Enough to Miss Christmas

"She didn't know you guys weren't; like fooling around?"

"I guess, knowing us, she never even considered that a possibility. Even if we were, she trusted us. She'd seen us doing things that a stranger would think of as inappropriate but she knew our close relationship with each other."

"What kind of things?"

"We kissed a lot, and hugged all the time."

"On the lips?"

"Sure. We loved each other and were fearless in showing it. As we got older, we recognized other people would think us strange so we cooled it in public, but that didn't change our feelings for each other. My mother knew this."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"There's a lot about love that's difficult to understand."

"My turn," I said. "Describe the time after you mother died; her funeral."

"Do I have to?"

"Yup."

She didn't protest further. "It was yucky. A whole bunch of people I didn't know came and pretended how great my mom was and how sad they were for me. I kept getting dragged over to meet someone who was crying, and there were a thousand flowers. Her casket or coffin thing was in our big room, just under that painting of her over the fireplace." It shocked me to hear the wake was held at home.

"The top half of the coffin was open and everyone kept saying how beautiful and peaceful she looked but I didn't think so. She had on a white dress, with this high collar and I knew what her neck looked like underneath it. They kept saying how she went before her time.

"Someone took me up to the casket. They said I could kiss her good bye but I didn't want to. I don't remember much else except I kept trying to go outside. I had to vomit once. I wanted to be alone but someone kept finding me and dragging me back. Timmy had to stay upstairs."

While I was pleased Karen was releasing these horrible memories, I found them disturbing. I'd heard enough for now. I felt an urge to be as forthcoming.

"My turn," I said, stopping her. "Remember the question you asked me about sex and I told you I'd tell you later. Do you still want to know?"

"You don't have to tell me."

"Yes, I do. It doesn't qualify as a cop out. I just wanted to tell it correctly. I told you how old I was, didn't I?"

"You said you were seventeen. Why did you let him . . . do it to you?"

"I did it because I was mad and stupid; especially stupid. I was trying to get back at someone."