A Girl by Any Other Name by Mk Schiller

stupid because I’m sitting out here with you in the middle of the fucking woods while
    my father’s wake is going on.” I moved to get up, but she gripped my shoulder.
    “You haven’t cried, have you?”
    “I don’t need to cry.”
    “Yes, you do. You loved him very much. You can’t keep it inside or you’ll explode. You have to
    let it out.” She stood up and placed her hands on her hips, but didn’t move away from me.
    “I told you, I am fine. I need to be strong for Mandy and Momma. I’m not going to cry like some
    candy-ass pussy.” I pushed her hand away. She responded by placing both her hands on my chest.
    “Get the hell out of my way, Sylvie.”
    “I won’t. You need to do this.”
    “No, what I need is to kill that motherfucking bastard who shot my father.”
    “Tex, I know how angry you are, but that won’t make you feel better. Crying will.”
    “Who the fuck are you? You think because your mom died you’re an expert on grieving?”
    She winced, but made no attempt to move away. I knew what I’d said was cruel and I instantly
    regretted it. “I’m an expert when it comes to you, Cal Tanner.” Her voice was wavering. She’d done
    nothing but help me through the worst days of my life, and here I was yelling at her.
    “I told you. I need to be strong for them. Just leave me alone.”
    I stared up at her face, which was looking down at mine. She ran her fingers through my hair.
    “You don’t have to be strong for me. It’s just you and me. No one will hear you out here.”
    That did it. I felt the first hot tear slide down my cheek. I grasped her waist and pulled her
    toward me, burying my face in her stomach. My tears soaked through her dress, but she didn’t say
    anything. She just let me hold her. She rubbed my shoulders and tousled my hair while I bawled like a
    baby. In fact, I hadn’t cried since I was a baby. Not even when Nate clocked me in the head with his
    fastball that time in Little League.
    I pulled her down so she was on my lap. She let me. I cried against the soft skin at her neck and
    she held me tightly. I cried for a long time, until I was physically exhausted, but she was right. It did
    make me feel better.
    When my arsenal of tears was spent, she took out a lace handkerchief from the cuff of her dress
    and wiped my face. She didn’t say anything. I was appreciative of that. There were no words that
    would have healed me like her touch did. Instead, she kissed my forehead, stood up and held out her
    hand to me.
    We walked back to that house together. It was better after that. I was able to be in my body. I
    even managed to make Mandy smile. Sylvie had done that for me. She let me cry. She let me be
    myself.
    It all went to shit, though, when Mona Simms brought up that my father’s birthday was next
    week, causing my mother to break out into fresh hysterics. What the hell was wrong with that bitch?
    Why couldn’t she have kept her fat ass on the piano bench and played some more of those God-awful
    hymns she’d been singing all day? I think she took up residence there just to make sure she’d have a
    place to sit.
    I started to comfort my mother, telling her it would be okay. I really had no deep profound words
    for her. My words were hollow at best, and they did nothing to alleviate her pain. It was Sylvie who
    did that. She walked over to the now-vacant piano bench and sat down. Mandy followed her as she
    always did. Sylvie smiled at her. Then she started playing.
    The tune was easily recognized. Don McLean’s American Pie was not the most appropriate song
    for a wake, but it was definitely one my father would have appreciated. One of his favorites in fact.
    He’d taught it to both Mandy and Sylvie. My mother calmed down like the music was a magical
    medication for her ills. It worked on me too. I walked over and sat there on the bench with them.
    Mandy was in between us. Sylvie smiled at me. I knew this was hard for her. She never let anyone
    hear her sing