The Outcast - Chapter Nine

The funeral is tomorrow. I feel drained, tired, to say the least, but I know that's not nearly enough to describe what I'm feeling inside. Death is a terrible thing to face. It's not so bad in History class when you're talking about the lives of some long dead people and then come around to how they died and what they died for, but losing someone you love is hard. Harder than hell.

Dare I say it? It's even worse than when Sandra died. And I thought I loved her. But, as it turns out, I loved my dad more, especially since he stopped being a drunkard and started acting like he cared.

When they stripped Dad down to embomb him, they found some strange spots and buldges on his stomach. Ulcers, maybe? That's what I thought. The doctor said no, they weren't, but had some doubt in his voice. Had my dad had ulcers, he said, he would have given him something to treat them, or at least try to. As strange as this was turning out to be, it only worsened our glum moods.

Marina hasn't spoken much since he died two days ago, except she'll answer if I start to talk to her first, but then I'm not really up to talking much, either. Niether of us seem to be in the mood. But I have to say, I'm worried about her. It's not natural for her to be so silent, so somber and in such a gloomy mood.

Sasha's taking his death okay, I guess. I mean, I never really got to know her all that well, so I can't say what's normal for her or anything, but she's kept herself busy with planning the funeral and making sure everything's perfect. She's talkative about how Marina and I are doing, but I figure she's trying to keep her mind off of my father.

I've been trying her tactic of keeping busy, but honestly, there's not much for me to do; she's taken care of everything. She says I shouldn't have to worry about it.

But I want to. He was my father, for crying out loud! My father! I want to help in some way.

So what's she tell me to do? Draw him something. That's what her answer is: draw him something. Why? He can't see it. I tell her this and she replies that it's the thought that counts. She says he'll see us from Heaven and smile upon us.

Honestly, I don't think he's gone to Heaven. For years he made my life hell, getting lost in the booze, ruining both of our lives, and I just can't see how God can look past that. But then, God's forgiving. Maybe he got into Heaven, after all.

I can hope so. These past few weeks were great, with him actually giving a damn about what I do, and taking an interest in me. For the first time in my life, I had a father.

And he was cruely taken away.

It's just not fair, a voice whispers to me in the back of my head as I walk through the trees to my usual spot in the park. The river is a little higher, and it's raining, but that doesn't seem to bother me. What with the gloomy sky, it seems to be copying my mood, which is perfectly fine with me. It wouldn't be right for it to be bright and sunny while Dad's dead. The rain hides my tears and washes them away as it flows over my face. If only it could wash the pain away, too.

Sitting against the tree, in my soaked T-shirt and blue jeans, I don't feel the chill around me. the wind howls and blows hard, whipping at me, making my hair fly into my eyes. I sigh and stare out at the water.

"Kyal?" A voice. To my left.

I turn my head and see Jordan making his way toward me. His face, which is usually content and easy, is pinched with concern. He approaches slowly, as if I'm a ticking time bomb about to go off any second.

"You okay?" he asks, bending down next to me.

I nod, slowly. I feel numb, but okay. I guess. I look away and stare at the ground. It's muddy and the grass is shiny from the rain.

I feel something warm drape over my shoulders. Puzzled, I look to see a jacket there. Jordan's jacket. I blink at it for a moment, then turn my gaze to him. But he's not looking at me anymore, he's looking out over the water. The rain pours down on him, and I see him surpress a shiver.

"Kinda cold out here, don't you think?" he asks out of the corner of his mouth.

I frown. "This is yours," I murmur, starting to take it off. "Take it back."

He stops me, forcing it back on. "You look like you need it mroe than me. I'll manage. It's cold out here, or have you noticed?"

I frown. "Not really...."

He shrugs and wipes a few of his sodden bangs out of his face. "It'll get better," he assures me in a soft voice, still not looking at me.

"How?" I hear myself ask.

"It just will. Trust me. I know how you feel."

I'm about to ask him how he knows how I feel, but the look in his eyes says it all. He's seen death, he understands what I'm going through. "...Thanks...." I whisper. "For the jacket, I mean."

He shrugs it off dismissively. "No problem. Anything else you need? Or do you wish to be left alone?"

I look at him again. I can tell he understands grief. He'll stay or leave, whatever I need. I smile at him, trying to look reassuring, but I'm not sure if I pull it off. "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Anytime." he pauses for a moment and looks at me closely. I feel a bit uneasy under his gaze. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah..."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure...."

He nods and rises to his feet. Turns to leave.

"Wait, your jacket-" he cuts me off.

"Keep it," he says, smiling down at me to let me know it's okay. "You need it more than I." and then he walks away.

I frown after him for a moment, then sigh and return my gaze to the river. Shivering suddenly, I grip the jacket and pull it tighter around me. It was thoughtful of him to lend it to me.

When times get you down like I am right now, it's good to have a friend you can count on.

And I'm happy Jordan hasn't given up on me.