The wake.

I was in a bakery. The dense cooking air rose with warm bread, my need for food buttered with want.

“Come on, you said you would.” George pushed me at the shoulders from behind. I don’t know how long, but I’d been standing still in the doorway. The door behind me closed as I stepped past the rug and clicked a boot on the tile. There was a menu board that swept from the door to the register, listing breakfast, lunch, and dinner items.

“Hello, what can I get you today?” the cashier had a ring in her voice similar to the mice in Cinderella.

Blech.

"Two orders of pancakes, blueberry, raspberry whip cream," they exchanged currency and good day wishes, then he guided me to a table at the back of the restaurant by the windows. Guided me, like I was a lost sheep, the shepherd wishing to be back with the rest if the herd.

"Now, try not to look so sad, ..." He started another rant about the grief cycle,how I'm making progress."You deserve to smile."

Poor George, he shouldn't have to do this. Poor George can't help himself. His savior complex might have been an engineered piece of him. His parents were probably born this way too. They were the Neighborly folk with nothing but necessity and love. George tries so hard to stray from it but it's part of him, deep within. I saw it the first day we met.

During elementary school we had a big grassy field just over the fence that attempted to keep us on the playground. He was convinced he saw a bird crash land on the other side and tried to get the crosswalk lady to help him rescue it. No one would, but I'd been trying to con the crosswalk lady into letting me on to the field the whole three years I was at school so, I helped him. While the lady wasn't looking we climbed over. We found the bird a couple of feet away from the fence, dead.

"Looks like we're too late," I said, it's lifeless wings sprawled out on the green grass.

"No, we can save him," he said taking a piece of card stock out of his pocket, unfolding it then pushing it under the feathered carcass.

"It's going to be OK, Jim." After he carried it back to school, he hid him in his desk and told the teacher he wasn't feeling good so he could get into the nurse's office. I had to keep watch to make sure nobody found "Jim". When George got back there was only an hour left of school. On the bus he attempted a revival with a couple of Band-Aids he'd stolen. I helped by making a splint out of a Popsicle stick and string, all under Georges instruction.

We couldn't save Jim the bird that day and George was bent about it for a week after the funeral, but he tried.

Sitting in the cafe, eating the emotional equivalent to a band aid,  I felt very similar to Jim. And just like Jim, band aids won't bring back the dead.

"So, are you going back to school on Monday?" He asked, his green eyes hopeful and trusting.

I'd been skipping and getting homework from classmates.

"Yeah, about that-"

"Come on, Robin, they're going to make you go to attendance school. And they won't let you graduate. We only have four months left, come back to school, enjoy it while it lasts." the worst part was that he was genuinely excited.  

"What's there to enjoy?"

"Well, Sadie's parents are out on their annual winter getaway, so she's drinking again. She might get arrested this time."

"She'll never get arrested, her family donates too much money to the station she's practically immune to punishment."

"Not so fast, I recently had a chat with little miss immune and I think it would be worth it to go to school tomorrow to see it.'' At that moment everything seemed to loosen and excitement settled in.

"what did you do?”

“Come tomorrow and find out.”  We finished our pancakes then he took me home to do my laundry. I was going back to Martin high.

                        ***

Today I was going to meet George at school, he usually drives but he had to get to school early, early wasn’t for me.

There were four stop lights on the way to school, two had already stopped us, which had gradually increased the volume of our singing as we drove. At the third light, also red, my mom turned off the music.

"So, I hear there's a dance coming up, are you going?"

My mother, in her day, was Ember Willow gladiator of the social abyss that is Martin high school. she had grown out of the high school age and respectfully took on her life as an older woman, but unfortunately that never stopped her from asking about dances.

"Nope"

"Why not?"

"Nobody asked me"

"So? Why can't you go with George?"

"He's just a friend mom, and if he wanted to go with me he'd ask,"

"Why not go....just as friends?"

"Because dating a friend doesn't make them just your friend anymore."

She rolled her eyes with one of her knowing smiles and the light turned green. Pulling forward I turned on the music and in that moment everything felt right.

There was a Truck, it’s blue hood glistening in the drowsy day light. Coming down hill from what must had been forever, it too came to its third stop light.

I turned to my left and I saw, seeing was all I could do. The sound of the radio muffled as time slowed and the blue hood was bashed with red and metal and mom.

Screaming, crying the sound came back. I flung myself up sweat and tears damp on my face.

"It was a dream." I tell myself, but it wasn't once. I'm in my room, safe. I'm okay, I'm okay.

I try to catch my breath, but the sobs come.