The Forever of Ella and Micha

“What’s wrong?”
    I stare up at the graffiti on the street sign. “I did something you told me not to do… I confronted Micha about his drinking problem.”
    “And what happened?”
    “He said some… stuff.”
    She pauses. “What kind of stuff? Hurtful stuff?”
    “Lots of stuff. And yes, it hurts.” I press my hand to my aching heart as I hunch over. “Really bad.”
    “And what does the pain make you want to do?” she asks as a car drives by and splashes slush up from the street. “Ella, where are you?”
    “I’m standing on the corner of the street and all I want to do is run,” I admit. “I want to cry… I want to scream.”
    “So scream,” she encourages. “Go ahead. Let it all out.”
    “But I’m on the street.” I glance up the road at an older couple walking down the sidewalk. “And there are people around.”
    “So what?” she says. “Don’t worry about them. Just let it all out—let the worry and pain go. Don’t hold it in, Ella. We’ve talk about that.”
    Feeling like an idiot, I open my mouth and let out a quiet scream.
    “You can do better than that,” she insists. “Really scream, Ella.”
    Sucking in a deep breath, I give it all I got, letting it all out, and it echoes for miles.

    After I clear the congestion out of my chest, I walk down the road toward Cherry Hill where the cemetery is located, thinking about the people I’ve lost. My mom and Grady, both were taken out of my life way too early.
    A crisp layer of snow coats the tombstones and trees, the grass is buried, and icicles hang from the fence. Walking up to the leafless tree in front of my mother’s grave, my shoes fill with snow and my nose turns pink. I bend down and brush a bunch of snow from the top of her grave.
    I read out loud the words that are far too simple to sum her up. “Maralynn Daniels, loving mother and wife.” There was no mention of her struggle or how she got dealt a shitty hand at life.
    My thoughts drift back to a conversation she and I had when I was about fifteen. We were watching television, although she was dazing off a lot and not paying attention.
    “Why do you think I’m this way?” she asked abruptly with a contemplative look on her face.
    I turned the volume of the television down. “What do you mean, Mom?”
    She stared at the wall as if it had held the answers to life. “Why can’t I escape the dark thoughts, like everyone else? Why can’t I think the same as everyone?”
    I racked my brain for a good answer to give her. “I don’t think everyone thinks the same, Mom. Everyone’s different.”
    “Yeah, but why do some people get it easy?” She looked at me and her green eyes were huge, like she was hypnotized. “They just walk through life without problems.”
    I let out a slow breath, knowing my words were going to be important to her. “Everyone has their problems, Mom. It’s just that some people’s are harder.” I inched toward her and the fear in her eyes began to subside. “I think the people who go through more can end up stronger in the long run. They have insight in to what a lot of people don’t have and a better understanding—they can be more open-minded.”
    The corners of her mouth tipped upward and she gave me a rare smile. “You’re a smart girl, Ella May, and I believe that one day you’ll grow up to do great things… I really hope you do.”
    The knots in my stomach began to unwind. I’d said the right thing and she was relaxed and happy, which had been my goal. I thought I’d made an impact on her, but it turned out I was wrong.
    “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper to her grave. “I really am… Sometimes I feel like I owe you my happiness.”
    The wind rustles around me, whispering through my hair. I sit down in front of the tombstone and sit with her grave in silence, promising myself I’ll come back and visit often, vowing she won’t be forgotten.

    I don’t see Micha for the rest of the night. I sleep in the same room with Lila and then sneak out of the house before Micha wakes up from his drunken stupor. I’m not really mad at him anymore for drinking. What he said was true. We all do it to hide our pain and we all need to stop. But his harsh words still haunt me.
    Lila and I go out to my garage and I start up my dad’s Firebird so we can go get some lunch. My dad keeps a spare key under the visor, but the car’s been sitting for so long that it takes forever to start. Finally I get the engine to roar to life and