I woke up this morning and forgot for a split second that I was supposed to be grieving. Like I could walk into the living room and the sun would feel warm and our lives would feel whole. I made it as far as the hallway before I remembered. I froze. I've cried every tear I can possibly cry. My body aches from heaving. From sobbing. Clawing at my thighs and my sides. Anything. I locked myself away for two whole days. I wept until I slept. And I slept until I wept. I swear there's skin under my nails. I feel as if I'm heavier than the earth but lighter than a feather, all at once. Somewhere in the house, I can hear my parents murmuring. They're seeing if they should intervene. They feel like bad parents for letting me rot. Somewhere, states away, I know my brother and sister are feeling weird. They have a hole in their lives, too. But it's weird to say that when they've plucked themselves out of the bunch years ago. For a moment, I wish I was them. I hear mom say she's going to check on Jolene. See how she's holding up. See if Stan is still saying scary stuff. Dad tells her to focus on Jolene. He'll see Stan. Mom doesn't argue because that is his best friend. Mom has brought food over to their house these last two days. Cooking keeps her from crying. Dad helps. They talk. In my room, I can't make out what they're saying just that they are. My sister, my brother, and I used to all share one tiny room. Their stuff is still in there. And I am still vaguely claustrophobic. But my need to hoard outweighs any fear of being in small places. I think about taking a step. I feel like a balloon full of helium. If I let go of the wall, which I just realized I'm gripping so tightly onto, I will float to the ceiling. Dad tells mom to give me a little more space. Tells her they'll figure out what to do when they see the damage. She hesitantly agrees. Mom chokes out that she prays I won't get any ideas from Misty. Dad doesn't respond. A classic sign of him agreeing. Misty. Hearing mom say her same makes me feel like a sculpture cracked and waiting to crumble. For some odd reason, I'm not suicidal. Maybe for the first few hours I was, but not right now. Right now, I want to know what happened. Was my beloved Misty's death an accident? Did my outdoorsy, brave girl take the wrong step? Try to climb the wrong tree? If that's the case, joining her feels wrong. An accident is an accident. She died doing what she loved. She'd want me to live. But if she was murdered, left discarded like a bag of trash in the woods, I would want to be with her. Because the pain of being without her is going to be far too much. She'd want me to live, of course, but I can't. Tears sting my dry, swollen eyes. Next door, I know that Jolene, her mother, is laying in bed crying. She hasn't stopped. It's a loud wail you can hear outside. I get the courage to walk, and once I start, I don't stop. I sit in my parents' room, lights off listening to the AC. The crisp smell of the air conditioner welcomes me. Stan, Misty's father, is beer drunk in the garage. He, who is a gentle giant, is filled with rage. No parent wants to bury their child. Their only child. Misty is a year older than me. She turned 30 this year. Dad is good at emotions. He's always been the one to diffuse my bomb. Talk me from the ledge. Mom is good at the after. She welcomes me home. Doesn't judge me for my episodes. She makes me warm food. They make a good team. That's why they're both checking in on the Chases. I wish I had my phone. I've left it deserted on the charger. I know Eliza and Luis have been blowing up my phone. I should answer. I peel myself off the floor and head to the room. Messy. Messy. Messy. I can hear Misty teasing me. "God, Kitty! Just because I'm always over doesn't mean you don't have to tidy up for me!" I almost tell her, I did, I put my dirty clothes in the hamper. I can hear her snort and feel her pinch one of my love handles. I do not weep at the memory.
