Dancing In The Minefields-chapter 1

I stared at my reflection through a window, while the bright sun reflected on my face. The heat blistered my forehead as the tears began to well in my eyes. This was actually happening.

People were crowded in the church, all here to mourn my mother's death. Everybody dressed in the most gloomy clothing I'd ever seen. I wasn't seated next to anyone I had recognized; instead I was squeezed in between a pair of elderly ladies.

One of the ladies tapped my shoulder. "Are you her daughter?"

I stared up at her. "Yes," I choked out the dreaded words.

"My condolences, your mum was a lovely woman." I noticed she was wearing a rather large hat.

My lip quivered. "Thank you, miss."

The other lady turned to me. "Why are you seated so far away from them?" she made a gesture towards my relatives.

I shook my head and placed my fingers anxiously between my legs. "I haven't a clue."

I'd heard from my friends Arabella and Clementine, there was usually reserved seating, but yet my relatives were all scattered across the room. My aunts and uncles were a row across from me, then my grandparents were at the very front row; my father resided at the other side of the room. It was him who arranged the seating, and for an unknown reason he wanted me far away from everyone else.

I watched my father from across the room. His charcoal black hair appeared even darker this time. I searched for a sign of emotion in his face, but nothing showed except coldness.

A woman behind me scuffed, "She would never do that!"

"It's not exactly beyond her true nature, you don't remember what happened all those years ago?" the man responded. I heard whispers s on how my mom might of died throughout the room. Nobody knew how she died; but as her child, I was positive of a few things.

I can recall the night of her disappearance, it was only two weeks ago. She left late in the night, with barely any reason for doing so. I hadn't reacted because I thought it was a illusion, and I had no control over my actions. The next morning, my father searched desperately for her. Then a local boy found her body behind a bush at a local park and the police contacted my father. When he came home, he told me in a few simple words, "Your mother has died. Her body was found at a park this morning." I denied it and continued to believe I was dreaming, but today I was confronted with the awful reality. I was a motherless child.

The autopsy revealed little to nothing. Apparently, my mother slipped and her head slammed into a rock, causing a major concussion. Then due to how cold it was that night, she had a severe case of hypothermia. While it did explain why she died, it didn't explain why she left that or who she thought in her last moments. All the questions I longed to know, but no one could answer.

The priest stood up and brushed sweat off his cheek, "We have gathered her to mourn Alice Wesley Newbury's death. She is survived by her husband, Allen Newbury, her parents, Lennon Smith and and Ramona Smith. Siblings, John Ainsworth, Alex Smith, Libby Smith. Then her daughter, Jane Imogene Newbury."

When the priest said my name, everyone turned to me. My dad stared for awhile but didn't say anything. I wanted to swallow my pain and show them I was fine, but I couldn't. It was all too difficult. A tear spilled down my cheek and splattered onto my velveteen coat. I dug my nails into my cheeks and I opened my mouth for air, but instead, came a loud shriek.

My uncle John squeezed in between the two elderly ladies, and sat beside me, "It's alright, Jane." I like my uncle comforting me, but I wasn't fond of being called by my first name. I preferred my middle name, Imogene. Jane sounded like a girl who was social and feminine. But that wasn't me, however when something terrible happens you don't worry about those things.

I noticed Arabella and Clementine did attend the ceremony, along with their parents. They both waved at me and expressed empathetic glances; I offered a shy wave back. For the past weeks since my mum died, I hadn't't actually been talking to either of them very often, in fact I'd actually been rejecting all of their requests to spend time with me. I didn't like the idea of ignoring my friends, but in those weeks I hadn't done very much of anything.

After the ceremony was over, we began walking towards the cemetery. Only the immediate family was to attend the burial. As we walked, I watched children playing in the streets. The boys played with their model airplanes and the girls tended to their dolls. I was glad that not every child happened to be as miserable as I was today. My pace quickened allowing everyone else to dwell in my shadow.

