Damion

by Leanne Davis

  I gently strap Dayshia in her car seat. I’m surprised Damion gets into the driver’s seat? “Are you alert enough to drive?”

  “Yeah. Your sleep therapy session last night saved me. I have to get through this day, right? I mean, I can’t just disappear. Drive into… fuck, wherever. Go to Disneyland. Or Mexico. Hawaii. Alaska. I don’t care. Take your pick.”

  “Yes, you have to go.” I manage to smile. It feels so odd to smile before going to your best friend’s funeral. They try to call it a “celebration of life” but that’s more bullshit. It’s surreal even if her body isn’t lying there in an open casket. How do you celebrate that?

  “Devon will be there.”

  “That helps? Your reconciliation?”

  He snorts and glances in the mirror, looking over his shoulder as he starts to back out. “There was no reconciliation. Devon isn’t an asshole. He came at my request when my wife was brain dead and dying.” He winces and stops the car. Luckily, the lane I live on is residential and empty right now. He stares forward. “I’m sorry; that was crude.”

  “But true. Ireena would have said it just like that. Only she would have added, ‘Fuck Devon if he can’t see how sorry you are!’ She’d say he and her weren’t really a good match and she did him a favor. That’s what she’d say.”

  “She’d be too harsh. And wrong. What we did to him…”

  I shrug. “That isn’t exactly today’s point. Even Devon knows that. Stick to that. Dealing with this is plenty. I can’t soothe guilt. There’s grief enough to go around. I can’t do both.”

  He starts the car moving again. “Fair enough.”

  We fall quiet the few miles towards his hometown of Silver Springs. It’s a small, clichéd, pretty town nestled against the Columbia River and the last dam on the river before the ocean, forty miles downriver. Off the main highway, we enter the downtown area. It’s well maintained, and upgraded with wide sidewalks and strategically placed light poles that reflect whatever season or holiday it is. Now they are filled with the blooming flowers of June. The storefronts house small businesses ranging from a florist, bakery, and post office, to law offices, several banks and thrift shops. On the corner is Damion’s family’s café, named after his mom: Chloe’s Corner Café.

  He guides the car down Main Street and we take a few side streets to the idyllic church. Snuggled against green hills that spread all around it, it touches the sky on the horizon and farther off, appears in the reflecting waters of the river. The valley is punctuated by endless orchards and vegetation. Rural. Beautiful. Wild and pristine.

  The small cemetery stretches around the church. Damion’s aunt, his mom’s identical twin sister, was murdered long before he was born. She now rests in peace there.

  I grit my teeth. This isn’t Ireena. She stayed in the Silver Springs area first for Devon and later, for Damion. Stupid hot twin brothers. She should have gone to the city where she could have fully been Ireena. People would have appreciated her in the city and the small-town gossip couldn’t box her in as a stereotype she could never live down. She should have flown away and never ended up here. Silver Springs. It was all too small to contain Ireena. I doubt she would have, speaking in the long term, stayed in this tiny valley.

  Doesn’t matter now.

  Cars pepper the parking lot. I recognize the family members shutting their car doors or walking towards the front doors together. Wearing modest dresses, suits, slacks and dress shoes. All the trappings of a fucking funeral.

  He sighs and cringes. “Jesus,” he mutters.

  I feel the same. Jesus, please help us through this. Jesus, this can’t be real.

  He takes Dayshia and buries his face in her neck, blowing little kisses and raspberries to make her giggle. It helps. It even makes me smile. I think that’s why he does it. We cross the lot together. Cousins fall quiet as Damion approaches. Hands shake his hand or touch his arm and shoulder as they lean in with solemn voices. He nods and does his part of the dance. The grief dance of funeral protocol. He grips Dayshia defensively, almost as a shield.

  We enter the atrium of the small country church. It’s old and uncomfortable but full of character with stained glass windows and wood crosses and ancient pews. It’s from the 1800s. I roll my eyes. Could I sound more negative? Is Ireena being channeled through me? I can’t believe what’s coming out of my mouth.

