You, Me, And The Divide

Chapter 1

I always figured the last words you say to someone were supposed to linger in your head after they're gone, but I drew a blank. Although I was never close with her, my neighbor's wife, Clara, passed away and I was standing in the funeral parlor waiting for everyone to make their way out of the room. Most people asked someone to be their plus one at weddings or to go to old school reunions with them to burn the time. At least that's what I hear. Ever since my mom walked out to explore the midlife crisis stage of her life that men usually have, my dad has asked me to be his plus one at eighteen funerals. At least five of the times, he forgot where he knew them from and went purely out of pity.

I'm sure this sounds like a strange way to start off a teenage love story, but trust me. My morbidity is necessary.

My dad was talking to our neighbor, Bruce, and his son, Allen, as I stood quietly nearby. I stood close enough that it was clear I was here with him, but far enough that the conversation didn't include me. I was never the one to talk much if I could avoid it. It wasn't even that I didn't like Allen. Believe me, Allen was great. He used to hang around my brother, Toby, and I a lot before he went away to college last year. He didn't seem at all interested in what our dads were talking about. He took long strides over to me with his hands hidden away in his pockets. Allen was a cute boy. His brown hair was always flat as if he lived with permanent hat hair, and his brown eyes were always bright. Even now, with the clear despair written on them, his eyes glowed bright. He was tall too. He towered over me with a whopping six foot nine inches.

"Hey Isabella," he said and I gave him a hug that lingered. People at funerals hugged a lot.

"I'm sure you're getting sick of hearing it, but I'm really sorry, Al," I told him craning my neck to look at his face. He looked on the border edge of tears.

"Thanks. I know you didn't really know her as anything besides my mom, but it's still nice you came."

My dad always said, "Funerals aren't for the dead. They're for the living." I just smiled sadly up at him. I couldn't tell him that though.

"It's the least I could do. So what are you gonna do now?"

He blew out a long sigh. He leaned in close so that nobody else heard our conversation. "I think I'm going to take some time off. My dad's a mess, and I need to come home to take care of him."

"If there's anything I can do for you guys, you know where to find me," I told him with all honesty.

"I appreciate it. Everyone's been so generous with her passing. Her boss even paid for the entire funeral service," he told me with a small smile.

Clara was always nice. I don't think I've ever seen her be mean if she didn't have to scorn Allen for encouraging their dog to drink from the toilet or stop him from bringing mud pies inside. It doesn't surprise me everyone she touched in her life wanted to pay it back to her loved ones.

"Where did she work?"

"She worked for Jackson Corp. She was Mr. Jackson's personal secretary. I guess he couldn't bother to show up so he sent his son," he said and gestured across the room. To a handsome boy in an expensive suit that I recognized immediately as Daniel Jackson.

Daniel Jackson went to school with me, but as far as he's concerned, I don't exist. He had money and looks making him the ultimate dream boy to the female population of West Springdale High. I'm not going to deny the fact that he's handsome as all hell, but I wasn't sold on the whole ordeal. There was no substance there. He was just a boy who partied a lot and had his future laid out for him no matter what his image was. He slept around with a bunch of girls, but apparently when you're a guy, they don't call it being a slut.