Posthumous

One: My Two Best Friends Are Dead

The first week of school wasn't even over yet, and Felixity was already so drained. Between giving false assurance to all the authoritative adults in her life (teachers, counselors, her parents) that she was indeed doing okay. And the mountains of homework they were piling atop her anyway, "exhaustion" didn't even begin to cover it. She didn’t even think she was still going, at this point. Yes, she did believe she’d long ago crossed that border and was now numb to everything.

Her best friends’ funeral was over the weekend. Friends, as in plural. She only had the two. Felicity’s father, Gilbert Faukeys, forbade having any type of pets in the house. Even a goldfish. But he was of course the exception; he was permitted to have a dog hang out at the shop any ol’ time he wanted to. And that was one of the many wedges between her and her dad.

She was an only child, and only losers were good friends with their mother. Felicity felt ashamed, yet kept Manuahi Faukeys at a distance on purpose. She also didn’t fail to recognize the irony of feeling like the only person in the world; if only she hadn’t pushed everyone else away in her life. If only she had tried to engage in others’ conversation and bond with them, then she might not be feeling so isolated.

Too late now.

What a way to spend a Saturday Felixity thought when she and her parents pulled up at the Gilles’ house, where the adults had chosen to host duel wakes. It was almost as bad as having a joined wedding. Ever since she’d gotten the news a couple of days ago of her best friends‘ death, it was like she was in a haze. She could not recall getting dressed that morning. Did her mom pick out her dress? Glancing down, Felixity did not remember ever seeing this particular black dress in her closet. Where did she get it from? She supposed it doesn’t matter, now.

Her dad put the car in park, managing to find a spot between a VW and a Prius. Her mom reached for her hand, then stopped at the last second, not wanting to embarrass her daughter. No doubt, the entire school would be there.

Thank you for the consideration, mom. On both parts, Felixity sent her mom a silent thought of gratitude in her direction, as all three of them made their way up the long steps up to the front door. She always thought Foebes’ (pronounced fee-bee) parents had the best house. The ironwork of the gated screen door spoke for itself, but this time on approaching it, she didn’t feel the mystical emotion as she usually did. She wondered when this numbness would fade, and she surprised herself missing the feeling of pain. Given time, something had to break, and the anxiety of when it would happen was already starting to wear on her.

Oh goody.

The door was left cracked open, so her dad didn’t bother knocking. Instead, he pushed it open with gentle care, and her parents led her into her own best friends’ house. They hadn’t set foot in here since the first grade when they’d held an early Christmas dinner for all the parents. It was weird how memory worked, in the brain. She could remember Fonys’ (short for 'Persephone') mom saying, “well, our girls are best friends. Why not have all the parents get together, and get to know each other too!” She was always the most cheery one, so unlike Fony. But never cheery in the fake kind of way. Genuine. Felixity would miss that. The world needed more of it. Spotting her standing in the sitting room next to the tacky floral loveseat, she feared the world would never see that cheerfulness again.

It was full of people. Even the foyer was packed. With people, as well as flowers. There were so many, she didn’t even bother trying to identify them. There was the occasional yellow rose bouquet, which showed the full knowledge of her peers when it came to botanical education. Everyone knows that means friendship, which was fake in itself. Did all these people go to her school, and she never noticed before? Oh, no, there's one of Foebes’ cousins, Felixity realized. Figures she’d recognize one of her besties relatives instead of one of her own peers that she attended the same school with, five days of the week.

Most were the faces of parents she hadn't seen since elementary. The others that she managed to pick out of the blurred crowd, were all looking at her with the fakest of sympathies. They saw her arrival and immediately turned to their friends to gossip about who knows what. That didn't bother her. If she cared about what these people thought, she would have driven herself crazy a long time ago.

No, what enraged her was they were even here in the first place. The last time anyone from the popular group had said a word to the Ef-ees, was a forced group project in the eighth grade? (The ‘Ef-ees’ is what Fony came up with to call their little posse.) Felixitys' brain hurt too much to do that actual math when it came to that. At least they never bullied them once they all got to high school. Fony argued against that, saying any attention from the Populars' was good attention. It only went to show you that adults are stupid, and just because kids were in the same class as you, didn't automatically make everyone friends.

