The Spies

It’s like someone died. Even my breathing breaks the dead silence filling the ominous room. The darkness suffocates me. It’s not just a dark room. I look around and and see empty expressions and sad eyes. Their clothes are all black. Like spies. They act like spies too, blending in with scarlet walls, barely whispering to each other. They exchange quick glances, avoiding eye contact for more than a second. It’s like they're all in on a secret mission. I’m trying to be a spy too, but I don’t know the mission. That makes me sad.

   I’m wearing my favorite pink dress. I feel out of place. I’ve been sitting on this cold chair trying to be a statue. Mom said not to move. I want to be invisible. It’s hard to be hidden when I’m the only one in the room who isn’t wearing a dark color. I only see gray and black colors. 

   I want to run and find my mom. Every time I think about getting up, I feel scared. I don’t want to be here. I don’t know what’s going on. It smells like dusty old carpet, dry coffee cake, and my dad when he comes home late at night. I feel like I’ve been sitting here, in the corner for hours. I asked a small, white old lady for the time, even though there was a clock on the wall. She didn’t hear me.    

   All of the ladies have little black rivers on their cheeks. Their eyes are red and I wonder why their faces are so dirty when they are dressed so nicely. They all look sad. The men are stiff and carry tissues in their fists. I can feel the sadness radiating off of their bodies, but I don't understand the source. Spies are supposed to be serious and brave. 

   I notice a small, grey paper on the floor with a picture of my dad on it. I pick it up and stare at the warmth coming from his familiar smile. It’s the same face I see when he picks me up from school, or when my mom makes him laugh. Where is dad? I pick my head up to search the crowd, and there is a boy standing in front of me. He has the orangest hair I have ever seen. He is wearing a red jacket and blue jeans. 

   “Hi,” he says, abruptly. Breaking silence. 

   “Hello,” I great him back, but in a whisper. I didn’t know loud talking was allowed in here. 

   “Come on,” he turns and walks away, twisting between the crowd of adults. Mom told me not to get up from my seat. But mom isn’t here now. 

I get up and follow him. 

I smell coffee. I've caught up to the boy with the orange hair. He walks close to the wall, establishing safety on at least one side. We have to squeeze around old ladies, and swerve around big men with large mustaches and medals on their shirts. Some of the men wear little hats, others don’t have any hair. I see some in suits like soldiers, and others in shirts that remind me of the principal at school. I see lots more papers with my dad on them. Everyone has one in their hand. I also notice lots of flowers around the room as we walk around. I look for my mom. I don’t want her to see me, but I want to know that she is okay. She hasn’t been okay lately. 

I first noticed my mom acting weird this morning when she wore her nice black shoes, and her only long, dark dress. She never wears black. Then she told me we were going to the church. But we don’t go to church. Mom doesn't believe in God. She made me dress on my own, and told me to get into the car, even though I hadn't brushed my teeth yet. Usually my mom tries to protect me. She is a good mom because of how much she looks out for me. But she isn’t like the other moms, who bring snacks to soccer games, and always have tissues and hand sanitizer. But my mom is better than all the other mom's at school because she is a hard worker. I see her at night, studying and flipping pages. I don't know what she is learning about. One day I hope to be as smart as my mom. But I haven’t been to school in a while, and I’ve never seen the boy with orange hair before. I don’t know what he’s doing here at the church. But I’m glad I’m not the only one. 

"Where are we going," I ask. I'm beginning to wonder if he even knows where we are going. 

"We are looking for a door outside," he says, seriously. 

Then a hand grabs my arm. Orange hair turns and walks away. I'm not a very good spy.

I turn around and look straight into my moms eyes. Her very lonely eyes. 

"Darling, what did I tell you? I don't have the patience to search the whole room every time I need to check on you. I can't have you walking around with me. We don't have time for games right now. Today is not the day. Come on, follow me. It's time. And keep your hands to yourself,"

"Yes, Ma'am," I murmur. I am speechless, and ashamed. My face feels warm, which is weird because my insides feel very cold. 

We navigate the crowd, me in my mother's shadow. She leads me to a big set of deep brown doors. 

I notice people beginning to follow, in little clusters. Any voices from earlier have completely disappeared. I can hear sniffling and coughs. Is everyone sick?

Through the door, the floor is a thick red carpet, and rows of seats face towards the front of the room. There are even more flowers in this room, and some of them even have ribbons, as if the color from the petals wasn't enough. Even the brightness and energy from the flowers isn't enough to lift the mood of these people. I am starting to feel it too. 

​There is a big box at the front of the room. It's brown as mud and smooth as my grandma's best pudding. We all file into the seats, and Mom and I got the best ones, right at the front of the room. We are the only ones in our row. I notice a small man in navy blue suit sitting down at the piano in the corner. He rolls up his sleeves, and takes a sip from a plastic water bottle. He begins to play. 

"Everything will be okay," Mom says, "Daddy's in a better place now,". 

What?

She grabs my hand and we stand, isolated in the front of the room. Everyone looks at us, as my mom guides me towards the box. 

Two big men come and lift the lid off the box. 

My dad is inside. Sleeping. His skin is white and he looks peaceful. 

But I know he isn't sleeping. I grip my moms hand hard, trying to tell her how sacred I feel, how confused. I tear my eyes from my daddy's dead body, and look at Mom. 

Her hand is covering her face, and she shivers. Tears roll down from her eyes. I want to reach up and wipe them, like she has done for me so many times before. But even if I did wipe them, I know they would keep coming. I wonder if she will ever start crying. I feel a cold drop on my cheek and I realize I am crying as well. Silent. Afraid. This wasn't the truth I was expecting to discover. I didn't want to be on this mission. 

Mom told me Dad was gone a few days ago. I didn't know where he went. then she told me I would get to see him one more tie. I had been excited to see my dad. But I didn't know this was what she meant. 

My mom has always been there to keep me strong. But my dad is the one who makes me happy. Made me happy. 

My dad is dead, lying in front of me. 

I'm in a room filled with people I don't know. 

I'm holding my mother's hand.  She has broken and I don’t know how to fix her. 

And then she's gone, and I'm all alone. 

I will forever be, alone. 

​