Chapter 4
I had to stop myself at random intervals of the day and remind myself that I hadn't known Archer Morales at all. I didn't know why I felt the way that I did, like there was this empty hole curling in my stomach, and it was starting to scare me.
Maybe I really was going to have to go see one of those shrinks.
I took the subway home after seventh hour visual arts class with my head tucked away in the clouds, my thoughts still swarming with everything that had happened. At the end of the day, the school's principal -Mrs. Jacksone- had read off an announcement over the intercom asking us all to bow our heads in silence for a few minutes out of respect for Archer Morales.
It had sickened me beyond belief to see that while the rest of my classmates had remained silent, the looks on their faces held anything but sorrow or remorse.
Mrs. Jacksone had also informed us over the intercom that Archer Morales funeral was going to be held at 7:00 this Thursday evening at St. Patrick's Cathedral downtown and that there would be no school on Friday. For a day of solitude and reverence, she'd said.
What I really wanted to do was scream at the top of my lungs and kick things and not go to a funeral, but that really wouldn't get me anywhere. I didn't even know Archer, but there was some part of me that just felt like I needed to go to his funeral.
And who knows? Maybe I'd find peace of mind or closure at the service.
Or maybe I was just going insane.
My mother was sitting at the dining room table with her hands folded tightly together in front of her, when I walked through the front door after four later that day.
I was home alone most of the time with only my kitten, Rollo, and the old lady, Mrs. Ellis, who lived across the hall from us and who my parents occasionally tipped to keep an eye on me.
Dropping my book bag down on the leather couch in the living room.
Hadley Jamison
What're you doing here?
Michaela Jamison
I heard about what happened.
Hadley Jamison
You... you mean about Archer Morales?
Mom nodded, not meeting my eye.
Michaela Jamison
I thought that you might want to talk about what happened.
It took all of my composure not to burst out laughing at her words and ask her if she'd been knocked upside the head recently.
Hadley Jamison
Thanks, but no thanks, Mom. I don't want to talk to anyone.
Michaela Jamison
Hadley, it's not safe to bottle up your emotions. What happened is very serious, and I don't want you to.. to...
Hadley Jamison
I'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're asking.
Michaela Jamison
All right, Hadley. If you say so. But I want you to see one of those psychologists at your school this week. If you're not going to talk to me, then you should at least talk to somebody else.
I stood up from the table and left the dining room, grabbing my things off the living room couch as I made my way towards my bedroom.
Hadley Jamison
Oh, and by the way, Mom. I'm going to the funeral on Thursday night.
Michaela Jamison
I figured you would.
I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me and tossed myself down onto my gigantic queen sized bed topped with freshly laundered sheets and comforters. My room was definitely my "me-place", even if the windows opened out over the bustling streets of New York City and it was sort of small and cluttered.
Comments