I still felt guilty. I kept seeing my mother’s face In front of me. I knew that I had to be here, but the quiet walls of my apartment let my thoughts eat away at me down to my core. The buzzing of the busy streets of New York City were not loud enough to mask the screaming that was inside my head. After I left home, my mother, a hard hearted woman, completely gave up on trying to change who I was. I moved to the city two years ago, from a small town in Virginia called Riverdale, to become an artist. She didn’t completely support my views therefore we didn’t have the best relationship. As sad as that made me, I knew I could always depend on my sister, Gracie, and her husband Terrance to come and visit me whenever I felt homesick. They still lived in our quiet little hometown, so they loved the hustle and bustle of the big city and often stood together on my balcony staring at the early morning traffic. I took them to a restaurant I regularly went to, in order to gather my thoughts before I began painting. Soon enough, it became one of their favorite places to eat. It was a nice little place called McDoe. The walls were a vibrant shade of red and yellow, and it smelt of potatoes and ranch. It reminded me of when I would come home from school and my mother would have baked potatoes, with cheddar cheese spilling over the edges, sitting on top of the table.
Every time my sister left the city to go back home, I would dread going back to my dull life. I missed her more than ever during the fall. I would remember how when we were little, she would run around the forest behind our house, trying to collect different colored leaves. My mother and I were close back then. She used to read to me books about philosophers and doctors, and about enthusiasts of the constructive ideas and mechanisms of the world. She wanted me to be like them. She was a fan of having a secure future. One that I did not have as an artist. After the last time I saw my sister, I called her up a couple of times to keep in touch till the next time I saw her. On September 14, 2013 she did not pick up the phone. I dialed again on the 17th of that month, yet again, no response. When I dialed Terrance it had the same outcome. I was a little bit worried because they both always receive my calls and if they miss them, they usually call back within 24 hours.
On September 19th,2013, I opened my emails to see the weekly e-paper for Riverdale. When I scanned the Obituary page, I ran across a name that shattered my world: Gracie Alfred. I didn’t want to read any further because I did not believe my eyes. She couldn’t be gone. I ended up convincing myself that reading further would clarify that there was a possibility for it to be another Gracie Alfred in a town of nine-hundred people. Impossible, but I was hopeful.
Gracie Alfred, a daughter, a sister, and a wife, was born on October 12, 1986. She passed away at the young and tender age of 27 years. Funeral Service will be at Richardson Funeral Home, Riverdale, VA, on September 20, 2013. It was her. I didn’t know what to think or feel. Why wouldn’t anyone tell me? My own mother didn’t call me up to tell me that my sister is dead. I don’t even know how she died. Was she sick? Was she hit by a car? My head was rushing and a wave of depression cast over my mind. I couldn’t form coherent thoughts and tears streamed down my face all at once. I went online and booked the next flight out to Riverdale. It was tomorrow. The day of her funeral. When my flight landed in Riverdale, the first thing I did was take cab to my mother’s house. I stood in the pouring rain and knocked for a couple minutes but no avail. Nobody answered the door. I took another taxi to the Funeral, and saw that the service had already begun. I made my way into the cluster of people in black, and stood behind a woman that was about half a foot taller than me. She held a black umbrella, which forever reason only seemed to add to my sorrows. I was too shamed to make my way to the front. I saw my mother standing across, next to Terrance, and for a brief moment we made eye contact as she poured the first clump of dirt onto Gracie’s casket.