I TELL GRAMMA. "Oh," She gasps.
You're happy, now? You wanted this to happen. You wanted her to--she pulls me into a tight squeeze emptying my thoughts with you're okay and everything's gonna be okay.
Last week, at the funeral, I took her favorite pictures and stick them into my mirror when I cleaned my room. Shit, how could she be so selfish? Why couldn't she just hold on? I pull up to the lot as rain splashes the windows of my car with Indie sitting next to me. She gives me my backpack saying, "Is everything...okay? I didn't see you at school and you're not yourself."
I don't answer I just get out and open her door. "Shit, I forgot my jacket." She covers herself with her arms around to shield her from getting wet from the rain.
"Here." I hand her an extra one I fight my trunk for.
"Thanks but I'm wet." Her frizzy hair is draped and so are her clothes.
"Sorry," I think.
"It's not your fault. You can't control the weather."
I just look at the ground wondering if I will ever be okay.