a study of cara evelyn

one

I vividy remember the day I met Cara.

It was a humid day in the middle of July. The sun was taunting us, knowing that black clothes would swallow all the heat of the atmosphere, and yet still decided to make a bright appearance. I felt gross that day- my forehead was sweaty, clothes were sticky and my face was all red. I complained, naturally, for that's all ten year old me knew how to do. My mother shushed me every single time, making it dreadfully clear that I would be punished the minute we got out of public eye.

We were attending the service which honoured my mother's colleague. He was a friend, is what my mother had said when I asked her why we were even there in the first place. But even ten year old me had enough brain cells to figure out that it was just a sympathetic facade. Most the other employees were here and all they were doing was badmouthing the ones who didn't come.

Everyone was either too dead or too stupid to talk to, and not to mention, severeal years older than me. In general, I felt that my Sautrday was going to waste, which is a big deal when you only get two days free in a week. I saw down on a white chair beside my mom and tried to fan myself with my hat but it was no use, I was a mess.

But lucky for me, so was Cara. She sat on the other side of me, wore a big black dress and was melting by the second. When she caught my eye, she made a gun with her hand, pointed it at the other side of her face until she cocked the imaginative trigger and faked her death. There was someting tragically funny about suicide jojkes in the middle of a funeral, and I cracked up.

Immediately, her mom saw her at that instant and she yanked her by the arm. I felt deflated that my only chance of human interaction with a kid my age had slipped through my fingers.

I sighed, and as we all prayed in unison, I made sure to ask God for an ice cream truck to pass by.

I dont quite remember the speeches or eulogies, but I do remember that they carried on. Of course, something had to go wrong and that was actually a someone.

Cara.

"I can't remember a moment when he wasnt a good husband or father-"

Then, all of a sudden, a noise loud enough for eveyone to slightly hear came from the front row. It was a laugh. A high pitch, scoffing laugh that was quickly coughed away when Cara's mom made eye contact with her. I found it absolutely ironic that Cara was able to laugh at her own father's funeral.

My mom found it sad and said, she's just overwhelmed with a lot of emotions. But I knew better.

Cara was the type of girl that made jokes at inappropriate moments and I admired her for that, at least for a little while. Because I never saw her again, that is, until a couple of weeks ago.