by Sarah Delany
The drive home is filled with a mixture of small talk and silence, none of us knowing what to say. If I talk and tell them how I’m feeling then I’ll explode, so I choose silence and contain my feelings. I don’t want to burden them with the craziness rattling around in my head. It’s easier if I keep it to myself. I can deal with it. I have this numbness feeling down pat. I’ll keep to the darkness, not feeling it but feeding it all my emotions. Rage, sadness, unbearable grief, guilt and the list goes on. All the emotions fuel the darkness, slowly swallowing me whole.
When my dad drives up the rocky driveway to my house, I have to take a breath to steady myself. Don’t think Tate. Don’t do it. I release my breath and along with it, the emotions. I feel a sense of stillness settle into my very bones. This is exactly what I need. I exit the car and follow my parents through the big red door. I always hated that door. When we painted the house a few years ago, Quinn insisted the door had to be red. She didn’t care about the colour of the house but said the door had to be bright red. Then we could say things like, ‘Ours is the house with the big red door,’ she would justify. She was quirky like that, always wanting to stand out in some odd way. Perhaps it is a twin thing, wanting to separate yourself from your twin by being oddly unique. I don’t know. I never asked her why she wanted the door red and being the selfish prick I was, I wouldn’t have cared what her answer was.
Somehow I made it to my room and I’m lying down on my old bed. Losing myself in my head has my body operating on flight mode. I get from point A to point B without registering what’s happening. My posters of basketball players are still on the wall. It’s like I never left and nothing’s changed. But everything has changed. My whole world has crumbled like a wet cookie dunked in milk and it can’t be put back together.
My parents let me be. They don’t bother checking in on me. I stay lying on my bed while the sun sets and dusk seeps in. I don’t get up to eat. I’ll eat later. I know sleep won’t come. It was hard enough to sleep before, when Quinn was in a coma. Now she’s gone, all I can do is stare into the darkness surrounding me and hope exhaustion takes over and drags me into a deep slumber. A boy is allowed to hope but I don’t like my chances.
Chapter 2
-- Tate --
Sitting cross legged on the cold grass, my only thought is to get this done. I need to do this for her. I put the finishing touches on my small gift and carefully take it inside to the bathroom, treating it with the utmost care. Something I wish I had done with Quinn. I look at myself in the mirror. My black long sleeved dress shirt is neatly ironed with my matching black trousers. Black shiny shoes complete my outfit. I’ve decided I hate black. It signifies death to me now. Death and pain. I put some effort in and gel my blond hair back. It could do with a cut. It’s too long on the sides for my liking. I don’t know this person staring back at me, a stranger’s reflection is all I see. I’m having an out of body experience. My soul exists out of this body and this shell of a person carries me around but there is no emotional connection between the two parts. Taking a deep inhale, I place my gift carefully in my pocket so as not to ruin it and exit the bathroom. I’m leaving to go do the hardest thing I have ever had to endure, something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I’m going to bury my sister.
JP and his parents arrived two days ago and we’ve hardly said a word to each other. He’s tried but I can tell he’s still angry over how I treated Tamsyn and the fact I won’t return with him. I can’t. I’m safer here where I can hide. I have to stop myself from asking how she is or if he’s seen her. I have no right to that information. She’s better off without me.
People have been coming in and out of the house since I got back. Old friends have come around to pay their respects and family members have popped in, trying to console Mum and Dad. ‘Terrible tragedy,’ they say or ‘Gone too soon’. My new favourite is when they say ‘She’s at peace now’. It’s my favourite because every time I hear it, I picture myself throat punching whoever says it. How the hell would you know if she’s at peace, Karen? People spew the same sentimental garbage at you, recycling what they have heard before. Those words don’t help. They are better off keeping their big traps shut and not saying anything. Nothing can make this better so they can take their band aid words away and shove it.
The rage inside bubbles to the surface every so often but I manage to taper it back down. Sometimes it sneaks up on me with no warning, especially if someone says anything remotely annoying which has my brain listing all the reasons why their comment pissed me off in the first place.
I look up at the funeral home. She’s not having her funeral in a church because my mum doesn’t think it’s right. I haven’t seen my mum without tears since I arrived. My dad is doing his best holding it together, trying to be an anchor for Mum. He has to hold her up, she looks on the verge of fainting with the horrible task we have ahead of us. I’ve told myself if I can keep myself together today, I can break down for a minute tonight when I’m alone. But not now. For now, I need to be numb and hollow to get through this horrible day.
It’s the worst day of my life so far which makes it one of the days I’d most like to forget. Brains are tricky things however and my brain has a mind of its own. It has made this day more memorable, more vivid and can recall every detail in precision. They say as you grow older you forget moments and what you are remembering is a memory of that moment. I know for a fact that this day and all its moments will forever be etched into my very soul.
Her dark cherry coffin shines as it sits stationed at the front of the quiet room. The only input I had for her funeral was to have a closed casket. I couldn’t handle the thought of an open coffin. I don’t want to remember her like that. Lifeless. I want to hold the memory of her laughing and smiling in my mind. My parents tried to convince me to go visit her at a viewing, when she was set up in the coffin before today, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face her. They chose to go and returned looking more distraught than they did before they left. I think I dodged a bullet.
