Fan Fiction ❯ Finding Forever ❯ Part VIII ( Chapter 8 )

Despite the wound the girl had received, the shock of the suicide died down by the time I was learning Mozart on the piano which was about a week later. The day of graduation had arrived. Dad had made me eat yogurt for breakfast, even though I told him I wasn't hungry; the butterflies in my stomach disturbed the dairy I had consumed, but let it lie. I hadn't slept too well, thinking about graduation, and the truth was I knew it wasn't that big of a deal, but still for whatever reason I was anxious to get through it.

 

Finally I was dressed in a red cap and gown, one of our primary school colors, anxiously waiting at school, lined up like sardines in a can with all of the other seniors. All murmuring ceased as a hush fell over the crowded room. As we sat, waiting patiently, chattering quietly among ourselves, a student played at the piano as everything began. The valedictorian and salutatorian gave their speeches and life moved on. I had an odd sensation that something wasn't right, something that tugged at the pit of my stomach. I tried to place what it might be but nothing was coming to mind. I ran the procedure and conduct through my head, thinking if I had forgotten something. I couldn't think of a thing. I scanned the crowd, looking for my father. He said he'd be there, halfway up and center audience.

 

I didn't see him, but there were so many people, it would be easy to miss his face. The lines of seniors stood as the role was alphabetically called. I followed everyone in line, still wracking my brain to think what could be misplaced. They called my name. Still distracted, and suddenly frightened to be in front of so many people, I stumbled toward the man who held my diploma, grinning as he awaited to shake my hand. Unable to breathe, I managed a weak smile, forgetting which hand I shook with. After a quick decision and a quick switch I fell back into place. For a moment I was unsettled, not thinking about my previous predicament, until suddenly there was a huge round of applause, everyone standing. There were a few short words followed by a fifteen minute movie of the senior's year at school on a projector and I felt compressed, as if I didn't belong or couldn't take the heat.

 

With permission from a teacher I left a little early, slipping out quietly behind stage, taking a back door and making my way towards our car which was hidden somewhere in the parking lot. The day was cold, even though it was the end of May; the rain coming from a cold front had caused the temperatures to drop. The wind chill factor wasn't helping the situation any either. Filling sick and wondering if it was the yogurt I had for breakfast, still unsure of what had seemed wrong earlier, I found my way back to Dad's white pick up. I stopped short as I approached the bed. Horrified, mouth gaping, eyes wide and disbelieving, my stomach caught up to me. Choking and stumbling away, tearing my eyes off the unsightly scene, I found a thick of bushes not too far away. Getting sick, mostly with stomach acid, I allowed my mind to clear itself enough to take off my cap and gown, revealing the T-shirt and jeans I had come in.

 

Catching my breath, I pulled myself up making myself face what lay before me in the bed of Father's truck. Legs slightly bent to accommodate the fairly short bed, arms thrown out to either side, hands draped down, face to one side, mouth a bit ajar, black hair skewed and clothes disheveled lay my father. Barbed wire cut deep into his wrists, circling around his arms; it was twined from his ankles up his legs, leaving small spider bite sized marks, droplets of blood dried, leading up to tie around the barbed wire around his arms. The wire of death clung tightly to his skin, all four separate chords meeting at the upper portion of his stomach, just below his ribs, encircling the handles of a knife that had been wrenched in to the hilt. Blood was still lapping down his shirt. His eyes had been blindfolded with a red cloth tied in the back. Blood trickled from his lips. Tentatively I touched his hand. It was somewhat stiff and cool, his pale skin tinted a grayish color.

 

He jerked, a gasp emitted from his lips.

 

“D-d-dad?” I asked, trembling, just barely finding my voice. His body went rigid before he fell limp, completely relaxed as he had been before. A smile spread on his face, his mouth lined with crimson blood.

 

“Koji,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, “I'm so proud…….of….you.” He was still, the pool of blood he lay in rippling as a breeze blew, raking cold fingers through my hair, causing me to shiver. His last breath escaped his mouth as Father had bled to death. Bubbles of oxygen formed over his mouth in the blood, popping and speckling his face even more with red. I was shocked. Growing up with my father, although it wasn't the most thrilling experience, was the only family I really had and it came as a shock. Such a shock that I stood there until the students came flowing out. I knew they'd take time to chat and take pictures before they left, so, covering Dad with my gown, concealing what I could and keeping the fabric down with his still partially warm arms pinning the cloth, I decided to leave early. The red blood wasn't much darker than that of the gown.

 

Jumping in the vehicle and stolidly starting the engine, I drove off before anyone could notice. My cap was left behind in the brush.