Words are so little, to little, too late

My words are so little, too little, too late.
Written By: Sara Fiorentino



“Five out of 10 kids involved in gang fights die of being shot, stabbed, or choked
Don’t let your kid or your self fall into gangs, or gang fights”

The drenching rain, I can still hear the faint sound of the drops hitting the ground and barely feel the wetness of the transparent drops. My eyes widely open and my heart has sunken low. The salty tears that I cried mixed with the rain and rolled slowly down the side of my pale face. I could hardly keep my sorrow and anger down as a black and white merchandise drove away down the black tar street with my now destroyed future in the back on a damp leather seat. Now, he’s just a clear memory that I have to hold and cherish for the rest of my uncertain life. More than anything at the dark moment in time I wanted to run, run after the car, run away, run for pain, love and him. What had I done so wrong to have him taken away just like that? Faster then a bullet entering my heart, One slight move? BANG! He’s gone. With such fragile feelings stirring inside my distraught mind, I could hardly think as my legs weekend at the knees and I fell to the ground vastly and not having time to catch myself. My skin scraped away and left the pavement slightly hinted with red watered blood as I slid a little with my body falling to the wet pavement. My eyes watered more as flashbacks played in my mind like old black and white films, and silent flicks, Happy smiles, Longing kisses, warm nights in his loving and caring arms, all lost in one loud but muffled shot. One shot that was so unforeseen, so unexpected that I had not a chance to say good bye and let him know, that I love him more than the words I can speak in a life time. At the pull of the trigger and the bang of the gun powder, one silver magnum bullet ended it all, who will be blamed?

The next morning came fast as I woke to the buzz of white noise on my alarm clock because the radio channel had not been set the night before. My mother was down stairs, humming a happy tune and was as cheerful as can be. To her it was nothing but a casualty to some stranger that she has no acknowledge of, she had no comprehension of the relationship I held for so long with him. My feet dragged tenderly along the soft, off white carpet, as I strolled painfully down the not so steep stairs; the large tan band aids on my bending knees flexed corruptively but still kept a stiff place. The flinching in feet made it hard to walk at a normal pace. “Why the long face?” was the first thing I heard when I reached the dinning room, My mothers question lingered in the air as she set the table for breakfast that she had been cooking since 8 am this morning. Two places were set, seeing as my father wasn’t home yet from a drunken fest of the night with his druggy and destructive friends. I averted my eyes to my happy mother showing a gleare of sadness and sorrow, but yet I held back the urge to break down and cry to my mother and let her hold me like she did when I was a child, telling me everything was ok, but those times were long gone and lost in the confusion and lack of communication between my mother and me.

“Nothing to your concern.” I muttered quickly in a soft voice while grabbing a small glass of cold water and chugging it down swiftly into my sore throat, the coldness sting my vocals and left a burning sensation that lingered for a moment. They were already hurting from bellowing and fighting last night while my life fell apart right before my deep blue eyes.

“I’m your mother; don’t talk to me like that!” She yelled rising her voice to extremes while moving her hand above her head along with her hand she held a brown tattered wooden spoon, it was wet from the boiling water that she was making for tea. At this moment in time she would wait in suspense to see my next uncivil move. If I said the wrong thing or even said something with the wrong tone, that old wet wooded spoon would be brought violently to my colorless face.

“If you were my mother you would not do such things as hitting me.” My words weren’t the smartest things to tell someone with more then a urge to beat me with a tool that could easily break skin, but my mind was to junked up with sad thoughts and a movie like setting that only played one scene over and over again, to my unfortunate intellect it was a scene that looked to be from a gang movie, blood was spilled, and instead of a knife it was one silver gun, the reason behind the shot was only a simple misunderstanding.

“One more word from you and you’ll be locked in that disturbed place called your room!” My mothers words held such a harsh and cold tone, sometimes I wonder to myself if she is still the same loving person that almost died during my painful and long birth, if she is still the women that raised me till the bright age of twelve, since I reached that age my life has gone to burning hell along with my real father, now I am stuck with a stranger I am forced to call my mother and a step father with only hurtful things to say.
After my mother was done threatening to lock me away in my messy and destroyed room, then to take away all of the things that gave me slight happiness and mindless enjoyment, I walked quickly to my room and slammed my door as loud as I could, so she would know that I was gone out of sight. As I paced my room trying not to cry, I gave in and fell to my unmade bed and wrapped my head in one of my feather white pillows.

The next long week passed slowly, it consisted of rubbing my red and bruised check where my mother smacked me violently, leaving small splinters along my jaw line, avoiding her at any cost and drying my emotional face of salty and long tears upon every noise that crept in from my door. If my mother was to find me crying and bawling she would strike again telling me not to be so weak and to, ‘Be a man’. The clock moved slower and slower as it reached the destined time that I should be getting ready for the long awaited funeral, I was hesitant on going, seeing as his family only knows me as a good friend to him and nothing more, so I would have to hold be my urge to tell his mother about our two year interment relationship. As I walked, I dragging my head and my feet, to my dark and cluttered closer, slowly pulled out a stunning white flannel shirt, black faded jeans and a long black trench coat like jacket. It was not the most formal wear or even close to something that would normally be worn to such an occasion, but my mood was low and heavy, I wasn’t up to wearing something in the form of a black and white suit. My eyes felt dry and my body felt as cold as ice, as I dragged myself to the front door without telling my mother of my whereabouts or when I was to return home, even more depressed then I was before I left the house

I walked alone my pace was seldom, as I passed empty gray streets and fast pacing cars my mind was briquette by the song blaring from my Ipod. It was a soft song, one with a slow sad tune, one with words that made you feel not so empty; the lyrics just graced your emotions and took off the first layer of sadness. My feet dragged along the sidewalk, the band aids now were not so stiff and made it easier to walk.

The graveyard was full of people, cars, flowers, tears, and emotions. I was added to it all, added to the pile of sorrow. It was as if I was part of the grieving family. At first I stood still and stayed about 6 feet away from the rest of the people, bounding the distance between me and the black shining casket. My feet wouldn’t budge as I saw the tip of his face sticking out slightly from the casket sides. Tears flooded my eyes quickly as I walked closer. People started to leave tissues in hand, as it was all over for them; they were to return home and grieve to themselves in private. I walked over to the minister that was dress in black as well as everyone else, the white of his collar contrasted with the dull surroundings. I whispered something softly in his ear and everyone was gone in a flash and now looked to be way in the background. I stood in the foreground, looking down upon the pail faced boy that I once loved, hugged, laughed with and held. Tears filled my eyes once more, and for the last time, I moved his dark brown hair to the way he would want it, messy and in his face, not combed over and proper like the way the morgue had prepared his body. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly ajar. The holes in his lip empty and his teeth white as can be. The clothes were not like him, but what could I do. I closed my eyes and leaned in and gave a small soft and loving kiss upon his forehead.

“I’ll love you always and forever, you never gone but always in my heart,” I said still leaning over his body, “Ill miss you more then you know” I whispered one last time before I waved the grave workers that I was finished with what I was doing, they walked over to where I was standing quickly and finished up what they had started, as they placed the casket into the empty hole, I looked down as the top of was still open right before they closed it, I dropped a small folded note into the casket, it landed on his chest.  I paced my steps backwards slowly, my eyes were watery and my heart was still low, as I begun my walk home. Me feet dragged once more as I walked the gray sidewalk, I thought back to the good times I had with him and thought of how much he would of loved to read that note, but my words were so little, too little, and too late.