A Play in Four Acts

            Dark shadows splayed across the beige walls. Shadows of “I’m sorry,” “He was a good man” “It was just his time.” I huddled in the corner gripping the new leather shoes he had bought me just weeks before.

            The funeral had been like play in four acts. Wake. Service. Cemetery. Reception. They all said the service was beautiful, the flowers were beautiful, he was in a better place now and that was beautiful.

            I never answered them I just stared up at them, with wide pulsating eyes. I didn’t know them but they pretended to know me, introducing themselves, offering their empty sympathies.

            I didn’t want to be here, I didn’t want to see them, I didn’t want them to see me. I got up and trudged into the kitchen. It was littered with casseroles, salads, jellos, and a pound cake that glared at me with one thin slice cut from it. It mocked me, and I inched closer to it.

            I palmed the plate, carrying it up to my shoulder. I looked at the nice, beige wall and hurled it at it. The plate smashed and someone screamed. Remnants of the squashed cake floated down the wall. Someone rushed in and gathered up the plate in silence. Another came in a swept up the cake in silence. I hated the silence even more than I hated the shadows’ empty sympathies.

            I wanted the silence to go away. I turned on the radio over the sink and switched it to high. An old country western song blared loudly echoing off those beige walls. No one said a thing, no one switched it off; they just let it play.

            The shadows left one by one, leaving the house empty except for her. She finally switched the radio off as another song started. She was calm and I hated her for it. I took my nice leather shoes and hurled them at the wall near the phone. The shoe polish left black streaks on the walls. She remained calm. She started to wash the dishes, ignoring me.

            I suddenly burst out, breaking the silence, “Why are you so calm?!”

            There was no answer.

            “Answer me!”

            There was no answer.

            “Answer me dammit!”

            There was still no answer.

            I screamed out loud and ran upstairs to my room. I plopped down on my bed and stared up at the blank, beige ceiling, tears now burning my eyes. They poured down the sides of my face following the creases like a flowing river. I lay there and cried. I never stopped.