*The next installment of Sunken Dreams*
Mom guided me to her rusted out Buick and opened the passenger door. The seafoam green paint was peeling away from the body of the car and her right headlight still swung free from her accident last year. Her car smelled like three different air fresheners smothered into one aroma in an attempt to mask the lingering cigarette smell. Mom slammed my door, the only way to get it to close all of the way, then padded around to the driver side. She didn’t even look upset. Her cheeks were still rosy red and her mascara was securely in place. Her hair was its usual lopsided self. No one would ever be able to tell she just came from a funeral.
“Why her? Why did it have to be Brooke?” My fingers fidgeted with the angel wing necklace at my throat. I gave it to Brooke as a graduation gift. She was wearing it the day she died.
“Why did she have to die?”
Mom bent her head down and gently touched my knee before pulling out of the cemetery. “I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know.”
She cranked the key a few times before the engine rumbled to life. I leaned my head against the ripped headrest. My eyes drooped, the buildings turned to blobs and then blurred as we passed. I tried to pry my eyes open and fight the exhaustion, but they were lined with lead. A wave of darkness engulfed me and I drifted off to mom’s high pitch voice telling me we’d be home in an hour.