My essay is suppose to be "snippet" one moment in time. I appreciate all comments.Thursday June 4, 2009 is a hot summer evening. I am driving home from work cursing my air conditioning in the truck, when my cell phone rings. I can see from the caller ID it is Maw Maw.
One phone call
“Hey Maw Maw” I answer. “Candi” slight pause, “Candi, listen” she says. “What’s wrong Maw Maw?” I ask. There is a long pause “Candi” her voice cracks, “he’s dead, Jeffrey is dead.” She says. “What!!” I scream “What” I yell again. She tells me to calm down, stop screaming, but her voice fades away when I begin to scream at God for taking my baby brother on his son’s first birthday. I want him to know, that he was only 21 and he was a good boy, and this was not fair. I can hear Maw Maw on the other end of the phone line yelling my name but it sounds so far away. Maw Maw yells “Candice Lee!” I am immediately brought back to her voice. “I have to go” she said “I’m too upset right now.” Click.
I’m driving, my eyes are filling up so quickly with tears I can’t see two feet in front of me, but I want to keep driving. My mind is so confused; it is clouding with random memories of my brother. Some of the memories are when we were kids, some of his wedding day, the day in the restaurant right before he left on tour. It was like I was flipping through a photo album, but really fast. I end up on the other side of town, in the parking lot of the burned down Chinese restaurant. I stop and put the truck in the park, I wipe my eye, and I start to feel the anger building up. It starts in my stomach, feels like butterflies and moves its way up to my chest. My hands are clammy, my breathing is hard, my chest is getting tighter, and it feels like my throat is closing. I just lost it, I screamed to the sky “those bastards killed him!” I keep picturing him as a little boy. I picture him when he was younger; he is a cute little blue eyed boy. I reminisce back to the times when I use to use to take care of him, get him ready for school, protect him from bullies on the bus, and beat him, up when he was a pain in my butt. The picture changes, I can see him now on the last day I saw him, at the restaurant, in his uniform. I remember I hugged him, and we laughed because he is so much taller than me. I picture my nephew Tailor, his bright blue eye, just as Jeffrey has. I can already feel that I miss him; I can already feel a void in my heart. I am angry, I curse God. “He was supposed to come home!” I yelled. “Why in the hell couldn’t you just let him come home?” I asked God if he thought of my nephew Tailor when he took Jeffrey, “did you even think that this boy would have to visit his dad’s grave on his birthday?”
I still sit in the parking lot of the burned down restaurant. I tell myself I need to get composed and hold it together until I get home. I dry my face, although tears slowly still streamed all the way home. I just wanted to go home; I need my husband’s comforting arms.
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