Felixity didn’t even bother trying to head over to them, and make conversation. It would be full of nothing but false sympathies, and pitty glances when they thought she wasn’t paying attention to them. Kind of like they were doing, right now. Avoiding them with great purpose, yet refusing to be the first one to look away. You could call it either boldness or foolishness. She stared right back at all the eye contact she caught as she made her way over to the snack table. Once she reached it, her appetite immediately faded. How could she even dream of eating when her best friends wouldn’t be eating again? Ever.

She wrote it off as instinct, as she tore her eyes away from the too-formal food, disgusted. Miniature cupcakes on three-tier trays, macarons, and tarts decorated a plastic table. Draped over it was a long piece of fuschia velvet fabric. As if this was a nine-year-old’s birthday party, instead of a high school juniors' wake. Pink wasn’t even their favorite color, she thought, anger fueling her as she walked away from the spread. Whenever Fony would drag her and Foebe to crash senior parties, Felixity, would slip off to find the kitchen right away. Um, free food, yes! Always.

Maybe she should say something to one of their parents, she mused. Then, once she rounded the corner and saw Fonys’ father - Norman Gilles - in the family room, she changed her mind. Her gut screamed at her that she was not ready for any of this right now. It was not the time. Noticing the stairs were empty, she beelined for them. Skirting around people, dodging the occasional reaching hand, she managed to make it there without being stopped. Choosing quietness over stealth - almost everyone would have seen her anyway - she made her way up the stairs that she used to climb up all the time. Unexpected memories of sleepovers flooded over her, and she struggled to hold them in until she at least got to the top. Felixity stumbled a bit when she got to the door of Foebes’ bedroom, and couldn’t stop a sob from escaping her. But she managed to muffle it with a quiet gasp. Only when she gently closed the door behind her, did she allow the dam of tears to break. Still, consciously knowing there was the whole town downstairs - and the rooms weren’t soundproof - she rushed over to a pillow, and buried her face in it.

No doubt, this was going to happen. She hadn’t cried since she first heard the news. When her mom woke her up that one school night, Felixity did not react at all. It was as if her body had just flipped a switch, and everything about her had become numb. Even now, she wasn't sobbing like we're living waterfalls, and her entire world was being ripped apart. Granted, a few tears did leak out, but the screams. She needed to let the screams out.

No doubt, everyone would still be able to hear something from downstairs. But she tried, leaving the pillow on the mattress, hoping that would help some with the attempts of muffling. Only stopping because her throat was getting sore - not because she was done - she lifted her head. Once she did, she caught sight of herself in Foebes’ vanity mirror. That was something Felixity always chasted her friend for. Mirrors were always supposed to be facing a window, or at least cover it - especially at night.

It was not feng shui.

A mess with bad, black clown makeup stared back at her. Her hair was like the worst attempt of an old Farrah Fawcett, eyeliner and mascara she bothered to take the time and care on were ruined. And the sadness that reflected there in her eyes. It was empty, a blackened bottomless hole. It was pain, she realized. Have I given up on life? She sure as hell felt like it, when she dared to trust her legs enough to stand they nearly gave out on her. Forcing herself to continue moving, she tried her best to pretend she wasn’t invading one of her best friends’ only space in the world. She straightened the bedsheet and flipped the screaming pillow around, so her shameful tear stains would have time to dry off.

That’s when she noticed the diary. Without even thinking through what she was doing, she snagged it, tucking it in the inside pocket she custom sewed onto her grey pleather jacket she got from the thrift store in the next city over.

She even went so far to ruffle back the carpet where her footsteps had flattened it. Not even bothering to try fixing her makeup - not that she even had a spare kit on her. Nah, she just scrubbed at her cheekbones until the most obvious running marks were gone. Who was here that she was trying to impress anyway - at a funeral!

She couldn’t bear to cast even one more look around. The memories were getting to be overwhelming, flashing in front of her like a broken button on a slideshow. Many a sleepover was spent here, watching bad teen movies, eating way too many sweets and chips. Taking turns painting their nails mismatching colors, gossiping about the others in their classes. She had to get out. She lingered too long.

Closing the door behind her with a soft click, she sent up a silent thank you to whoever it was up there that no one seemed to follow her. Not only would that have been awkward, but also embarrassing.

Coming back down the stairs, was when she saw him for the first time.