1 Shrinking Room
I used to think that the worst pain imaginable was a paper cut, the sharp burning feeling caused by frantically flipping pages in a book or desperately searching through a notebook, how easy it is to forget about the whole incident a few hours later only to be painfully reminded when washing your hands or eating. Turns out I was mistaken.
"Thank you for joining the O'Carroll family, as we celebrate an angel returning home. On December fourth, twenty nineteen the life of Morrigan O'Carroll was tragically cut short to just nineteen wonderful years, please join me in prayer," I watch helplessly from the back row of Antonio's Cremation and Funeral Service as some beer belly preacher, that was most likely the first one that popped up on google, soullessly blubbers his speech like he's given it hounds of time.
The red-headed devil sits in the front row wiping her seafoam green eyes every few seconds, as she clutches Hades left hand, pretending to mourn their daughter's death, pretending their daughter's death isn't their fault, if they won't have kicked her out she would still be here, she would have been safe, locked in her room, not being violently mutilated by a piece of six-ton machinery.
If we wouldn't have gone to pride if I wouldn't have kissed her if I wouldn't have posted that picture if I wouldn't have tagged her, if I wouldn't have asked her out, she would have still be here, not viciously crushed by a car on I-70. "...destined for greatness," I'm too busy rethinking the steps that lead me here, that I miss the beginning Olive, AKA the devils, speech. "but sadly was lead down the wrong path, I ask you all to pray for God to let her into heaven," Morrigan wasn't even religious, according to her, "religious religion was invented out of fear," There should be Lady Gaga quotes being said not bible shit, 'Born This way' should have been playing as people walked in, not 'Fear Not,'
Olive steps away from the podium to let the preacher speech again. " Starting with the front row, will you please stand up and form a line to say your farewells," Morrigan's grandparents, Dorothy and Frederick are the first ones to move, followed by her sister Cara, then cousins, uncles, aunts, friends, classmates, after each person walks past mahogany coffin a brief hug and well wishes is given to the family.
As I make my way each step feels like one thousand, each second feels like an hour, my shoes are filled with concrete, my pants are filled with bricks, hooks attach my shirt to the chair, after what feels like years I finally make it to the front to see my Morrigan. Her long copper hair lays in a braid, pulled over her left shoulder, the eye cap leaves tiny bumps visible on her eyelids, her lips are covered in an unnaturally bright red lipstick, her beautiful freckles are caked over with foundation, her dress plain white dress is missing the flower pattern she always wears. This is not Morrigan. This has to be some knock-off. Any second now, my Morrigan is going to walk through the door and laugh at me for the morning, some random girl that vaguely resembles her.
On the count of three, I'm going to close my eyes, count to three again and open them to be greeted by the real Morrigan, my Morrigan.
One…
Two…
Three…
I clench my eyes
One…
Two…
Three…
Open…
She's not here...she's not here…
My lungs fill with lead, the ceiling collapses downwards, the walls begin to stride towards me.
She's gone. She's gone. She's gone. Why did they have to kick her out? Why couldn't they accept her? Why did we go to pride? Why did I post that photo? If I just wouldn't have posted that picture, she would still be here. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I killed her. I killed her. I posted the photo that caused her family to kick her out. If I didn't post that photo her parents wouldn't have kicked her out. If she wouldn't have gotten kicked out, she wouldn't have gotten in a car accident. I killed her. I killed her.
Why can't I breathe? What's going on? Am I dying? Is this what she felt like? Is this what happened to her?
Without permission, my body plows in between Morrigan's parents, in the hopes to make a swift escape out of the shrinking room. I have to get out of here.
I break open the large wooden French style white doors separating the funeral room and the lobby, where people mingle as they put on their coats to brace the bitter cold, without stopping, I push past an older lady I've never seen before and beeline to the exit.
My tears instantly freeze as I step outside, my feet crunch in the icy snow as I scramble to my rusted Ford Focus, with only one thought going through my head, I have to get out of here.
I unsteadily thrust the key into the ignition, before turning it only for a repetitive clicking to fill the air, after a few seconds I try again, but this time my Ford roars to life. Heat blats up from the vent and directly onto my face, melting my frozen tears, creating room for more. In the rearview mirror, people begin to mingle out of the building to their cars. The last to exit is Morrigan sister, uncles Cian and Patrick, along with her three cousins Liam, Ronan, and Aisling, as they working together to gracefully carry the coffin to the black hearse that will lead us towards just outside of New Albany, like the grand marshal for the world's saddest parade.
Once the coffin is safely locked into place in the hearse, preventing it from flying out the back window, the driver and her assistant climb in, turn on the yellow-amber light and slowly inch out of the parking lot with everyone following suit, myself being the last. All cars on the road pull over to let us pass except this red minivan who obnoxiously blasts their horn, rolls down their window to aggressively wave the middle finger. I'm sorry my girlfriend's death is getting in your way Karren, I'll try to make sure the next person who dies doesn't inconvenience you, note the sarcasm.
About halfway to the cemetery snow begins to flutter down from the rapidly darkening winter sky, just like the day she was kicked out of the house, just like the day she was driving on I-70, just like the day she was killed. No, Morrigan's not dead. She can't be. I need her. I need her to hold my hand as we walk to class, to steal my hoodie on chilly spring days, to check in on me after my brother's doctor's appointments, Morrigan's not dead, I need her too much for her to be dead.
The first car pulls onto the icy gravel road of the cemetery, slowly down significantly, so as not to kill themselves. Not that I would really care considering it's Oliva and her husband Sean, and daughter Cara, but I guess Cara didn't do anything wrong.
A little green canopy covers a newly planted upright blue pearl granite gravestone with a matching vase for flowers. Flowers, one thing she could talk about for hours at a time, all the different kinds, all the different colors, how different types of flowers need different soil, different temperatures, how all flowers are beautiful.
Cars began to pull over as much as they could, without getting stuck in the snow, Cara being the first person to step out of their car, followed by a sobbing Cian, an indifferent Patrick, Liam, Ronan, and Aisling. I know they weren't exactly close to Morrigan but they should at least act as they care. As everyone else gets out of their car, I stay put, out of fear of what will happen to be that close to the devil and Hades again.
As people march to the gravestone, leaving footprints in the once perfectly undisturbed white blanket that covers the frozen ground, I watch as the snow begins to heavy fall from the now darkened sky.
The coffin is picked up again to be carried for the second and final time. Everyone watches as Olive gives another speech in front of the grave, wiping away more fake tears as she talks, before looking at the coffin one last time before walking away, with her family behind her.
After everyone's gone, leaving rapidly fading footsteps, I timidly migrate my right hand to my seatbelt buckle, gradually inch my hand to the door handle, adagio push it open and one foot at a time step into the miserable weather, creating a new set of footprints leading up to the now buried coffin.
"I fucking hate you," My body begins to warm with anger, "You were supposed to go to college with me. You were supposed to dance with me at prom. You were supposed to be here." I aggressively swing my right foot at the gravestone only to lose my balance, falling with all my weight on my left arm causing a deafening crack to ring through the bitter air.
Tears cascade down from the combined mental and physical pain. "I'm sorry. I'm Sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much," I hastily jump up, sprint to my car, and speed off.
