Crossroads Page 2

  “I guess. I didn’t bother to find out. Why? Do you know him?”

  “No. I was just wondering,” I said. I let out a heavy sigh as I played the images of what Claudia’s accident would have looked like in my head.

  “I won’t be at church today. I’m scheduled to work all day. I can try to get out of work earlier.”

  “What? No…no. Don’t worry, Patty. I’ll be fine. Really, I’m fine,” I tried to convince her as well as myself.

  “Okay, but I’ll come by after work. You may think you’re fine, but I think you’re in shock. I’ll text you to let you know when I’m on my way.”

  “Sure, see you then,” I said wearily.

  Patty had started attending our church when we were both freshmen in high school. Her natural connection with people drew them to her, and instantly she became friends with everyone. She knew everybody and everything about them. I don’t remember how it happened, but we immediately became best friends. It was an inexplicable bond that happened to two people without really having a reason.

  Patty had delicate facial features, and her sweet voice was very pleasant, when she was not ear-piercing on the phone. Her tall slender body would make any girl envious, but that didn’t bother me. She was my good friend; someone who I knew would be there for me through thick and thin.

  After we hung up, all I could think of were “what if’s.” I just sat there, as stiff as a board, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Patty was right, I was in shock. You hear about things like this happening to other people, but situations like this never happen to someone you know. There was a quiet knock at my bedroom door.

  “Are you all right, Claudia?” my mom asked. “I got a lot of phone calls wondering if it was you.”

  “I’m fine, Mom, I’ll be right out,” I replied.

  That would explain why my mom’s phone was ringing like crazy. I could imagine there would be a great deal of confusion and concern since Claudia Emerson, homecoming queen and now a drunk-driving victim, had the same name as me. What were the odds of having a good friend who had the same first and last name? It was strange and uncomfortable at first, but I had gotten used to it, since we had been friends and schoolmates since third grade.

  There was another quiet tap on the door, and I heard Mom’s voice again. “We need to pick up Gamma, and we should get to church a bit earlier.”

  As she spoke, I opened the door. We were face to face. As I nodded to respond, I was struck by the beauty of her face. I guess I had never realized it before, but she didn’t look like she was in her late forties to me. In fact, she could probably have passed for my older sister. Her skin was as smooth as velvet, and there was not a wrinkle on her face. Her ebony hair reached just above her shoulders. At times I wondered what I would look like had I acquired her emerald green eyes. But instead, I inherited my father’s brown eyes. I didn’t know if I looked more like him than her, and I never would because we didn’t have a picture of him. My parents had eloped, and shortly after, she was pregnant. Tragically, he passed away in a freak car accident before I was born. I hardly asked about him anymore since I knew that I was dredging up painful memories. It was already hard enough being a single mom, especially one working long hours as a nurse. Through it all, she was never a woman of complaints.

  Fortunately for us, we had Gamma in our lives. Gamma was my grandmother’s best friend and also my godmother. I was just a toddler when my grandmother passed away, and Gamma filled the void by visiting frequently. She never got married, so we became her family. She was a great help to Mom and took care of me, especially when she had to work the late shifts. Gamma pampered me, which was the best part. But at the same time, she sheltered me, perhaps too much.

  Gamma and I sat in the back while Mom drove us to church. It was quiet in the car, and we hardly spoke a word, but Gamma held my hand the whole ride there as her way of comforting me. What was normally a short ride seemed twice as long as the anticipation of getting to the church settled in my stomach. Still feeling numb from Claudia’s death, I walked to where my friends were standing. We hugged to say hello, but this morning it was a different kind of hug. I understood the meaning of these hugs…they were “I’m glad to see you alive” hugs. One by one, they got the physical confirmation they needed that I was alive. Then we all stood in a circle in dead silence. I guess no one knew what to say or how to react around me. They knew how close Claudia and I had been.

