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Strangers with Familiar Faces.
Slowly, quietly I walked behind my mother. It was another trip to the funeral home. My great aunt, or "Grandma Ruth" as she signed my Christmas card, had died at the age of 91 because of a mild heart attack a few days before. I was honored to call her Grandma Ruth, as although we never talked to each other much, I felt we understood and respected each other. We had conversations in our heads, and even if no one else understood, we did. That's all that mattered. I walked in the door, and smelled the air. I never really liked funeral home: not because they were sad so much as the scent they used to cover up the death scent burned my nose for as long as I could remember. Cautiously, I approached my mourning family. I never really could bring myself to mourn, as I was always jealous of the dead. They were now free of the chains we call "bodies" and could do whatever they pleased. Nothing could hurt them anymore. They stared at me with comforting eyes, but the sadness was still clear. they knew I didn't like to be touched much, and only one person was really ever allowed to hug me without the risk of being punched. Still, they grasped me, and then let me on my way. I sat on a bench in the back of the room as they crowded around the body. I observed their behaviors, and listened to their memories and stories. They left me be, ignoring me. I perfered it that way. Less complicated. Eventually, I got up. My Uncle Carl spotted me, and asked how I was. I replied "fine, I suppose." An honest answer. He then looked at his friend beside him, and told him to study me closely. His eyes told me what he meant, well, almost. He was comparing me to what I once was. His friend had no idea who I was, even though he had met me years before. I had changed. My Uncle Carl then turned to the picture slide show of Grandma Ruth. He said he was making comparisons, though whether with me and Grandma Ruth or my past and present self I wasn't sure. I assumed both, and went on my way. We left, but I still remember the room looking at me, studying me. Had I really changed so much? In looks, yes, but they would have gotten over that by then. Inside? No, I hadn't changed so much as I finally threw away the mask that had been cracking slowly for years. I was never the happy child they thought. They never really knew me. I was a stranger to them. It suddenly occurred that I may not know them either. In fact, I didn't. Although at one time I was social, I never really asked about their lives. Who were they? So many questions in my mind now. Was Grandma Ruth one of us? Is that why she understood me? Do I look like her from the inside? What are they hiding from me? Sure, I knew some answers were better left unknown, and some questions better not asked. I knew that some things were not for us to know, but to remain a mystery. Still, I couldn't bring myself to return to my normal state. I remained in deep thought for a while. No one noticed. They assumed I was daydreaming, or mourning in my own way. No one cared. Or maybe, maybe that was it. They did care. They cared enough to study me, so their had to be something... Regardless. Too many things were left unanswered tonight, and I'm afraid with the burial of Grandma Ruth tomorrow, those answers will be buried along with her. Can I find out the truth before it's too late?
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