Dad slowly approaches the microphone to start his eulogy. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. I turn my numbness factor up a notch, trying to zone out because any stories he has to share will break me. I don’t want to remember happy memories when she’s in a coffin, not two metres from me. Dead and lifeless. I stare at my shiny shoes and watch the drips of water hit them. I wipe my eyes, try to draw a breath into my lungs and focus on my inhale.
I raise my head with tear soaked eyes and look at the shattered face of my dad. He stammers over his words, trying to stay strong as he delivers his speech. Every so often, he needs to stop and gather himself. I can see him visibly take a breath to pull himself back together so he can carry on. It’s not fair. Why did this have to happen to my family? We shouldn’t be here. Not like this. How could Quinn do this to us? To me?
Other family members take their turns, recalling fond memories they have of Quinn. Most of them include me as we were inseparable at one stage in life, making it that much harder to listen. It didn’t help that we were twins and always wanted to do everything together until I got older. I thought I was too cool to hang out with my sister and wanted my own life. My own friends. I was too busy with my new life to realise Quinn was struggling with the distance I put between us. Struggling with a darkness that has now become my closest companion.
It’s time for the pall bearers to grab the handles so I rise from my seat and walk over to her coffin. I glance at the framed photo on top, it’s of her beautiful smiling face; my Quinny. I bend down delivering a kiss to her shiny coffin, pretending it’s her forehead and I’m tucking her into bed like I did when we were younger. Mum grasps the framed picture of Quinn and clutches it tightly, close to her chest. With eyes full of unshed tears, my hands shake as I take the cold bar in my grip. Dad takes the opposite side to me. JP and his dad take another two spots and then my cousin Pete and his dad take up the remaining spaces. And we lift.
Walking slowly with the melancholy music serenading us, we carry my darling sister out of the funeral home and place her in the hearse. As everyone exits the building, I watch as my sister gets driven away, heading to her final resting place.
The sun is shining but I don’t feel it’s heat. I don’t feel anything. Quinn gets lowered into the ground and everyone throws in their red rose petals and shovels in their handfuls of dirt. I take a few steps forward and retrieve my gift from my pocket, the daisy chain crown I’d made earlier. Quinn was always bugging me to make these damn things with her. That’s the only reason I know how to make one. I stretch it out into a circle and gently drop it into the grave and watch while it floats down to her coffin. My little flower queen. I quietly stand there, looking down into her grave as the hole fills up. Saying my final goodbye silently, I turn and walk away. My broken heart is trying to keep the duct tape intact but it’s bursting at the seams. If I don’t hold on for dear life, I know I will lose the struggle and my heart will rip apart more than humanly possible.
I don’t notice JP has followed me until we are beside the car, waiting for everyone else to finish up at her grave. I couldn’t stand there another second or I would have broken. I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat, forcing it down. The wake is at our house. I’m hoping I will be able to escape to my room, away from everyone. I want to be alone. No one can comfort me. They only say the wrong thing. JP stands there silently. I wonder how long the silence will last this time, before he cracks. Everyone finally disperses from the grave. I hop in the car and keep my eyes down, not wanting to give in to the pull of her grave. I can’t look back as I leave. I can’t think about her being left there, alone in the cold ground with no one to protect her, so I numb myself more and drift further into the dark.
The mood in the house is somber. Strangers approach me and offer their commiserations. Old friends from school tell me, ‘They’re sorry,’ or they don’t know what to say so they give me an awkward hug instead. It’s been months since I saw these people last. My mates Pierce and Xander are here too. I haven’t heard much from them since I left to go to JP’s. After Quinn went into her coma, they visited me in the hospital once but they stopped coming around. Xander always had a sweet spot for Quinn and I think it hurt him more than he’d admit to see her like that. I stare at my curly haired friend now and can see the devastation on his face. It’s hard to remember I’m not the only one in pain.
“Tate, you want to go somewhere?” Pierce asks, as he opens his jacket to show me the full bottle of whiskey he has hidden there. I nod in agreement and walk to my room as JP, Pierce and Xander follow. We all find a spot in my room. JP sits at my desk, I sit on my bed with Pierce sitting on the opposite end while Xander sits on the floor. Pierce twists the cap off the bottle and holds it up saying, “To Quinn,” as he takes a swig and passes it to me. Holding the glass bottle in my hand, I fling my head back as I gulp it down, hissing out a breath as the burn travels down my throat, warming my belly. This is what I need to drown my thoughts completely. We pass the bottle around as JP puts on Spotify to play softly in the background. The bottle is a third of the way through when JP breaks the silence.
“How’s school going for you guys?” he says, directing the question to my friends. He knows I don’t want to talk right now. It works for me.
“Good,” they both reply in unison. The alcohol does its job, numbing me further so I close my eyes, breathe and wait for the darkness to drown me.
