Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Entry #77

I heard my parents talking about a funeral for James today. They were discussing where to have it.

They were in their bedroom, with the door closed. I could hear them talking when I woke up, and when I got up to go to the bathroom, I heard my dad say "James" clearly. Then I heard my mom shush him, and they went silent. My mom heard me walk by.

I went to the bathroom, then I carefully opened the door so it wouldn't make noise and walked up to the bedroom door so I could listen. I heard them name three funeral homes nearby, and I heard my mom ask if there should be a wake.

I went back to my room before I heard any more. If I had heard anything else, I would have walked in and told them that James was still alive. They would really think I was crazy.

You have no idea of the feeling I had when I got back to my room. It was just a hopeless, desperate feeling in my gut, weighing me down, making me feel as if I couldn't do anything. And if I could do anything, it would be wrong. After all, if I told my parents what had happened to me, even if I showed them the papers, the journal, the shirts, the cloth, they would still think I was crazy. I know they think I'm still affected in some way. I am, in a way.

What do I do? They're going to have a funeral for James.


1 comment:

  1. Here's what you do. You postpone it as long as you can, even though it's been months, convince them that they shouldn't jump to conclusions, and whenever you can, go to the 909, look for clues. also, congrats on murdering that howling son of a bitch.