Numb

I wake up in a hospital I don’t recognize with no memory of how I got there. It’s not until later that I learn that there had been a car accident, and my father who had been driving drunk, was killed. Fortunately, I was in the back seat of the car at the time and only received some cuts and bruises. The hospital staff and my family hardly tell me what had happened and it takes a lot of pestering from my half brother Kivan, who has never been a big fan of our father, to tell me the details.

“He was driving well above the legal limit with you in the back. He swerved off the road, flipped the car, and hit a tree,” he tells me, sitting on the edge of my bed, speaking in the disapproving tone he uses whenever he talks about our father. “Thank god no one else was killed and you weren’t hurt badly.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding.

I study my half brother intently for a few minutes. I’ve been told a lot that I look so much like him and his identical twin Kieran, but I really can’t see how. They have brown hair. I’m blond. They have grey eyes. I have blue eyes. Like I said, I can’t see the resemblance at all. They’re only my half-brothers from our father’s first marriage. By some odd twist of fate, we’re the same age, though they’re a couple months older than me. I was the product of an affair between my parents that cost my father his first marriage to the twins’ mother. My mom died of typhoid when I was little, and I was left to rot in an orphanage because there was no way for them to track my father down. But the social workers worked hard and when I was twelve, they found him, so I reluctantly went to live with him, his new wife, and their family, which included the twins. It’s been four years since then, and I don’t think I’ve ever adjusted to my new family though I get along with everyone. Well, almost everyone.

--

I’m released from the hospital the next morning. Even though I’ve only received minor injuries from the accident, they still push me out to the car in a wheelchair. Standard hospital procedure, I’m told. The Suburban is waiting at the front driven by Sara. It’s forest green and only a couple years old. There’s a dent in the rear fender from when Kieran backed into the basketball pole in our driveway. The nurse expertly wheels me over to the car, which has its front door open and stop. A brake is applied and then she helps me to stand. I move the several inches from the wheelchair to the car without any problems. I reach out with my bandaged hand to take the door so I can slide into the front seat, but I feel a wave of pain and retract my hand. It looks like the pain wants to come back and bite me in the butt now.

“What was that sweetie?” the nurse asks.

“Nothing,” I reply, feeling my face grow warm. I have a nasty habit of voicing my thoughts out loud without realizing what I’m doing.

I use my other hand to get situated in the car, though it’s awkward for a few moments. Finally, I’m settled and the nurse closes the door. Kivan and Kieran get in the back with our four year-old half sister, Lily. We don’t speak as we drive home, each of us deep within our own thoughts.

When we reach our home on the outskirts of Ann Arbor, Sara stops the car and gets out. Kieran and Kivan do the same. Kieran comes around to my side of the car, opens the door, and helps me out and into the house. Kivan follows, then Sara carrying Lily. Kieran leads me to the couch and forces me to lay down even though there really isn’t a while lot wrong with me.

“I’m fine,” I insist when Kieran props me up with a pillow.

“You need to rest,” he chides. I groan, but I am feeling a little tired. I’m not sure why. I guess it’s the fact that I spent last night tossing and turning in my hospital bed trying to get comfortable because that bed was horrible. Slowly, I drift off.

I’m awakened by the sound of Sara talking on the phone.

“…yes Nick is home now. He’s doing a lot better than yesterday. He’s resting right now. He wasn’t really injured in the accident, thank god. It hasn’t hit me yet, I guess. I’m sure it will. It all seems so surreal right now.” She stops, listening to whoever’s on the other line. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Tom was his father, his only living relative besides the twins. I’m not sure if the twins will have to go back to their mother and if so, Nick will probably have to go with them. Poor dear.”

I close my eyes, not wanting to hear any more of it, but I can’t block out my stepmother’s words.

“He’s a bit shell-shocked but I don’t blame him at all. He can’t remember what happened, what Tom almost did to him. It’s sort of good, I guess.”
“Nick?” Kieran asks, suddenly coming into my view. I can no longer hear what Sara is saying on the phone. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” I reply. “There’s nothing wrong.”

--

My father’s wake is held a week later.

After school, Kieran, Kivan, and I come straight home to change from our school uniforms (white dress shirt with the school’s logo on it, black dress pants, a light blue tie, dark dress socks, and black dress shoes) into clothes more suitable for a wake, though I’m sure we could get away with our uniforms at the wake if we really wanted to. Sara, who has gotten off of work, comes into my bedroom carrying Lily, who is dressed in her nicest clothes. She’s already squirming. Poor girl.

“It’s time to go,” she says.

