I didnt cry that day, or the three that followed it. I didnt speak either. I did not talk about what I had seen, what it had been like to be imprisoned, unable to break free, while I listened to the sound of my fathers blood dripping against the roof. I did not talk about the fact that his small moans of agony, moans that he had tried to stifle from me, haunted my every moment. I did not mention the awful silence and agony that had engulfed me when those moans had stopped. I was left with only the endlessly dripping blood, and the horrifying realization that my father was gone. I had been unable to tell him that I loved him just once more before he left me. I told no one about any of it, not even my mother, who even through her own grief and anguish was more concerned about my wellbeing, than her own.
That was the main reason I didnt cry. I did not want her to know how badly I was hurt, how haunted and tormented I was. I wanted her to believe that I was strong, that I would be ok. I wanted her to believe that no matter what had happened she wouldnt have to worry about me too. I was fine. I was brave. I would survive, no matter how distraught, terrified, and broken I really was.
It wasnt until the day of the funeral that I finally cried, and thankfully my mother had not been there to see it. But Cade had.
The funeral had been over. I was still wearing the small black dress my mother had picked out for me. Abby and Aiden, also dressed in black, had not been as stoic as me throughout the ceremony. They had wept openly. It was a fact that was not missed by most people and at the reception after I was the main topic of conversation. Though they whispered, and thought they were keeping their words from me, I was not as gone as they seemed to think I was. I did not catch it all, but I caught enough to know that their hushed words, and fearful tones were not truly heartfelt, but merely more gossip for them to banter about. Was there something wrong with me? Had the accident ruined me? Had I always been a cold child? Had they somehow managed to miss my oddness until now, when it was so blatantly obvious?
Id slipped out of the house, eager to escape the oppressive heat of the house and their phony concern. There was a large, beautiful garden to the right of the house that my mom had been forced to sell the following year. The garden had been my mothers pride and joy, filled with flowers, strange plants, and wonderful smells. In the far back corner there had been a wooden bench tucked beneath the boughs of a giant willow. It was that bench that I made my way to.
I sat there for a long time, my hands folded before me as I watched bees buzzing lazily
about, and butterflies flitting from here to there. I tried not to think about anything, struggled not to break under the weight of my mourning as it threatened to consume me. I dont know how long I sat there before I felt the presence of someone else. I lifted my head, blinking against the bright light of the sun that had drifted lower in the sky. It took a few moments to make out the young boy that had wandered into the garden; surprise filled me as I recognized Cade.
Up until a couple of years ago Cade had been good friends with Aiden. I had always liked him. Unlike Aidens other friends he had never tried to push me away, never called me names, and had not found me annoying, or tried to ditch me. Hed always invited me to play with them, always been kind and gentle. He exhibited endless patience with me, even when hed taught me how to fish and I had insisted on throwing them all back. Aiden had vehemently protested it. Cade had simply done as Id asked without a word of complaint and an understanding smile that had melted my young heart.
Then, when I was seven and Cade was eight, his parents were killed in a home robbery gone wrong. Cade had been fortunate enough to be at a friends house when the murders occurred. He was placed into foster care after, and though he still lived in our town he had no longer lived near us. His friendship with Aiden ended abruptly after, and hed stopped coming to our house nearly every day. He became distant and unfriendly toward us as he took to moving coldly, and methodically, through his life. At his parents funeral the caring friend Id known, and loved, had ignored me when I tried to convey my sympathy over his awful loss. Id tried to speak to him twice after that, but hed walked right past me. Wounded and confused, I had given up trying after that.
And then, two years later, Cade with two parents gone and me with one, was suddenly standing before me again. He was taller than the last time hed been at my house, lankier, and already becoming one of the most handsome and sought after boys in school. And yet, that was not the person standing before me in the garden. This person was different. This person was not just a mere boy, not anymore. For the first time I understood that though Cade still looked like a boy, he had long ago stopped being one. He had, in fact, become a man two years ago when his parents were so cruelly ripped away from him. Fate had seen fit to spare him, but longing and pain lingered within his surprisingly wise eyes.