  I tuck it away and press my lips together to stay quiet. I force a few rigid smiles. I nod. I accept words of sympathy. I’m not well-known here. I was always quiet and more like a sidekick. Never in Ireena’s mind or opinion, but to everyone else. I get more pity glances than anything. They think I’m free of her. Now what? Do I shine on my own? Now that the wicked witch is gone, am I somehow lucky?

  Damion’s mom, Chloe, and his dad, Chet, are striding up. They hug and hold him long and tight. Crap. It’s so hard to observe, it’s heartbreaking. But since I never had parenting like this, I don’t really know about it, I just imagine what it’s like. Plus, it’s sad to see so many people attending a tragic event and the sympathy they all offer Damion is overwhelming. I know he’s ill-equipped to take it all in. Another sleepless week lies ahead of him, no doubt.

  Finally, Devon appears. Suddenly, Damion’s entire body seems shored up. Maybe I just don’t get the whole twin connection shit. But if it were that strong and that close, how the hell did Damion end up cheating with his brother’s girlfriend? Of course, I can testify to the magnetism that Ireena had in spades. Her own special pheromone that could draw men straight to her. Irresistible looks and chemistry combined with a tough personality made her mysterious to them, while other women simply found her bitchy or difficult. She knew it too; and like everything else in her life, she used it to her advantage.

  Devon and Damion hug and talk to each other. They slowly walk towards the entrance that leads to the pews. An elaborate, wood-carved arch separates the atrium from the sanctuary of the church. The two beautiful, matching men flank the arch-like guards. Devon and Damion are together again… finally. My heart twists, but I smile a little when realizing a few mourners won’t be able to tell which one is Damion, the widower. They look that much alike.

  I doubt they even realize or think about that. Dayshia is cuddled with her great-grandma, Adaline, Chloe’s mom. It makes my heart ache. I want her. I want to hold her and cuddle her and make her smile, if only so I don’t have to stand here all alone. Facing a loss I can’t bear. Losing a parent or a sibling or even a lover, couldn’t hurt me as much as losing Ireena. She was it for me. My person, and I’m not someone who cultivates friendships with a lot of people. The only thing that makes me feel better is her daughter. The hope of seeing glimpses of Ireena in Dayshia obsess me. But Damion has custody of her and I have to assume his family intends to help him.

  I fist my hands. Not me. I’m no one’s family. I’m just the puzzling friend.

  But Ireena was my family.

  I tip my head to view the ever-increasing crowd moving down the aisle of the church to the altar. I swear to God, something punches me in the gut. There she is. Ashes. She’s no more than ashes now, collected in a fucking vase. Tears stream down my cheeks as I stare at what’s left of her. It doesn’t make sense to me. She was vital, tough, crazy-eneretic and now she’s relegated to a pile of bones and ashes? How can she go from being so alive to not? It makes me sick.

  I stand there and everyone else vanishes. Voices seem to come from a tunnel far away from me. I’m alone. An island. I always was. Until Ireena. Only with her was I not. Now her essence is contained in a vase? I can’t process it. It’s so atypical. My brain knows she died, but seeing the physical proof is more like a slap on the backside of the head. I feel like screaming at her to wake up.

  “Kaeja?”

  I blink. The female voice comes from behind me as if snapping her fingers to break my reverie. I shake my head and turn to see who it is. Claudia.

  I smile. Claudia steps forward and gives me a small hug. A one-armed hug, loosely wrappe
d around the other, and touching but not. We don’t hate each other, but we aren’t close. Nothing against Claudia, but she and Ireena had a contentious relationship. It only got worse after the great betrayal of Devon because Claudia was one hundred percent on team Devon. Right about then, I suspected she crushed hard on the boy. Otherwise, longtime family friend that she was to both twins, wouldn’t she have alternated between them… just a little?

  “I’m very sorry, Kaeja. It’s such a shock and I know how close you two were.”

  “Do you?” I whisper softly, licking my lips. She doesn’t know. She never cared. Like most everyone. It hammers home again how right Damion is; no one but we two are feeling any sense of loss. He and I are the only ones who get it. Who else can tell Dayshia about her mother? I have to make sure she loves her mother, or at least, the idea of what Ireena represents.