I nod and stand up. We drive to the funeral home in silence. I slip an emotionless mask over my face as I step into building, Kivan and Kieran beside me. The room the wake is being held in is small and square with several couches pushed up into a corner and, on the complete opposite side of the room, is an open coffin that bears my father. The room is decorated with lots and lots of flowers. Beside me, Kivan sneezes and then curses, his allergies already rearing their ugly head. I sigh softly and head over to one of the couches to fetch him a tissue. He glares at me as he takes it, but mumbles a thank you and blows his nose. The three of us sit on the couch that is facing the door so we don’t have to look at the coffin. The room is otherwise empty. Sara goes over to the coffin and I can hear her sniffling softly. After she’s done, she comes over to us with Lilly on her hip. Her olive green eyes are full of tears.

“Are you guys going to go and see him?” she asks.

I had already vowed to myself that I wasn’t going to go anywhere near a dead body, but I don’t want to sound rude.

“Um…maybe,” I say.

I can see Sara getting ready to respond to this, but I’m saved when people start arriving. She’s forced to put on a brave face and go meet them, but not before she deposits Lilly on my lap. I groan softly and grunt with the sudden weight on my lap. I shift her slightly to make it more comfortable to hold her.

The room fills with people. I see some faces I know and others I’ve never seen before. I can only assume they belong to my father’s side of the family. Meaning they won’t like seeing me here since I was the product of an affair that they highly disapproved of. Either that or they’re coworkers and friends of my father. I see some family members I’ve been introduced to, though they don’t seem to notice me. They’re pretending that they can’t see me. I don’t really care. I hand Kieran another tissue, who is having another sneeze attack from the pollen from the flowers.

Some of my friends are here and some of Kivan and Kieran’s friends are here. They come over and sit with us and we talk. I bounce Lily up and down to try and keep her occupied. People keep coming up to us and telling us how sorry they are for our loss. Kivan merely nods, his jaw clenched shut. He and our father never really saw eye-to-eye. It all seems like a dream.

I want to scream, “how can you be sorry for me? I’m not even sorry the old bastard is dead!”

I feel guilty for my thoughts, but on the other hand, I can’t pretend I feel sorry that he died. He got what he deserved.

After four agonizing hours, the wake is finally over and we’re allowed to leave. The actual funeral is held the next day at the local church. It’s during the day so Kivan, Kieran, and I are allowed to miss school. We arrive early, as expected. The coffin is out in what they called the narthex on display right next to the doors to the chapel. As we pass by it, I can’t help looking at it. It’s just…there. I maintain my distance, but I still look. He looks like he’s asleep but his skin, is a sickly grey color. He’s dressed in a nice suit and his hair has been combed, though I can’t understand why someone would want to touch a dead body, let alone go near it. His hands have been folded across his chest and he looks rather…peaceful. I shudder and turn away. We go into the chapel and, following my brothers and stepmother, sit in the first pew, right in front of the pastor’s pulpit. The service begins. It’s a lot like the regular church services I’ve been forced to attend since I became a member of the family. I’m able to stand most of the service, but when the pastor gets to the sermon, I get bored, like I usually do. I’m as fidgety as Lily, which earns me some glares from Sara.

“Behave yourself,” she whispers.

“Sorry.” I wince.

I can’t help it. I try and look at the pastor who is plowing on with her sermon, but my attention doesn’t stay there for very long. The pastor’s words are doing nothing for me. I know I’m supposed to feel sorry for my dad dying, but I don’t feel anything. I didn’t really know the man. We only lived together for four years and in that short period of time, he was only home for about six hours a night and he was usually drunk for four out of those six hours. I’m starting to remember what happened that night. He was drunk, as was his custom. The details are a little bit sketchy, but I know he got into an argument with Sara. Somehow, he got me into the car and drove off. And ended up rolling and hitting a tree. We were going somewhere, but I can’t remember where. I close my eyes, trying to think of where we were going.

“Nick!” Kieran hisses, poking me in the ribs. “Wake up!”

“I wasn’t sleeping! I was thinking!” I hiss back, opening my eyes. Kivan silences the two of us with a glare.

At long last, the service ends. The only thing left is the burial. We go in the Suburban following behind the hearse that holds the body. We’re given a special flag to stick on the car so it’s known that we’re part of a funeral procession. The procession doesn’t take very long and in a couple minutes we’re at the graveyard. We hold a brief service and people say their final farewell. I say nothing. The wind is starting to pick up as we leave the graveyard and the sky is clouding over.

Suddenly, I remember what has been evading me ever since the accident, the memory of where my father was trying to take me; the airport. He was so angry that he was going to take me away from my stepmother. She threatened to take him to court for abuse and I could testify against him. She finally stood up to him, and he ended up dead.

!