Amaya’s mom made Amaya go with her to the store to pick up some stuff for the funeral.
Amaya had to say goodbye to Harry for now.
Amaya’s mom constantly asked Amaya if her make up was smudge or she looked all right. “You look fine.” Was all what Amaya would say.
Amaya looked up to her mother during these kind of times. Her mom seemed so strong.
The minute her mom walked out of the house, her mom was no longer the lady who just got done crying her eyes out at a funeral or the lady who couldn’t keep her self together while preparing the meal for the funeral.
Her mom was the lady who cracked jokes or put on party country music as if it was another day. She was the lady that was presentable in front of everyone, and was able to show a smile, after crying at a funeral a minute before.
Amaya’s mom dragged her through the store, checking her list every other minute. Her mom laughed with the cashier as if she didn’t have a funereal to get too.
Amaya stood there and watch the lady pack the bags. Without Harry to keep her mind off of things, everything came back.
The thought of never being able to see her godmother’s smile, or her high, pink cheeks that killed Amaya. It made her want to break down and cry. She just wanted to fall and crawl into a little ball, and cry.
But she couldn’t.
Amaya had the choice to be normal, or to act normal. Not for her self, but for her mom. Her mom didn’t need another thing to break down about. Her mom had enough to deal with, so why push it.
Amaya took everything she had and held it all in.
She was normal.
YOU ARE READING
The Funeral
Short StoryThat day, she met Him. That day, he left her. That day, everyone mourned over two deaths.
