In a Week

The cell phone was cold against my heated skin. Her voice came crackling through. I walked with a heavy step across the parking lot, book bag weighting down on my shoulders. Her breathing skipped. “Harley?” I asked while I pulled the keys from my pocket. Some friends called my name as I slung the door opened and threw my book bag over to the passenger’s seat. I ignored them, still hoping to get a response. I climbed into the rusty van and slammed the door shut.
“Lacey—“ she said, breaking into a sob.
“What about Lacey?” I asked, face flushing.
“She’s dead,” she said softly.
My jaw hung open. A tear rolled down my check, and my phone slipped to the floor. I broke out into a deep sob and a group of senior repeats laughed from across the parking lot.

I drove home, music blaring, speeding. Tears hit my lap one after another. I could see her smile, feel her hug, and despite the music, I could hear her faint laugh. I flew past cars, pulling myself together before I returned to the all-too-cheery house hold I lived in.
I speed into the driveway, parked my car half in the grass and half in the drive way, and ran inside with my book bag barely hanging on my shoulder.
“Laurie?” my brother called after me.
I threw my things on the floor next to the door and ran for the kitchen, knowing I was about to break down again.
“Did you know that girl—“
My tears escaped. He looked at me apologetically. My neighbor stepped past my clueless mother to hug me. The kitchen fell silent as cried, standing in the corner, trying to avoid eye contact.
“What happened?” my mother asked in her mother-preacher tone.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Died in her sleep.”
I ran out of the kitchen crying. I escaped back out into the night air and I stood, starring at the stars through my tears.



I showered early. Threw on my kaki pants, a dark maroon shirt, and black shoes. I dried my hair. The house was warm. I sat stiffly on the couch and waited.
A knock on the door brought my mind back into reality.
I opened the door. Harley stood there, staring at her feet. Her hair was slightly wet. Grey sweater.
I hugged her tightly. I moved back and shut the door. She sat in the chair. I walked into the kitchen to grab a water bottle.
“How are you?” Harley asked out of habit.
I shrugged. “You?”
She said nothing.



The funeral home smelled of tissue and perfume. Red faces walked the hall. Numb bodies roamed the halls. We resorted to the back of the chapel. Step one done. Tears hit again and I felt my face join the redness of other’s.
We slowly and daringly walked to the casket, afraid of how death would look.
She laid silently. Peacefully. A scarf kept her cold neck warm. She was as beautiful in her death as she was in life.



We returned to my house after the service. After the tears. After our brains finally accepted her unexpected death.
My mother walked through the door. She looked tired.
“Hi,” Harley and I mumbled.
“Laurie?” Mom asked quietly. “Can I talk to you?”
She walked into her room. I followed automatically, not aware of her current state of being.
“Look,” she started, looking me in the eyes. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but—“ She stopped. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. “Matt passed away this morning.”
I fell back into uncontrollable tears.



The ride to Birmingham was excruciatingly long. We drove out to the same funeral home my grandfather was buried at. The parking lot was full.
My mom, my brother, and I stood patiently in line, talking to other church members that were there to honor Matt.
Two hours later, his casket was visible. The noise faded to silence as I neared. My body felt as if it was being controlled by someone else. My own soul had fell to numbness.
The three of us cried together over him. He was a youth director, a mentor, a friend.
We were forced out by the crowd that was trying to reach him. We stood outside of the car, crying like babies in the winter’s night.
And it was all within a week.