  Receiving those hugs reminded me of how Claudia and I would hug every time we saw each other, with the exception of last week. I had seen her from a distance. We waved hello, but that was all. Claudia was missing a lot of church. She and I were starting to be more like acquaintances than friends. We had been best friends throughout junior high school, but our friendship drifted apart when we attended different high schools. It didn’t matter, though, because the fact that we shared the same name bonded us forever.

  As if having the exact first and last name wasn’t odd enough, we also had the same hairstyle, and were even the same height. The differences were that she knew everything about boys and fashion, was more outgoing, and less sheltered than me. My thoughts began to reflect back to the last time I saw her. Why didn’t I just go up to her and give her a hug? The more I thought about this, the more pain I felt deep in the pit of my stomach. Had I known that it was going to be the last hug, I surely would have held on tightly. Now it was too late, and there was nothing I could do.

  Without warning, I felt an arm around me. It was John, dressed in his usual T-shirt and jeans. I looked up at him and noticed that his hair looked two-toned under the sun, brown with lighter highlights. He gave me a half smile, and I could feel his uncertainty through his body language. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure whether his closeness was appropriate at this given time. After a few seconds, he finally spoke.

  “Hey, Claudia, are you okay?”

  “I think so. I’m not sure. I don’t know how I feel right now. It’s like a dream. Did it really happen?”

  “Yeah,” he said, as he tucked his hands into his pockets. I could tell he felt nervous because he changed the subject. “So where are we going for lunch?” He tried to sound cheerful.

  “I don’t feel like going today,” I said in a monotone as I stared into space.

  “Sure, I understand,” he agreed, though he sounded disappointed.

  There was an uncomfortable silence, which was unusual because John and I could talk about anything. None of us knew what to say as we stood next to each other. I was beginning to wonder how long we would just stand there when Marie broke the silence. “Come on, we’re gonna be late for Mass,” she said.

  Inside, I felt overwhelmed with guilt and shame. I stared at the cross. I wasn’t paying attention during Mass. In fact, I couldn’t even recall if I placed an envelope into the donation basket. All I could think about was how I would never see Claudia again. I vaguely heard Father Roy speaking about the tragedy of Claudia’s death, but all I could do was to dwell on the last hug I hadn’t given or received. The strangest part was that I couldn’t even cry. I felt no emotion. Wasn’t I supposed to cry when someone I cared about passed away? Why wasn’t I crying? I was always good at hiding my feelings, but this was impressive. Perhaps this numbness would carry over and get me through the funeral.

  Chapter 2

  It had been a week since my friend passed away. As much as I wanted her death to be just a dream, burying her was a reminder that it wasn’t. Dreadfully, I looked inside my closet to look for something appropriate to wear. There wasn’t much to choose from. My wardrobe consisted basically of jeans and T-shirts. Besides, it’s not like I would have a funeral outfit just hanging there. It’s something you don’t expect to prepare for at such a young age, especially for a friend’s funeral.

  After fruitless searching, I finally found black slacks and a black button-down blouse. I couldn’t remember when I bought these, but they were good enough. Maybe I should have gone out to buy something, but shopp
ing for clothes to wear to a funeral seemed too morbid.

  When we arrived at St. Thomas, Mom, Gamma, and I slowly walked down the aisle toward the front together. After we found a place to sit, I looked around. Looking out into an entire congregation of nothing but black attire overwhelmed me with sadness so I glanced upward. The sun’s rays captured each color so vividly, illuminating a dazzling brilliance of light. Every color of the spectrum could be seen throughout the church. At the front, one could clearly see Jesus on the wooden cross. The cross was enormous and hung directly over the altar, which was made of light gray marble and stood as the focal point. I was mesmerized by the colorful stained-glass windows, The Stations of the Cross to be more accurate, portraying the stages of Jesus’ life.

  This was a special church. This was where all of our adventures began: the retreats, gatherings, and lifelong bonding between friends. It didn’t matter if you were rich, poor, or had a different color skin. Anyone who attended St. Thomas found a way to make lasting friendships. I clearly remembered the first day Claudia and I became friends. It was an amusing moment for her and a dimwitted one for me. I smiled as I recalled the conversation that made us simultaneously laugh like silly schoolgirls. I had asked her what kind of jeans she was wearing because I thought they looked cute. She simply replied, “Guess.”

