Your Mother's Visage Ch. 01

Chapter 1: The Funeral

I hadn't been back to my hometown since I left for college eight years ago. Let's just say, the people were not the kindest to those who were different or stood out. Whether it be goth kids or drug addicts, the general population frowned upon deviants. That included sexual ones. Needless to say, a feminine "boy" growing up here was also frowned upon. So, as soon as I received my acceptance letter to the state university, I saw my opportunity and ran.

Yet here I was, back at my old, little town. I ended up back here due to a major tragedy. My mother passed away suddenly in a car accident. I heard about it a few weeks ago and flew in as quickly as I could. I was absolutely distraught and had to calm myself on the flight over, but even nearly a month later, I'm still in shambles. Our relationship was... tumultuous. She, like most people here, disliked differences. Although I was her only child, she treated me poorly, to be blunt. Once, she caught me trying on her makeup and spanked me one-hundred times. Another instance, the principal of my high school caught me kissing my boyfriend and told my mother. She grounded me until I promised we would break up. Promised is giving her too much credit. She told us that if we were caught by the principal even hanging out together, she would personally unenroll me and I would have to transfer schools.

Like I said, tumultuous. However, there were good parts to her too. For one, she always gave money to the homeless. She taught me that we ought not judge those less fortunate than us because we don't know how they got into that situation in the first place. She was also a lot of fun. Although she followed the rules and was quiet by ten, she enjoyed having a drink or two while binging on some reality show drivel. Sometimes, we would stay up on weekends and watch them together. Occasionally, she would pour me a glass of wine. It was perfectly legal in our state for a parent to give their child alcohol above a certain age, so she thought it was fine. We would laugh and joke about how contrived the scenarios were and how dumb the contestants looked fumbling around. She was fun, and I miss her so very much.

So here I am, doing my best not to cry at her closed casket funeral. There are a couple dozen or so guests, close friends, neighbors, co-workers I vaguely recognize. We didn't have much of a family, as I said I was her only child. She too, was an only child and both her parents passed away when I was still in college. My father, her ex-husband, left when I was still in elementary school. She never explained to me why, but I always blamed myself. I didn't have any justification for it besides my mother treating me more poorly after he left, but I still felt that way regardless. Ever since then, we have been alone. The people in town used to give us looks, but when my mother explained that he had left them and that he was a scumbag, they eased up on us.

A recent photo of my mother was set on her casket. My mother wasn't old, in her early fifties but certainly didn't look it. She kept a daily skin routine, because "a lady's worth has as much to do with her appearance as her skills" she once told me. Regardless, she was still young when she passed. I stood near the back of the room. I didn't want any attention drawn onto me, not that anyone here would recognize me anyway. I don't exactly look like I did back in high school. As I focused at the front of the room, I couldn't help but notice a man in the corner of my sight walk in a little after the ceremony had started. My mother wasn't very religious, but I knew this would be how she would want to be celebrated. The priest began talking when the man stumbled in. I tried not to turn my head to look, but the distraction was enough to get a slight turn of my eyes. Short, messy brass hair. It was straight, but thick, and almost matted as if he had just woken up and didn't get a chance to brush it. He was taller than me. I'm five foot four, and he looked to be five ten to six foot. He was a little larger too, I would guess over two-hundred but under two-fifty. I wasn't tiny myself, weighing one-fifty to one-sixty, but to me, he was towering and nearly twice my size. I was thrown aback as most of the guests were slightly older folk, and folk I recognized, even if just barely. However, here came a strange looking man in his tan jacket and white shirt, on his own no less. Although curious, I redirected my attention back to the priest. After what felt like hours of sermons, we moved onto the procession. The pallbearers consisted of a couple of the husbands of her co-workers and a few of her neighbors. To my lack of surprise, the mystery man was not among them. I again stayed slightly to the back of the crowd, gazing aimlessly forward toward the casket. All of a sudden, I heard some ruckus slightly ahead of me. I turn to look only to see the culprit being exactly who I had lost. Mystery man was caught lighting a cigarette and an older gentleman began berating him over it.