  Her head tilts; she must be surprised with my answer. I shake my head and snap out of my snarky phase. I hope to avoid falling into a conversation I don’t want to have. Claudia doesn’t mean any harm. “I’m sorry for Damion and Dayshia. It’s so unexpected.”

  Claudia snorts. I forget that she’s pretty likeable. If Ireena had bothered to give her a chance, the three of us would have probably liked each other and had fun. Claudia is nice to the world in general, but tough as hell in her business acumen. Something Ireena would have appreciated.

  She chats for a few more moments, conveying her sincere regret in her words and I believe her condolences, more than most of them. There might be no love lost for Ireena, but she does feel bad for me. She’s a first-rate person, and I know she cares that Damion, Dayshia and I all hurt. Something, I’ll concede, that Ireena wouldn’t have reciprocated. She leaves me and heads over to Devon. In moments, she stands next to him and they grip each other instantly, interlacing their fingers. They only break their connection when someone demands a hug from Devon.

  It’s amusing to watch. It keeps me from sitting in the middle of the floor and howling or screaming… anything to relieve the pressure building in my chest. A knot. A fist. Pain. So much pain. It’s a physical thing. I have to keep it from dominating my brain or merging into my heart so I watch Claudia and Devon interacting. I wonder if they’ll ever figure out they’re freaking in love with each other or just want to fuck. Whatever. They don’t seem to know it.

  Most of the people I see are friends and family of Damion. I spot a few co-workers and clients of Ireena, but I’m the only one strictly here for Ireena. For young Ireena. Little girl Ireena. Teenage Ireena. All the stages of Ireena. Perhaps only I fully knew her.

  I walk towards the front and sit on the far side of Damion’s parents who squish themselves around him. Devon has Claudia right beside him. It’s a blur. Words are said. Songs are sung and many prayers offered. I follow societal norms because I don’t want to buck those, but my brain is completely disengaged. My body sits there while my thoughts drift up in the ceiling away from all of it. Floating and free, much like when I meditate. I’m aware of my location and surroundings, but it’s all part of the background; my breath is the only true concern. I go to that place. It’s the only way for me to cope. I can’t relate to empty words about Ireena. Or the thoughts and poetry and prayers of others.

  Damion is kind when he hugs me and says goodbye as he leaves with his parents… I have no doubt he is going to get Dayshia and either go home or perhaps, absorb more of the warmth and love and concern of his family. Lucky bastard.

  My heart aches in longing as I watch him walk between his mom and dad. Damion is not the one I long for. No. Not specifically him. Just someone. For love. And to help me through my grief.

  I go home. Numb. Lost. Aching. Everything inside me aches.

  Alone.

  I wander through my house. It’s a small, pretty, cottage-like place. I am grateful for it, especially when hurting like this. My respite from the world. Who’d think I’d wind up somewhere like this?

  I wish I had something to take the edge off. Alcohol. Drugs. Prescriptions. Sex. Any of my old vices. But I don’t do that anymore. I prefer the opposite. I try to live clean in every way. From going nearly vegan, to organic to rarely drinking alcohol and definitely abstaining from any drugs. If I drink alcohol, it’s only socially with someone else. I insist on natural medicines. I meditate, do yoga, and run. Everything I do is the opposite of what’s bad for you.

  But none of that even touches the agony inside my heart and gut. I sit down on my couch. Doing nothing. Alone. So fucking alone.

  I jerk awake to find my place entirely dark. Glancing around, I blink to orient myself. Fuck. Still that awful day. Ireena’s funeral. It’s only eleven o’clock. But someone is knocking on my door? I stumble towards it and glance out the peephole. Jerking back, I am shocked. Damion?

  I undo the locks and snap the door open. “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugs. Dayshia is asleep in his arms with her head resting on his shoulder. My heart blips. It’s hard not to feel squishy. Who wouldn’t with the tall, strong, black man at the door with his tiny, precious baby girl snuggled in his arms so innocently? Her little arms are wrapped around his neck and her hands look more like a doll’s against his skin. “I can’t go home. She’s not there.”

