Skittles and the Dead

Camille

For years I’ve hated this day. It’s a constant reminder that I’m alone in this world. No parents, no siblings. Sure, I have extended family. I don’t see them much. It’s hard to be around people who clearly feel sorry for me. It’s in their eyes every time I’m around. I’ve overheard my aunts use the phrase, “that poor child” at family functions several times over the years.

Seeing my destination is sickening and I’m grateful I don’t have to come alone to Pearly Gates Cemetery. I turn onto a driveway surrounded by gravestones with flowers. I coast past rows of headstones on my right, then park behind a black SUV. He is always punctual so it’s no surprise when he steps out of his vehicle before my I kill my engine.

At least I have James. My big brother’s best friend. I’ve known James all my life. He was nicer to me than my own brother. Always patient and kind when my brother, Carlos, treated me like a nuisance. When I turned 13, my brother and I were getting along but I didn’t like James anymore. Honestly, I didn’t like his choice in girls. He seemed to like the girls who caused the most drama and had bad reputations.

These visits do not get easier. Everyone says the hurt heals over time. But I disagree. It’s been five years. My hurt and anger get stronger each time I come to this place. My heart feels nothing but the loss for my family. Some days it feels hollow and heavy and empty like a hungry stomach. I don’t think I can ever feel whole again. Maybe James was right. It’s because I’ve never accepted what happened. That my family was taken from me. My beloved brother and parents killed in a car accident.

I can never get out willingly. James is at my door. Watching me. Waiting. Allowing me time. Then, he decides my time is up and opens my door.

“Come on baby girl,” he holds his right hand out for me. I don’t want to take it. If I do, I’ll have to commit. Be strong. I count backwards from 10 and take his hand on 1. No going back. James closes my door and embraces me. And just for a moment I feel…safe.

“Let’s do this.” I say pulling away.

“That’s my girl.”

I was a junior in high school when I decided to like James again. Carlos had just graduated college and our parents hosted a huge graduation party. Mom and dad were super proud. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them that happy. James was late because he’d also graduated and was moving back from California. I was standing with a group of girls from school when someone grabbed me from behind. My brother normally didn’t allow anyone to get close to me let alone touch me. When I saw the amusement on my brother’s face, I knew who it was. James and he had changed a lot. He greeted me with the strongest, tightest hug. He’d become too handsome. It was awkward. Like being attracted to one’s brother. I quickly got used to having them around again. All three of us were close. James had developed better taste in girls making it tolerable to hang out with them more. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

James

I don’t know why I allow Camille to torture herself. I should put my foot down and give her the tough love she really needs. I’m afraid I’ll push her away again. That would kill me quicker than watching her fade away. I can’t imagine battling grief that strong for so long. I’ve tried working through the process with her. I was moving too fast for her, though. She accused me of forcing her to move on.

I look at her beautiful hollow face getting mentally prepared. For what? Coming here one day a year. She is only going through the motions. If she didn’t care what I’d think she would never come at all. She visits on the death anniversary. Never birthdays or holidays.

I hold her bony hand. I’m afraid for her. Every day I pray for her pain to dissipate. I’d gladly carry it for her.

I easily walk to my best friend’s grave like I used to walk to his house. I talk to his headstone as if he were standing here with me. She walks away as usual. She once explained that it felt like eves dropping. I used to find this embarrassing. It became easier with practice. I’ve encouraged her to do the same. To vent. Get some things off her chest.

I say hello to mom and pops. My other parents. I miss them just as much as I miss my friend. My brother. Closer to me than my own blood. I tell them how Camille is doing. Still a recluse with high functioning depression. As far as I know she does not date and only has three friends, including me. I promise them that I will not give up on her. I promise to always take care of her. I promise to never leave her alone. These promises I will keep because I love her.

I spot her standing alone watching me look for her. She used to ask how I could do this? I’d answer, ‘Because I love them’. Now she doesn’t ask anything. I make a dozen wishes before I reach her.

“I’m hungry. Have lunch with me.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You never are. But you know I can’t eat out alone. I need your company. And you are too damn skinny girl.”

We head back to our cars. She reaches in her coat pocket. “Here.” She hands me a fun size pack of skittles. Skittles are her bad habit. She’s been an addict since she was three. I open the pack seeking out the green ones.

Camille

James introduced me to skittles. He’d come to our house with bags full of candy from the corner store. When I was little it seemed like grocery bags full. Those were the days. I watch him eat the green ones. Then he tries to feed me the yellow ones.

“I don’t need you to feed me.”

“You need somebody to feed you something. May as well be me.” He stops and faces me. I hold out my hand.

“No, open up.”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t know a thing about skittles if it weren’t for me.”

“Jeez man! You are annoying! Do not touch my tongue with your dirty fingers.”

“Open, open, o-pen.”

I’m truly annoyed by the joy he is getting from this. It’s stupid. But I open my mouth, extending my tongue. He carefully deposits two skittles.

“You’re welcome”, he says, watching me chew. I hook my arm through his.

As we pass my family’s headstones James excuses himself for one last thing. I watch him out of curiosity as he places red skittles on Carlos’s headstone. His favorite simply because there always seemed to be more of the red than any other color. And surprisingly, he places orange on dad’s headstone and purple on moms. I turn and walk away before I can feel anything about it.

I focus on the monumental headstone in my path. One with a small fence surrounding it. Audrey Jones, Nov 1920 – Jan 5, 2014. She died the day I became an orphan. I’ve only read my family’s headstones once. And for five years I’ve never paid attention to the writing on any headstones. I wish I did not notice the name of this faceless old lady who will forever be remembered on the most hated day of my life.

“Leave Ms. Audrey alone”, James says beside me. I turn to tell him about the date. I trip over a corner of the fence, losing my balance. I grab at air until I feel James’ strong hand on my forearm. He goes down with me, softening my fall.

I lay there stunned. I’m not prone to being clumsy. James laughs at me. Not out loud but I see it in his eyes. I feel his body shake. I watch him. I have nothing against laughter, but my family can’t laugh so why should I? I study his face until I notice the familiar glint in his eye. Then I look away. I know he has feelings for me. I’ve known for years.

James

Thank you, Ms. Audrey! I’m bringing you flowers the next time. Looking down at Camille’s face stokes a fire in me. If she would give me a chance, I can bring her back to life. Back to the larger than life and feisty young woman she used to be. I stare into her vacant eyes and blank expression. Everything in me wants to kiss her.

“I love you Camille.”

“I know.”

“I will always be here for you. Especially when you fall.”

“I know.”