  So I did! I was a little bit scatterbrained since there were so many types of jeans, so I randomly picked a brand name. “Are they Gap?”

  She responded back with a smile, “No, Guess.”

  I really didn’t want to guess because I was not at all into that fashion stuff. Besides, I was a little annoyed that Claudia was finding this entertaining.

  “Claudia, could you just tell me? I don’t know too many brand names.”

  She replied, laughing hysterically, “You are so cute and naïve. Guess is a brand name.”

  I started laughing uncontrollably with her at this point; laughing at myself because all that time I thought she wanted me to “guess” the brand name of her jeans. That was all it took. Just like that, we became best friends.

  My attention shifted to below the altar, and that’s when I noticed a picture of my friend. It must have been her senior portrait. She was smiling, her hair flawless, and a look of contentment was on her face. This was the face I would never see again, one whose life was taken so abruptly by a drunk driver. Would I remember this face in years to come? How I wished that I could have exchanged some comforting words with her last week. I’m so sorry, I said to myself, as if she could hear me.

  At that moment, the shock of her death disappeared, and reality settled in. My friend was gone forever, and I would never see her again. Tears started flowing down my cheeks, one after another. I had no control now. No matter how much I tried to hold back the tears and no matter how many deep breaths I took, tears were streaming down my face.

  Stop crying. Stop crying, I commanded myself, but nothing seemed to work. I tried to fight back the tears, but that made the heartache heavier and more painful, as if I had been stabbed in my heart. The pain of her loss cut so deep, and I didn’t know how I could say good-bye. It was worse than anything I had ever endured. Would I ever forget this pain?

  What came next was a sight I had not prepared myself for—Claudia’s mom. To be in the presence of a grieving mother was heart wrenching. Watching her mourn the daughter she loved, knowing she would never see her graduate high school or college, fall in love and get married, or have a child of her own to love the way she so loved her Claudia, made me cringe and tremble. Looking at the father who would never walk his daughter down the aisle and the sister who no longer had a confidant broke my heart, and I began to sob. My tears were no longer just for Claudia, but for the family she had left behind.

  The pain had overtaken me, and I was gasping for air. My throat felt irritatingly dry, and my heart was beating too quickly for me to catch my breath. Just when I thought I was going to faint, I felt a warm body next to me. It was Patty. She had managed to slip in between Mom and me. As our eyes met, I saw her teary eyes. She simply took my hand and squeezed it to show me she was there for me. We didn’t need to exchange a single word. Her sole presence made me feel better, and having Gamma, Mom, and Patty next to me gave me comfort beyond words.

  After the funeral Mass, we all went to the burial site. Patty had to leave for work, so I stood next to Mom, Gamma, and my friends. I’d lost some of the comfort when Patty left, but I was thankful that she had even come at all. I knew she had come for one reason only, and that was to be there for me.

  Saying good-bye to someone you love is hard enough to do. Having to watch them being lowered into the ground into what is basically a glorified box is excruciatingly painful. I couldn’t say that I understood why some felt the need to witness this. A marker on the grass was all that was left of this dark and miserable day. Everyone was sobbing uncontrollably as we consoled each other. There was a brief moment of solace as we stood together united by grief, aching with agony. I didn’t want to say good-bye, but I had no choice. Her family had no choice. Life would have to go on, and somehow they would find a way to cope with their loss.

  Then I thought, if they had left for the dance just a little later or a little earlier, she would still be alive. I was raised through faith; believing in a higher power, knowing that all things happen for a reason beyond our control or ability to understand. Had they been at the wrong place at the wrong time? Or perhaps they were at the right place at the right time? I could only comfort myself by thinking that it was meant to be. It was her destiny to pass on to another world.