"Don't you know it's impolite to smoke at a funeral, let alone in front of your elders, young man?"

"Look, I'll put it out. Sorry if it bothered you. By the way, I'm not that much younger than yourself, you geezer."

As I watched the minor conflict unfold, the "young man" noticed my gaze and quickly flickered his eyes in my direction. His expression just as quickly transformed from a disgruntled look at the old man to wide-eyed shock, as if he had just seen a ghost. I must have blushed at that moment, because my face felt warm, realizing he had seen me staring. I hated when attention was brought to me.

"Excuse me," I heard him say as he waved away the gentleman and skipped toward me two short steps. "Hi..." he whispered next to me.

"Good morning," I replied swiftly as I turned my head forward, facing the casket.

"Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize to me, I wasn't bothered by it."

"Oh, that's good." He began looking forward himself, now walking right next to me. "It looks like we're the odd ones out."

"What do you mean by that?" I said a bit harshly. The trauma my mother inflicted upon me burst out briefly.

"Oh, nothing. I just meant, everyone else seems to be paired up. But you, you're standing by yourself."

I didn't respond.

"Look, I didn't mean anything by it. At least, I didn't mean anything negative."

"It's okay."

We continued walking in silence until we reached the burial site. After a few more words from the priest, the casket was lowered and the ceremony had ended. I stuck around for a while as the small crowd dwindled. I was deep in thought when I heard someone walking towards me. I didn't turn around, as I had half expected whom it may be. He stopped to the left of me. We stood quietly for an extended moment before he spoke.

"Did you know her well?" he asked.

"You could say that," I replied with a sassy tone.

"Oh, may I ask how you knew her?"

I let out an exhausted sigh. "She was my mother."

A pause. I turned to look at him and he was already deep into a stare.

"Oh, she never mentioned she had a daughter..."

"No?" Of course she wouldn't have. For all she knew, she didn't have one. While we did see each other on rare occasions--she would sometimes come up to see me in school--I was never planning on telling her...

"No! This is a huge shock to me!"

"Well, knowing mother, it isn't a shock to me."

"I never would have guessed she was a mother."

"And who are you anyway? Who are you to my mom?"

"Me? Well, maybe that'd be inappropriate to share," he turned his face away from me, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh," I replied under my breath. I knew my mother was pretty, so I can't be shocked she had her share of fun while I was gone, but I didn't expect someone like him.

"Yeah. We weren't official or anything, so I doubt anyone here knows me aside from maybe a couple of the neighbors. Even then, I would usually come by at night and..."

"Okay, okay, I get it! No need to gross me out with the details."

He laughed, "Sorry about that. But again, I'm shocked she never mentioned you. We weren't officially together, but I've been around for a few years."

"A few years? And my mother never spoke once of him? Figures," I thought to myself. "Yeah, mom and I didn't get along too well." I began walking, not towards the parking lot, but on the path we were already on in the cemetary. He didn't immediately follow, but in one fell stride, he caught up.

"That's a shame. She was a very nice lady."

I scoffed.

"What? She was!" he protested.

"I think between the two of us, I would know her better," I challenged.

"Well, however you think of her, I don't think she'd appreciate being talked down to at her own grave," he spoke gently.

"Yeah, you're right," I whispered back.

"You know, when I first saw you looking at me earlier, I had a feeling you looked familiar."

"Yeah? Well, when I first saw you I thought, 'who's this douchebag walking in late?'"

He chuckled slightly. "Hey now, I had a long night drinking trying to prepare myself for today. I woke up late and rushed over as quickly as I could."

"No wonder you smell like sweat and alcohol," I joked.

"You're a mean one, aren't you? Your mother definitely didn't raise you right," he joked back.

