Page 4 of Distortion
‘Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.’ The priest waves an incense thing over the coffin.
I don’t roll my eyes the way I want to. Mom wasn’t even Catholic. I don’t think John is either.
Like me being here, it’s just another thing that’s for show.
I glance up at the other women dressed in black who are standing around, watching my mother’s casket being lowered into the ground. I don’t know them. I don’t know anyone here except for John, who’s standing next to me, and his two sons, Andrew and Jack. I watch one of the women wipe her eye with a tissue behind her large, dark sunglasses. I give it a few seconds, and then I mimic the action. There’s no tear to wipe, but I have similar shades on, so it’ll look like I’m suitably upset. The appearance of normality is what matters.
I am. Upset, I mean. But I haven’t cried. Just before I left The Heath, after I heard that my mother was dead, Doctor Stoke asked me if I had.
Under his hawk-like eyes, I’d assured him that, of course, I’d cried at the news of my beloved mother’s passing, delivered to me by Crewes, one of the blanks, in a bored tone while he picked at a crusty stain on the breast of his white uniform. The doctor in charge of The Heath had nodded sagely at my words, and probably gone to his office to put a tick next to the ‘shows appropriate outward emotion’ column of his ‘Marguerite iscured’ checklist.
The fucker’s been under the illusion that I can’t lie for years. One I admit I fostered on purpose once I realized they had some pretty narrow views regarding what Marguerite’s poor little autistic brain was capable of compared with theirs ... regardless of the fact that I got top marks in all my online classes. But, then, I suppose my IQ has never been the problem.
I allow myself a cursory glance around the cemetery. It’s vast, and the headstones are well-tended. I suppose she’d appreciate that. My mom did like things to be just so. The leaves on the mature trees are beginning to change, and I give them an extra second of my attention. That was one of the things I missed while I was inoldEngland, the changing of the summer to fall in New England.
I’d forgotten how bright the colors get.
I realize the priest has stopped speaking, and people’s heads are bowed in prayer. I copy them, but I don’t bother speaking to God. I found out early on at The Heath that praying was about as useful as trying to call my mom. Neither ever answered.
A minute later, people are starting to walk away. That’s it. My mom’s life summed up in an hour in a cemetery. The priest didn’t even say anything specific about her. I have no idea what her life was like after she left me that afternoon nine years ago. Did she miss me the way I missed her?
I cut the line of thought immediately. It can only lead to hours of mind circles, and I’m too jet-lagged for that today.
I glance at John in my periphery. He hasn’t spoken to me since I got here. He had a car waiting for me at the airport to drive me straight to my mom’s funeral, and I was almost late, which put me into a semi-nervous state right off the plane. Now that the funeral is done though, I’m beginning to calm down.
When said stepfather finally speaks, it’s not to me. ‘Have Marguerite brought to the house. I’ll go through things with her there.’
His manner reminds me of Stoke in more ways than one, and that has my lip curling into a sneer that I immediately wipe off my face, bringing my expression to the one of polite interest that I was made to practice for hours on end if I wanted any rewards like dessert ... or to go outside.
I wonder what he needs to discuss with me. Will he send me back to The Heath tonight or wait until tomorrow?
Glancing at Jack and Andrew, I keep my face expressionless. I haven’t seen either of them in almost a decade. They’ve grown up. I guess we all have. But in Jack’s case, the changes are pronounced. Where once was a weedy, gangly boy of fourteen, there now stands a tall, broad-shouldered man of twenty-two. He’s probably half a head taller than me. His light blonde hair is shorter than it was and the cut looks well-maintained. It’s soft and brings into focus his angular jaw and chiseled features. I always did find his face oddly pleasing to look at, but now I find I like it even more. By comparison, his brother Andrew, Jack’s elder by only a few minutes, is shorter and a bit stockier. His face is pudgier, his hair thinner and darker, and I already don’t enjoy looking at him. They’re both staring at me like they don’t know me. I suppose I do look different these days.
‘Marguerite?’ Andrew asks, his eyes moving up and downmy figure in a way I’ve seen the blanks do when they don’t think anyone’s watching.
I resist the urge to fidget under their combined gazes, to smooth the black pencil skirt that’s a little too tight around my arse ...ass, to pull at the matching fitted blazer that’s also a little small. It was waiting for me on the private plane. One of the two flight attendants told me that her notes had arequestin them that I put the suit on before we landed. The woman looked half-afraid that the passenger before her in the gray clothes with The Heath’s insignia emblazoned on the front of it was going to attack her at any moment.
I just put them onas requested, but whicheverblankgave John my measurements to get my outfit together for my mom’s send-off was off a little. It was probably Crewes. He couldn’t get a number right to save his life, or the perverted arsehole ...assholejust wanted to see me in a tight skirt. The dickhead probably assumed he’d be escorting me on my little trip across the pond.
But there are no blanks with me. It was a surprise, I’ll admit, when Stoke told me a car was coming to take only me and to give his regards to my father.
He’s not my father.
It was jarring to leave The Heath anyway, but not even to have any of the blanks with me ... I didn’t like it, and I hated that I didn’t like it because I’ve been wanting out of that place since the day I got there. Now that I have a chance to be free, a part of me is terrified to take the leap.
I’m out.
I’m out right now.
So what am I going to do?
Where am I going to go?
I regard the twins in front of me and give them a vacant smile to put them at ease, to make them underestimate me.
I’ll figure it out. But, whatever happens, I’m sure as hell not going back to The Heath.
Jack(Shade)