"You mustn't walk so fast!" my father scolded. Those were the first few words he uttered to me today.

I whipped around. "Maybe you all should walk faster? It's not my fault you can't keep up!" I snapped.

My mood shifted from sadness to anger. I was angry because of my father's lack of emotional connection towards me. He's never been very loving, but I just hoped he would at least attempt to comfort me. I stomped my feet on ground with each step I took, not caring that the mud would leave a stain on my shoes. I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes until I could barely see.

I didn't want to be rude, but it was my impulses. Sometimes I struggle to control my thoughts and emotions, but it's better out than in.

My father's jaw bone clenched, and his fists tightened. He walked back to my uncle and they started a conversation, "People will always judge, but it was so many years ago!"

My Aunt Libby pushed her son, Gregory, in his perambulator. She gently caressed his cheeks with her fingers, and softly whispered down to him. I envied Gregory, for I knew I wouldn't be able to experience the same with my mum anymore. Even at thirteen, I still enjoyed her bedtime stories and how she would greet me as if she would never see me again. And one of those times, she wouldn't.

I was also scared, if my mum wasn't alive who would I be left with? I didn't have my father very much, although I do have friends and other relatives, I needed maternal support. Without a mother, who was I to go when I had issues only a female would understand?

After our immense walking trip, we arrived at the cemetery. I found a copy of my mother's obituary laying in the grass. I examined it, she looked so more content and at least a decade younger. Not similar to her last days, which seemed less pleasant. However she still clearly loved me.

The cemetery felt haunted. It was no surprise, due to all the dead people who were buried in its grounds. The grass was unmaintained, and there was no sight of a healthy tree in distance. We weren't the only people, there were plenty of families at the cemetery; the strange part was, not every family looked particularly sad. Some, were even happy.

I glanced down at puddle below my feet. My blond hair was unkempt since It hadn't been brushed that day; my blue eyes that were once lively and cheerful now looked pale and sad. I was quite thin, with knees that resembled knobs and sticks for arms.
 

I stood silently as everyone else talked, until my grandma came to me. "It's been a few months since we last saw each other, Imogene." I hugged her immediately.

"I've missed you!" I said.
"I see you are wearing the pearl necklace I gave you," she smiled.

I revealed my neck to her. "I never take it off."

It was obvious my grandma spoiled me and for the longest I was her only grandchild. Every week she would drop by my house, and deliver a gift of some sort. It was usually jewelry or a fancy dress. I never could quite figure out why, but my grandmother had a special liking for me. I suppose every grandmother loves their grandchild, but it was different with her. Somethings did change when my cousin Gregory was born, though.

"How is grandfather doing?" My gaze shifted towards him, and he happened to be at the other side of the cemetery chatting with my father. My grandpa was a kind lad, although he was barely lucid. I remember him being very intelligent at one point, but it was very long ago.

"He's devastated," she explained. "Alice was our first daughter and we loved her dearly."

Out of all the siblings, only my mum and aunt Libby married and had children; although aunt Alex was engaged to some shabby salesman in his forties. And well, my uncle John maintained "I'm married to my job".

"Grandma, if people who are dead can see their relatives down from heaven; what do you think mom would be thinking about me at this moment?" Her face softened and lips pressed together.

It's interesting to think of heaven. I've been told before you'd rather a loved one be in heaven than on Earth, if that's true than am I wrong for grieving? Should I actually be happy for my mum? I didn't know what to feel, and maybe I didn't care if I was being selfish or not.....

" Always remember your mother loved you more than anyone ever... and I'm sure she would be very proud of you."

"I know very well," I said.

Before they lowered her coffin into the shallow grave, we threw flowers in it. By the end, my aunts and grandmother were in tears; my uncle and grandfather did their best to remain composed. I didn't bother to look at my father. All I did was savor every image in my head, for it was the last time I would see my mother. Alive or dead.