"You're telling me."

We both laughed. After a brief moment of silence, he asked, "So, you really didn't like your own mother?"

"I did. It's complicated, and while you may have been close to her, I don't really know you," I replied, turning to get a good look at him. This was the first time I really looked at him straight on. He had some wrinkles around his face, but not excessive. He wore a five-o'-clock shadow, which checked out with his story. His hair was darker than it previously appeared in the chapel under all the candlelight. It glistened in the setting sun a deep reddish brown, like candied pecans. His chin was wide and angled to a squared end, as opposed to pointed. His eyes were difficult to see behind the shadow, but they were dark. His hair, still matted, was full. A slightly receding hairline aged him, but with that trait being common even in men in their twenties, it didn't age him much.

"H-how old are you?" I blurted out, randomly changing the subject.

Taken aback, his eyes widened and he turned away again to blush. Already, I noticed a trend that I could only describe as adorable.

"Well, h-how old do you think I am?" he muttered quietly.

"Well, mom was 52, and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you're into

cougars, so... 35!" I exclaimed enthusiastically.

He laughed an audible laugh, almost mockingly at my guess. "Thanks for that little lady, but you're not completely out of the ballpark. I'm 44."

"Oh jeez, nearly a decade younger. My mom knew how to pull!" I joked. Again, he began to get red in the face, but instead of turning away, he looked straight at me. My face turned red as I thought about how what I said could have been misconstrued. I mean, he wasn't bad looking. Honestly, he was pretty handsome, in the way a dad is handsome. He looked friendly, and kind. He even had a thick mustache that was a darker brown than his other hair, a style worn most notably by fathers. He was a little chubbier--probably from all the alcohol they probably drank together--but not in a beer belly kind of way. His shirt fit tight around him that revealed a flat stomach, albeit with weight to his build. And his legs! He had a lower body that matched his upper, thick and I could only assume full of muscle. His tight, straight cut denims were evidence enough.

"Well, your mother was a beautiful woman herself. And it's not that she looked young for her age, although she did. It's that she had very beautiful features, so no matter how old she would get..." he paused, then quickly turned his face away. Thinking about how my mother will never get to grow older, that she will forever be in our image as a beautiful woman, made my stomach tie into a knot. We stopped walking. We stayed silent for a few minutes before he said, "We should probably start heading back."

I agreed and we turned back around. We didn't talk on the way back to our cars, except when we arrived. The lot was entirely empty aside from our two cars and a few hearses. There he said, "My name is Andrew, but your mom called me Drew and my friends call me Andy."

"My name is Luna."

"Like the moon!"

"Ha! Yes, like the moon."

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Luna."

"And you as well, Andy. Despite the dreary circumstance."

"I was thinking... one second," he opened his car door and fumbled through the glove compartment, "you could," he had a pen in hand and began scribbling something onto a piece of scratch paper he tore off of what looked to be old mail, "text me at this number if you ever wanted to talk. You know, about your mother. You knew her for the last... sorry, how old are you?"

"26, but you shouldn't ask a lady her age."

"Sorry! But what I am trying to say is, we both knew your mom... intimately."

"Gross!" I interjected.

He cleared his throat and whispered, "Sorry."

I rolled my eyes, but secretly, butterflies filled my stomach. Fear? Excitement? A lot of both. "Sure, I'll take your number, old man," I teased.

"Watch it now, your mom and I never married."

"What's that supposed to imply?" I winked at him as I got into my car. A smile came on his face and although he was prone to getting red in the face, this time, it was just an honest smile. He really did look like a dad, and that comment about him marrying my mom threw me off focus as I sat in the car waiting for him to leave.

He's so handsome, but he was in a relationship with my mother when she passed. I would just text him, maybe get some food and talk about mom. It's nothing serious. But what if he gets

curious? He might ask why she never told him about me. What if she did mention having a kid?

Except, it wasn't a daughter...