Chapter 27
It's been a week already, and Mémère is now being buried six feet down the ground. All of the relatives and I are wearing white. Tears don't well up in my eyes. I wish they do. I wish I could cry. But it feels like I've cried enough. And it also feels like tears are not enough. We are all silent; we're not speaking any words, our lips are tightly sealed.
Deep inside me I want to trudge my way there, yank my Mémère out of the polished brown coffin that she's lying in, and tell her to wake up and yell at me for being a stupid teenager. But she's not like that. Mémère was sweet and gentle and calm. She would talk to me, hug me tight, and tell me random things. She would tell me a random story until I forget my problem. Then after that, she would remind me of my problem or issue a
