.
    But it sounded more along the lines
of: good-bye.
    Baron entered his house, Janna hers. They both fell asleep quickly.
    Chapter 8
    Moving images flickered in her unconscious mind during her slumber.
The images brought horrible, gut wrenching emotions along with them.
These emotions were the apotheosis of bad, strong enough to forever
break a person.
    Chairs—metal folding chairs were lined up in rows on a thin,
cheap, recently-vacuumed carpet. None of the chairs were occupied.
There were probably a hundred of them in all in the large room, which
had paintings of Jesus and angels hanging from its many walls. The
recessed ceiling lights were dimmed, but there were enough of them to
light the interior pleasingly and well. Everything faced forward,
toward the pine box casket at the front of the room. Slowly, Janna
felt herself hovering, drifting toward that casket. It seemed to take
years to reach it. Who was in it? Her mom? Her dad? Grandma?
Grandpop? A relative? Someone was in there, all right, she just
couldn't see whom. There were no flowers anywhere, no picture of the
deceased hanging on a stand. It was as if the unfortunate cadaver had
had no friends, no family, no anybody to bid them farewell or show
them they loved them or would carry on their legacy.
    Inching closer, she heard voices in the background talking. Men's
voices. The word curator came to mind. “This woman would
have been better off if she'd never existed. Not one person has shown
up today or yesterday. No flowers, no condolences, no nothing. She's
a ghost now. It's obvious she was a ghost in life, too.”
    “ Yeah.
It's a shame that some people are so forgotten in this world, like
they don't matter, like they're not important at all.”
    The voices went on but faded out...
    Curiosity overflowing, she sped up, floated faster toward the casket.
At last, when she saw who was lying inside, everything became deathly
clear. None of this was a game anymore. This was too real now. The
end result of her reclusive lifestyle lay before her, right under her
nose. It was Janna lying there in the casket. Nobody had come to view
her body, nobody cared about her, because she had