Free Shattered by Melody Carlson

Cleo... well, I’m a good listener.”
    I want to ask him if he’s serious, but I can tell by his eyes, which are kind of a blue-green color, he means this. And I’m totally taken aback. “Thanks,” I tell him as my dad motions to me, hinting that it’s time to go to the cemetery. “It would be good to have someone to talk to... at school.”
    “Then I expect you to take me up on that offer.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
    Soon we are riding in the back of the limo to the cemetery—Dad and me and Aunt Kellie and Uncle Don. No one speaks as our car follows the slate-gray hearse. We move through town at a snail’s pace, inching our way up to the cemetery. I stare blankly out the window, seeing the same buildings and businesses I have seen for my whole life, but now they look unfamiliar. Even as our procession passes by Madame Reginald’s Ballet Academy, I feel as if I’ve never been inside that brick building. As if my mother had never taken me for a single lesson there.
    I close my eyes, trying to block out everything. To my relief that pleasant buzzy-dizzy feeling returns, softening the sharp, harsh edges of my shattered life. But my relief is hindered by nagging concerns. I wonder how long it will be until I need to take another pill... and if I should’ve brought more with me... and what will I do when I run out? But thankfully, this pill is doing its magic. I forget where I am, feeling as if I’m wrapped in a thick, fuzzy blanket.
    Then, just like that, the lulling ride comes to a halt. Doors open, loudly close, people are speaking to me, but I can’t understand their words. Or maybe this is a dream. I look around, trying to absorb my surroundings, wondering where I am.
    “Come on, Cleo.” With sad eyes, my dad reaches for my hand, helping me out of the car.
    And that’s when I realize we’re in the cemetery. And like a glass of icy water that’s been thrown in my face, I remember why we’re here.
     

. . . [CHAPTER 9] . . . . . . . . . . . .
     
    W e follow the men in dark suits as they transport the casket across the cemetery. The grass is damp, and my feet soon become soggy as we trudge up a hill. I vaguely remember these men—are they called pallbearers, and if so what does that mean? I’m pretty sure they are from our church, but I can’t even think of their names. How did they come to be doing this depressing task? Did my dad call them up and ask them to carry his wife like this? Will they also help to bury her?
    I wish I could take the other pill now. Something to stop this flow of thoughts... something to block my brain. But now we are being seated in a row of folding chairs directly across from where the casket is now arranged over the hole—the hole that will swallow my mother. I close my eyes and wish I could join her. Better yet, I wish I could trade places. So much simpler.
    Again, the words being spoken seem to float over my head. And when it’s time to stand, to sing “Amazing Grace,” I get a rush of dizziness, followed by a loud buzzing in my ears that won’t go away... and then darkness.
    When I come to, my aunt is looking at my face. “There you are,” she says in that despicable congenial tone she likes to use. “See, Hugh, she’s simply fainted. I knew she should’ve eaten breakfast.”
    “I—I’m sorry.” I sit up from where I was laid out on the row of folding chairs. Looking around, I’m relieved to see that the graveside service seems to be over; people are leaving. Before long, only our immediate family and Pastor Reynolds remain behind. My dad is standing by the casket. As he lays a single red rose on top, I look away.
    “Come on now.” Aunt Kellie reaches for my hand. “Let’s get you back into the car.” Then with Uncle Don and Aunt Kellie flanking me on both sides, holding on to my arms like I might topple over again, we go back to the limo, where I lean back into the seat, closing my eyes, longing for an escape as my aunt lectures me about low