recliner next to my bed. A smile crossed my face. I pulled myself upright, rustling my down comforter. My dad’s eyes popped open.
"Em!" he said, surprised from his sudden awakening. "You're up."
I nodded. "Dad, about last night: I'm sorry. I said too much. I — "
"No. You're right. Get dressed. Let's go before it gets too hot outside."
He walked out of my room and I jumped out of bed. We always visited my mom's grave together on the day she died. All three of us used to visit my Grandpa's grave on the day he died. I wiped a tear from my eyes. There was no point in putting on any makeup, so I slipped on a pair of shorts and a t - shirt. I brushed my teeth and pulled a pony t ail holder through my hair, then ran down the stairs and rinsed out my mouth in the downstairs bathroom sink. Meeting my dad in the hall, we walked out the door together. The cemetery was only a couple of blocks away, so we just walked. I listened to the birds chirp, to the cars whiz by on the distant road. We never talked on this walk — not since Mom died. We used to talk about Grandpa and all of our fun memories, but Dad didn't want to talk about Mom. He never did. So, we just walked in silence. The cemetery was beautiful at this time of year. All of the flowers were in bloom and the grass boasted a deep, green hue; I breathed in the scent of wet soil and fresh dew. We walked slowly to the familiar headstone. It was tall, just like my mom; it was also one of the newest headstones in the entire cemetery. I knelt and ran my hand across the inscription: 'Asleep, though she'll regain her roles, when light shines on mortal souls.' Dad handed me a lily to set on her grave. Lilies were her favorite flowers. Then I took a rock out of my pocket. Mom always talked about how some culture laid rocks on their graves because rocks lived on forever. I didn't know if that was true, but I laid a rock on the grave just to make my mom happy. My dad shook his head and chuckled.
"Your mom always loved discovering facts about people and things and telling everyone about them. I think that was why she was such a good reporter." I smiled in response.
"Yeah, she did," I whispered. I watched my dad's finger run across the inscription.
“What does it mean?” I asked, reading over the words again. My dad shook his head.
“I don't know. I think it has something to do with resurrection. She was on quite the religious kick before she di — ” his voice cracked and he moved his fingers to the bridge of his nose. I sat in silence and watched him try to clear his emotion. He shook his head several times until he looked up into the azure sky. The sun reflected off of his smudge - free glasses and he looked back down at me, smiling a fake smile.
“Dad, you can cry. It's okay — ”
“No it's not, Emmaline,” he said firmly. He slumped to the ground and sat, one hand returning to the bridge of his nose. He sounded angry. He had been sad before, and distraught, but never angry at the situation. I looked at the ground and decided to sit, too. I crossed my legs. My father was quiet for a long time. Picking at the blades of fresh grass, I discovered a dandelion and promptly plucked it from the soil. I lifted my legs and rested my arms on my knees, holding the dandelion out in front of me. I wondered what I should wish for. Looking past the flower, I glimpsed my dad. Small droplets of salt water spilled down his face, reddening his tanned skin. He sniffed loudly and shook his head.
“I'm sorry, Em. I haven't figured out how — ”
“It's okay, Dad,” I repeated, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. Mom died in a car accident, and it's terrible, but we can get through it together.” My dad shook his head and reset his gaze on the clouds in the distance.
“I should have done something,” he muttered.
“What are you talking about? It's not like you could have stopped the drunk driver — unless you knew which bar he was at, I
"Em!" he said, surprised from his sudden awakening. "You're up."
I nodded. "Dad, about last night: I'm sorry. I said too much. I — "
"No. You're right. Get dressed. Let's go before it gets too hot outside."
He walked out of my room and I jumped out of bed. We always visited my mom's grave together on the day she died. All three of us used to visit my Grandpa's grave on the day he died. I wiped a tear from my eyes. There was no point in putting on any makeup, so I slipped on a pair of shorts and a t - shirt. I brushed my teeth and pulled a pony t ail holder through my hair, then ran down the stairs and rinsed out my mouth in the downstairs bathroom sink. Meeting my dad in the hall, we walked out the door together. The cemetery was only a couple of blocks away, so we just walked. I listened to the birds chirp, to the cars whiz by on the distant road. We never talked on this walk — not since Mom died. We used to talk about Grandpa and all of our fun memories, but Dad didn't want to talk about Mom. He never did. So, we just walked in silence. The cemetery was beautiful at this time of year. All of the flowers were in bloom and the grass boasted a deep, green hue; I breathed in the scent of wet soil and fresh dew. We walked slowly to the familiar headstone. It was tall, just like my mom; it was also one of the newest headstones in the entire cemetery. I knelt and ran my hand across the inscription: 'Asleep, though she'll regain her roles, when light shines on mortal souls.' Dad handed me a lily to set on her grave. Lilies were her favorite flowers. Then I took a rock out of my pocket. Mom always talked about how some culture laid rocks on their graves because rocks lived on forever. I didn't know if that was true, but I laid a rock on the grave just to make my mom happy. My dad shook his head and chuckled.
"Your mom always loved discovering facts about people and things and telling everyone about them. I think that was why she was such a good reporter." I smiled in response.
"Yeah, she did," I whispered. I watched my dad's finger run across the inscription.
“What does it mean?” I asked, reading over the words again. My dad shook his head.
“I don't know. I think it has something to do with resurrection. She was on quite the religious kick before she di — ” his voice cracked and he moved his fingers to the bridge of his nose. I sat in silence and watched him try to clear his emotion. He shook his head several times until he looked up into the azure sky. The sun reflected off of his smudge - free glasses and he looked back down at me, smiling a fake smile.
“Dad, you can cry. It's okay — ”
“No it's not, Emmaline,” he said firmly. He slumped to the ground and sat, one hand returning to the bridge of his nose. He sounded angry. He had been sad before, and distraught, but never angry at the situation. I looked at the ground and decided to sit, too. I crossed my legs. My father was quiet for a long time. Picking at the blades of fresh grass, I discovered a dandelion and promptly plucked it from the soil. I lifted my legs and rested my arms on my knees, holding the dandelion out in front of me. I wondered what I should wish for. Looking past the flower, I glimpsed my dad. Small droplets of salt water spilled down his face, reddening his tanned skin. He sniffed loudly and shook his head.
“I'm sorry, Em. I haven't figured out how — ”
“It's okay, Dad,” I repeated, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. Mom died in a car accident, and it's terrible, but we can get through it together.” My dad shook his head and reset his gaze on the clouds in the distance.
“I should have done something,” he muttered.
“What are you talking about? It's not like you could have stopped the drunk driver — unless you knew which bar he was at, I
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