june and the blond boy

The Eulogy Of Loren Whitlock

ᴊᴜɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏɴᴅ ʙᴏʏ

what do you know? there i was, in the same spot i stood in march of 1979, only this time the casket in front of me held my mothers body.

if it weren't for my aunts and uncles, and my best friend hayden, i would've been standing alone, even in the large crowd that surrounded my mom's casket.

my father wasn't there. he was too busy spending the rest of his life in prison for the murder of my mother.

yep, murder.

told you he was psycho.

after the death of my mom's best friend, she began smoking and drinking heavily, so bad to the point she actually contacted my father, (which was once forbidden in my household) and one night they ran off together, never to return again.

that night wasn't a very good night. i'd been in my bedroom working on my homework when i heard the door slam followed by loud laughter and other random noises. i took my eyes off the paper and turned my cassette player off to hear better.

my mothers laughter sounded like heaven. i hadn't heard it since before cynthia passed away. i zoomed out of my room and to the staircase to see what all the commotion was about, but i stopped abruptly at about the fifth step when i realized what was going on.

there was my mother, in the arms of my father who planted kisses all over her face. i noticed the large bottle of alcohol in her hand, then realized her laughs were drunken giggles. my dad looked up at me while still kissing my mom and gave me a weird look that i couldn't quite read before turning his attention back to my mom. what was he planning this time? a fix-it baby? another shotgun wedding?

if only i knew what he was really planning.

i cleared my throat as i stepped up on the small platform, unfolding the paper i held in my hands. i scanned around the crowd and locked eyes with james. i hadn't seen him since his mother's funeral. he looked a bit different, with longer hair and a different style of clothing that his mom would probably scold him for wearing. he stayed a few feet away from everybody else, but kept his attention on me.

i was horrified that i'd make a fool of myself.

here goes nothing,

"um... i'm no poet, so... yeah." i began. i felt a lump already forming in my throat as my aunt burst into tears before i even started.

"my dearest mother. my number one supporter, role model, and hero." i swallowed thickly. "in the midst of all the trauma throughout my childhood, there was loren whitlock, who played the role of two parents, and she did it in such a way that i never even paid attention to that trauma. in baggy, paint covered overalls and beat up docs, there was my mother, with her beautiful face and beautiful personality, that i hope to represent one day."

i saw my aunt mouth the words 'you already do.'

"i've had a hard time the last few weeks coping with my mother's death, and i've had an even harder time comprehending how someone could do this to her." i refrained from saying his name. "how someone she loved so dearly could betray her and myself in such a way." i paused.