“Give me your number bro?” JP says to one of them, and I hear Pierce reciting his digits for him to save.
Time is lost on me. We could have been in my room for minutes or it could be hours, I don’t know. The half empty bottle has loosened the guys’ lips and they’re laughing, telling stories to each other. Stories about people the others don’t know and stories they all have of me as I’m the common denominator in this situation. I sit there quietly and listen, distracting myself by getting lost in their talk. JP’s phone pings signalling a text message so he retrieves it from his pocket. I watch as he tries to hide the obvious glance my way. Now I know it’s someone wanting to know about me.
I don’t care who it is until he says, “It’s Tamsyn, wanting to make sure you’re okay.” I wince hearing her name.
“Oooh, who’s Tamsyn?” Xander innocently asks.
“Nobody,” I deadpan, as JP shakes his head.
“Bro..,” he starts.
“Leave it,” I angrily say, as I snatch the bottle from Pierce and quickly leave the room. I stumble through the groups of people situated all over the house and escape out the back door, heading nowhere in particular. I need to get away. But how can you escape the biggest problem when the problem is you?
I have no recollection of where I ended up, only knowing I polished the bottle off. My last memory was of Tamsyn’s devastated face, the last time I saw her and the photo of Quinn smiling, on top of her casket, as they merged into one.
Chapter 3
-- Tamsyn --
I couldn’t help myself. Knowing the funeral was today, I had to check in with JP and see how Tate was doing. His reply was, ‘He’s as good as can be expected,’ whatever that means. I had to force myself not to text back and ask him to elaborate. JP was with him and I knew he would look after him. I need to get out of the house. It has been a week since Tate left and I’m over crying myself to sleep every night. I’m getting little sleep, if any. I need to get out of my head.
I want to feel numb, and after the vague reply from JP, I want to forget everything. I have on my baggy track pants and grab a jumper and zip it up, flipping the hood over my head. I slip on my sneakers and quietly creep down the stairs, trying not to disturb my mum in her room. Once I’m in the living room, I grab the first bottle out of the cabinet and tiptoe to the front door, quietly letting myself out. Cold air blows around me so I wrap my arms around my waist. Once I’m clear of my house, I unscrew the lid and tip my head back. The brown liquor scorches my throat on its way down. I cough after I swallow, not enjoying it. It’s not for enjoyment so it doesn’t matter. I suffer through the burning sensation. It’s a small price to pay for the prize I will receive in return. Numbness.
I take a few more gulps of it as I head in the familiar direction. My feet are taking me where I need to go. As I approach the old wooden dock, I glance at my surroundings. It’s peaceful out here with only the chirping of insects to keep me company. No one else is around and I can pretend it’s just me. Me and my dock. I take a seat right on the edge, letting my feet dangle over the side. I look down into the dark calm water. It looks like it would be quiet down there. I take another mouthful of the awful tasting liquor, deciding never to drink bourbon again after tonight. Vodka is the way to go. A buzz has started to kick in but I long for the numb feeling I know will follow. I can practically hear my mum chiding me, ‘Patience is a virtue, Tamsyn.’
My phone buzzes and I check the caller ID, it’s JP. I don’t want to hear about Tate right now so I ignore it, sending it to voicemail. Persistent guy rings again and I decline, not caring if he knows I’m blatantly ignoring him. A text comes through not long after.
JP: Tamsyn pls let me know you are ok.
Tamsyn: I’m fin3 leabe me alone.
He doesn’t reply so I put my phone down and take a big skull needing to forget everything, if only for a night. It’s not long before my phone is ringing again. I’m so annoyed at JP for bugging me, I answer without checking the caller ID.
“JP, quit it already. I said leave me alone,” I angrily yell into the phone.
“Tamsyn, where are you Petal?”
“Rafe?” I ask, and pull my phone away from my ear to check whose name is on the screen. And sure enough, it’s Rafe’s.
“Please Petal, tell me where you are so JP can stop worrying.”
I let out a sigh and say, “I’m at the dock.”
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Okay, be careful,” he says, and quickly hangs up. I stare at the phone, thinking it was easier than I thought to convince him I’m fine. Ten minutes later and a sweaty, puffing Rafe is dumping himself next to me, having run all the way here. He eyes up the bourbon bottle but doesn’t say a word as I continue to skull mouthfuls down. I offer him a drink but he declines.
I lean my head on his shoulder and the more numb my mind becomes, the less control I have over my emotions. The tears fall freely down my face. Rafe doesn’t say a word the entire time he’s with me. He only puts an arm around my shoulder, holding me tightly, while I let all the pain out before I drift into darkness.
I wake up in my bed in the morning, remembering Rafe but there’s no sign of him. He must have carried me home and snuck me into my bed, without my mum noticing. My head is killing me so I sit up in bed when I notice the note on my bedside table. It’s from Rafe. ‘These will help,’ is all he’s written. I find a couple of paracetamol and a bottle of water next to the note. I wash them down and have to stop myself from vomiting. The alcohol I wanted so badly last night, threatening to resurface. I grab my waste basket just in case.