Collection Of Shorts

Camille's Funeral (#lastsummer2020)

They say weddings and funerals are the two ceremonies that bring people together. That couldn't be farther from the truth. While one draws everyone based on happiness, the other draws on sadness. It was dark by the time I stepped out of the station. I found myself staring at the empty streets before turning back to read the station board for validation.

Jumeirah Lake Towers – EXIT 1

The air was quite chilly that night, and I regretted not wearing a thicker coat for I knew November's were always chilly in Dubai. I pulled out my phone and turned on maps. The house was a good fifteen-minute walking distance from where I was standing. The blue man on screen never lies. I should have cabbed it from the airport, I knew that, yet a part of me wanted to take the route Camille and I always took on our way home. It had been a while, of course, judging by the way I managed to get myself stranded at the wrong station. And I was late. I let out a sigh, feeling the chill creep into my bones, wondering If I should book an Uber when the entrance to the station glided open followed by a hiss from the air freshener attached above. I turned around to in reflex only to find the doors sliding shut.

There was no one.

I quickly told myself that the motion sensors were screwed up and as I was busy convincing myself, yellow lights flooded my vision from the right, and I quickly turned to find a taxi with it's no passenger light on, heading my way. I quickly waved out a hand and the taxi flashed once before slowing down. I let out another sigh, the cold was becoming unbearable when I heard the glass doors sliding open once more and this time as the air freshener hissed, I did not dare to turn back. I wasn't going to let myself feel this way. Not today. The taxi came to a stop and—

"Hi! Are you taking the cab?" A woman in a British accent spoke.

I almost jumped out of my wits and seeing my flustered face she mistook it for anger. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you weren't taking it..."

"I am," I forced myself to smile politely and quickly walked towards the car. I got in and shut the door before I told the driver the address. As the car slowly gained momentum, my eyes drifted to the woman who still stood on the lonely footpath, and right behind her the glass doors slid open with a waft of white smoke spraying downwards. The motion sensors were definitely fucked.

It was eight by the time I reached the villa. There were people walking in and out, all dressed in black. I paid the driver and stepped out, feeling a hollowness envelope my chest. Taking in a deep breath I went inside. I ran the tip of my index finger across the plush wooden cabinet. Dust. The least they could have ensured was the house was clean. I let my eyes scan the arched opening that led into the living room of the house. There was a group huddled around the main couch, and I found myself walking in that direction.

"Adrienne!" A voice called out from behind. I turned around to find my mother's boyfriend, Mr. Solansky, entering through the front door, barely acknowledging the mat that was laid out neatly for a purpose. Crumbles of brown mud followed his boots into the house as he gingerly walked up to me. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he gave me a concerned look. "How are you, dear? Good? You didn't come by the house. Your mother was waiting for you—"

"I just arrived," I cut him off, unapologetically. "Where is she?"

He pointed behind me and I turned to find myself looking at the small group huddled around the couch.

"Come on," Mr. Solansky said, breathlessly, as he walked past me into the living room, leaving mud crumbles in his wake.

A middle-aged man, judging by the bald patch on his head, draped in a black overcoat, was shoved aside by my mother's boyfriend and it was then I saw my mother, all red faced and teary-eyed sitting beside Mrs. Grammer---who looked completely broken. Mrs. Grammer looked up at Mr. Solansky as he bent down to place a kiss on her cheek, whispering his condolences at the same time. Mrs. Grammer broke down once again, crying bitterly. I stayed rooted to my spot, unsure if I should go or not. What if Mrs. Grammer knew that Camille and I weren't in talking terms? What if she knew that her daughter and I had a big fallout six months ago? What would I tell her when I wasn't sympathetic enough to Camille during that fight? I didn't have to be here. It wasn't my place.