  With these thoughts, I looked up to see the most perfect blue sky with beautiful fluffy white clouds. How I wanted to touch them. Then suddenly, I saw a hint of the sun’s rays peeking out through the clouds. For a split second, it radiated down to where Claudia was buried, and then it was gone. Afterward, I saw the most vibrant butterflies fluttering around, disappearing almost as quickly as they had appeared. How odd. Had anyone else witnessed what I had just seen? I felt shivers running down my spine. I imagined her soul being carried away, the light acting as her guide. It was a beautiful sight in contrast to this sadness. In that instant, I knew Claudia’s soul had gone to a peaceful place.

  Claudia’s death and the funeral took a toll on my body for the next couple of days. It was still difficult to come to terms with the fact that she was really gone and that I would never see her again. Did she suffer? What were her last thoughts? As these thoughts ran through my mind I fell asleep, only to dream again.

  I was walking aimlessly and came across my elementary classroom. I hesitated to open the door, afraid to see what or who would appear in the classroom. Behind the door wasn’t a classroom, but remarkably the biggest church I had ever seen. The strangest part was that I couldn’t make out the back of the church. The rows of pews went as far as I could see, and there were no other doors.

  As I looked around, I saw many children, ranging in ages, laughing and having fun. Either they didn’t notice my presence, or they were simply ignoring me. Unexpectedly, I saw her from a distance, smiling at me. She motioned for me to come to her. I walked toward her, noting how her pale skin glistened from the sunlight that was projecting through the windows high above. How beautifully serene her face looked, like an angel, just the way I remembered it to be the last time I saw her. But Claudia was dead, and yet I could see her as plain as day. Was I dead too? This was the second time I questioned myself. How was this possible?

  “Claudia, is it really you?” I asked, uncertain of what was going on.

  “Yes, it’s really me, and it’s so good to see you. I wanted to see you one last time,” she said, smiling.

  As she placed her arms around me, I embraced her as tightly as I could. I don’t know how long we stood there, but I didn’t want to let her go. It felt as if I would be burying her all over again if I did. I was given this moment, and I knew that once we let go, she would disappear forever.

  She whispered into my
ear, “Good-bye, my friend.”

  Tears began gushing down my cheeks. She had known the burden I was carrying inside of me, how heavy my heart had been, not being able to give her that last hug before the accident. Please don’t leave, was all that I could make out in my mind. Let me hold on to this moment a little bit longer, please! But just like that, she was gone.

  I woke up bawling, with a tremendous ache in my chest. It was hard to open my eyes because the tears wouldn’t stop. My whole face felt swollen. I knew it was a dream, but the pain was real. I finally managed to control my sobs so I could try to remember the full details of my dream, but the only part I was able to remember with any clarity was giving Claudia that final hug. A hug so real, it lifted the heavy brick from my chest. I wiped the last tears away, and with that came the realization that Claudia’s hug had given me peace and comfort.

  For the next several days, I replayed the dream over and over again in my head. I wanted to hang on to the memories of her being happy, rather than the memories of her tragic death. Thoughts rambled through my mind: Does such a place exist? Was it just a dream? Or did she visit me in her spiritual form? I vaguely recalled a conversation I had overheard that said if a person who passed on appears in your dreams; they were visiting you in some spiritual way. It was their only way to get in touch without frightening their loved ones. I knew dying was inevitable, part of the circle of life, but the big question was, what happens when you die? Do you float out and away from your body? Do you see lights? Is someone waiting for you to guide you in the right direction?

  Some people believe in a place called Heaven, a home where your soul goes after life here on Earth ends. I often wondered what Heaven was like. Were our loved ones somewhere out there, looking down on us? What was the meaning of life, and did everyone feel the same way as me?

  Besides Heaven, I was also captivated by the uncertain existence of angels, glorious, mysterious and powerful beings. As a young girl, with many years of Sunday school behind me, I learned that angels may appear as guardians, messengers, or avengers. By their own free will they had been divided—good angels and bad. The bad angels had cut themselves off from their Creator, consumed by jealousy and a desire to be powerful like Him, superior above all else.