  That’s all he says. He blinks, as if showing up at my house is perfectly normal. It used to be the old routine, in the mornings on the days I had to babysit. Those were the days I worked from home and Dayshia’s presence was something I could handle easily. It’s not normal for Damion to show up late at night.

  “Why didn’t you stay at your mom’s?”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  I’m too tired and my mind is too muddled to understand his strange presence. “You want to stay here?”

  “Yeah.”

  He doesn’t bother to ask. He’s not embarrassed. Or unsure. He wants to sleep over at my house on the same night we said to his wife, Rest in peace? Oh sure, that sounds innocent enough. I shake my head. “It doesn’t seem like the best idea.”

  “As if anything right now is a good idea.” Tilting his head, he adds, “Please?”

  Please? Yes. My heart leaps. It’s better than being alone. Or meditation or yoga or essential oils. It’s someone else. Another human. Someone who is alive and warm and here. With Dayshia. I’m not all alone now.

  I simply open the door wider and he follows me. He takes Dayshia down to her bedroom without a word. The same routine we performed in the daylight. It is firmly ingrained in his experience. But the darkness lends a new dimension to it. One that I can’t explain. It feels like so much more.

  “I went home. Stayed for an hour. You can’t imagine how quiet it is.”

  I wince. “I can, actually. She didn’t even live with me. I was always alone. But now? I feel lonely all the time. Which is so stupid. I’ve been single for years living here. And now I can’t stand it?”

  “It makes total sense. The light was snuffed out.”

  I nod. “The light only we saw.”

  He nods back. “You saw that too?”

  “Today? Yeah. It was hard enough to lay my best friend to rest, and harder still to see everyone grieving for you and Dayshia, but not really for her.”

  He stands there, way too close to me. I don’t know why we are whispering. Dayshia can’t hear us even if we use our normal voices. But we whisper. We stand close. We commiserate. He reaches out and brushes strands of hair that get caught in my mouth. I released it from the tight bun a long time ago and the curls are bouncing high off my head and around my face. He holds a tendril between his fingers, twisting it. Then he twists my heart. “And not for you, either.” His gold-flecked eyeballs stare down into mine. I almost step back because it’s so intense. As if he’s an X-ray machine, exposing the dark corners of my soul. A dark, mysterious soul that only one other person fully understood. “I saw you.” He barely whispers.

  “Saw me?”

  He nods. “The loneliest person in a crowded room I’ve ever witnessed.” I
blink and hot tears instantly fill my eyelids. It’s overwhelming. The feelings wash over me at his simple words. I’m drowning even when I stand in a dry house. In the hallway. Before a man I don’t love or have any claim to, but who understands me. It’s pretty powerful. One of the most powerful connections I can imagine.

  He doesn’t drop my hair as he slides his hand to my shoulder, curling it at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Something shoots down my spine at his touch. He doesn’t drop my gaze even when I tip my forehead down to let my tears stream. “What did she do for you? She would never tell me. You were hers. I knew that.”

  “She… she saved me.”

  “From what, Kaeja?”

  “From monsters.” I whisper, staring down at my bare feet. The edges are white against the stark dark pigment and I stare at the shaded line between the contrast.

  He doesn’t press me so I let the tears fall. We stand there. Too close. Not touching. But his hand curls around my shoulder. He finally pulls me closer to him. It’s impossible not to raise my hands up and hook them around his neck. I want to clasp him and press my face against his once neatly pressed, white, button-up shirt. It’s untucked from his fancy-assed pants. It’s wrinkled but it feels soft against my face. He smells of heaven, subtle and musky. The cologne that he always preferred. Ireena often commented her heart began beating wildly when she shook his hand and got a whiff of him. She called him good enough to eat.

  I must agree.

  His heart beats under my ear and perhaps that’s what I want most. A connection. His hands rub my back, bunching my shirt up and the warmth of his hands sears through the material and radiates to my skin. He bends down and rests his cheek against the top of my head. I cry. I cry for the first time. I cry and gasp and choke on my tears. I grip his shirt in my fists and turn to beat on his chest as the overwhelming pain becomes unrelenting noises that emerge involuntarily from me. It’s like I’m being detoxified of poisonous gases or undergoing a fucking exorcism.