Grief and Rage
Iris sat. Starting at a room that had been unchanged for the past ten years. Darkness had seeped slowly across the sky. First, it turned into a light orange, and then the sky lit up with stars that seemed to burn more than usual. Iris finally moved to the window, staring at the darkening sky. She searched out the Orion constellation. The seven stars gleamed in the night sky. They brought back memories of sitting in the backyard, surrounded by the flowers and staring into the sky with her grandfather, looking for constellations and laughing together as they gave those stars new names. She smiled at the gathering memories and thought about making his hot chocolate while he lit a fire so they could stay warm while looking at the stars. Iris shook away the memories and lay a soft, gentle hand on her shoulder where the raven was still healing.
Iris moved away from her memories and the windows. Exiting, she shut the door behind her; the door at the end of the hallway started mocking her again. She faced her fear and strode to it. Her hands were shaking, but she didn’t hesitate to open it. The door handle was cold, and the hinges creaked slightly when she pushed the door open.
Harald Ericson’s bedroom had barely been touched after his passing. Everything was still in its place, just as he had left it before Iris had taken him to the hospital. Knick knacks dotted the shelves he had built himself with love and care. He had taken the time to paint it an almost eggshell white colour, but by then, his hands had already started to shake, and he had missed spots, so there were small brown spots dotting the four shelves.
Iris looked at his unmade bed with the single comforter. It was still unmade, and with her heart aching with loss, she started with his bed. Stripping the bed of all its bedding, she gathered it all in her arms, took it downstairs to put into the washing machine, and started a cycle. She walked back up the stairs and surveyed the room before taking several damaged boxes from underneath the bed. The tape was abundant, so she took a roll from the cupboard. Her eyes widened at everything her grandfather had hidden away from her. Stacks of ramen, tape and a box had been taped shut with scissors on top of them. She built the boxes and started to sort out his bedroom. Opening the windows, she came across his wallet and his glasses. Tears pricked at her eyes, but Iris brushed them away. She gathered up all his shoes; they were put into a box with most of his clothes. She hung his purple gown behind the door on the silver hooks she had helped him put up one afternoon. She gathered up all his dirty clothes, put them into his small white washing basket, and put them by the door. She started to fill black bags with rubbish she had found strewn all over the room, till slips, old repair slips and bits and pieces of paper that were written in his illegible handwriting. She came across stacks of notepads filled with the dimensions of bookshelves and cupboards he had made for people over the years. They also went into the trash. She cleared out his stash of chocolates and candies that he had managed to hide from her, which went into a box.
Her hands were moving, but Iris’s mind could not stop replaying his final week. All the trips to the hospital and the laughs while her grandfather promised her that he would get better and come home soon, even after the surgeon had pulled her aside to tell her not to get her hopes up too high, that he might not make it. She laughed him off and said, “Death would have to catch him sleeping before he could strike the name of Harald Ericson off his list.” She returned to her grandfather and helped the nurses give him a sponge bath. She wiped his face, and he smiled at her weakly and promised he would be home soon for dinner before asking if she would bring him a pillow from home. She had fluffed up his hospital pillow by then and promised to bring one the following day. She kissed him and told him she would see him tomorrow and left. Not once did she ever think that tomorrow would ever come, and she placed so much blame on herself, and she blamed him too.
Something broke in Iris at that moment, seeing a photo of her and her grandfather placed so lovingly on one of his shelves. A scream of grief, loss and rage tore itself from her throat. It was guttural and visceral, and the birds fled from the sound. Iris screamed out her pain which shattered the silence of her home. Tears wracked her body, and she collapsed onto the floor, the screams dying, and finally, the tears she had been unable to cry burst forth. They streamed down her face, and she curled in on herself amongst the remnants of Harald Ericson’s life. “Come back, don’t go.” Iris pleaded to the empty air.
It seemed like hours had passed, and the tears eventually stopped. Uncurling herself had been painful, but she stood up and left the room. The door slammed shut behind Iris, and she could barely care. She walked into the kitchen to find the pizza boxes lying abandoned on the countertops from the night before. She dumped them in the bin and opened the nearly empty fridge to find bread and maybe an egg so she could have something resembling dinner and closed the fridge again. She wasn’t hungry. The silence was becoming almost unbearable. Idly she wondered where her phone was. As if to answer her thoughts, her phone rang from the lounge where it had been abandoned the night before on the couch. She walked out to her phone and checked the caller ID. It was Wynne. “Finally, you answer your phone!” He snapped without even bothering to say hello. “What do you want now?” She asked. “Peace, Iris. I just want to talk about what happened today.” “Which part of today? The part where you walked into my house unannounced or where you tried to beat the snot out of my best friend and lost miserably?” Iris heard Wynne sigh, and he hesitated momentarily before answering. “All of it. I still love you, I just want you to take responsibility for how things went down today. You just walked away; you didn’t take sides or even try to help anyone.” Anger started to bubble inside Iris. She pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed end call. Her hands trembled, and Iris nearly threw her phone at the wall. She was barely able to keep herself from doing that.
Impulse raced throughout her entire body. Iris barely hesitated before grabbing her house keys and walking out the door. The open road called to her, and she happily obliged after locking the house up. Climbing in the car brought her that much closer to relief. She pressed the button to open the gate and sped out, barely pausing to wait for the gate to close before she went to her favourite drinking hole. Pulling up, she saw a few of the cars of people she knew. She switched off the engine and climbed out before realising she had forgotten to put on shoes; she giggled a little bit before going to the trunk to see if she had stashed a pair of slops or ballet flats in there. She pushed aside some of her clothes that she kept in the trunk for unpredictable moments when she might need a change of clothes. She cackled when she found a black and pink pair of stilettos that Wynne never allowed her to wear. She sat on the back of her car and pulled them on. A sense of relief settled over her as she stood to slam her trunk shut and pressed a button on her key fob to lock the car. The short walk to the pub seemed to take an age, and she breathed in the smell of beer and stale cigarette smoke. The bartender looked at her, and she smiled before walking to him. “Markie, my sweetie. Can I have two tequilas and a Jack and Coke with no ice?” “Of course, you starting a tab?” Markie asked her as he turned his back. “Of course I am. I intend to drink until someone carries me home.” Markie laughed along with one or two patrons standing to either side of her. “If you intend to drink like that, please, for the love of all that is holy, hand over your car keys.” He replied before setting the tequila and Jack in front of her. Iris handed over her keys before she quickly downed the tequila and took her drink outside to the tables where fellow patrons sat.