The Witches Cove: June 13, 1997

June 13, 1997

I wrote this in May of 2008. jcl.

I walk out of the funeral home and look towards the parking lot. Chad is still leaning on the back of his car. Several of our friends surround him with very morose looks of concern on their faces. I stop several yards away and look at him. Look at them. "He won't go inside" I hear one of them say. Well, I'm not going back in either.

I see her mom standing outside smoking her brains out. I wonder how she feels? Is she like every other mother who looses a daughter? Do all mother's grieve the same way? What about mean stupid drunk mothers? What about mothers who beat their daughters with brushes, and throw them down stairs, who punch them in the stomach, who call them ugly and stupid and worthless and a mistake? Yeah I wonder how her mother feels right now? I wonder how she grieves? I go over and put my arm around her. I squeeze her shoulder and say sorry as I look into her bloodshot eyes. I don't know if she deserves this mercy and I pray that I never see her again.

I'm in Chad's car with Chad and his pregnant fiance. We are following a car and a car is following us. The viewing is over but the sun is up late in June. I want to see the place, and others want to see it too. We follow Fran. She knows where it is, the little dirt road. A country concession with farms and fields. It's quiet and trees divide the fields. I try to concentrate on what we've been told.

-She was driving. She reached for her cigarettes. She hit the bridge.-

I look for a bridge, the kind with 2 great slabs of concrete erected on either side. I look for it. The car ahead of us slows down and pulls over beside a little stream. There is a line of trees about 50 yards away and the creek lazes its way out and through the field. It is dotted with blue and purple and yellow and white wild flowers. It burrows under the road and out the other side where it continues to flow with more flowers and more trees and there is the nicest breeze. Going over the creek is the road. There are 2 small concrete barriers 1.5 feet tall, maybe a foot thick. You might not of noticed but to trip over them.

This is wrong. This can't be it. Where are the big slabs of concrete? How could this of killed her? That's crazy. I don't believe it. I look at Fran and say..."What the fuck? Are you kidding? This can't be the place."

Chad takes my hand and crosses the road with me. On the other side we look down into the weeds and flowers and water and there are scraps of metal everywhere. Fiber glass, glass, paint chips everywhere. Debris left over from the cleanup.

"No way Chad. Look? She would of driven over and...? It's no more than going over a ditch. This isn't right? This didn't kill her?"

"Look Jen, there's her car. Thats all from her car".

I don't say anything. I let go of his hand and look up to notice an old man approaching.

"Did you know this girl?"
Someone says yes

"I called 911. I saw the car after it went in."

"She died right away, we were told" someone says

" No no. She was alive when I got to her. Tried to move. Talked a bit. She was in trouble."

I grab Frans hand and walk across the road. She needs to get this guy out of here. "Fran, get him out of here...now". She does...she tries. She asks him once. Then twice. She starts to get angry and Chad steps in and starts to lead him away. Fran and I sit down on the concrete curb at the side of the "bridge". We watch as Chad continues to walk with the old man and listen to his story...and then I cry.

10 minutes later the man is leaving. Chad comes over, kneels down and looks at my face. I'm fidgeting with my hands, playing with my fingers and I don't look up. He puts his hand on top of mine to stop me and finally I look at him.

"What do you want to know?"
"Nothing."
"Are you sure?"
"Chad, nothing."
"Ok."

I keep trying to play with my fingers. He takes both of my hands with both of his and starts to examine my fingers with me. He laughs at the terrible polish job I did on my nails the night before and he makes me smile. He brushes the hair out of my face and kisses my forehead. Then he kisses my horribly painted nails and smiles at me.

"We should go" he says
"I don't want to go" I say
"Come on...lets go to the car"

We turn the car around and we go. I watch out the back window and we drive away. The trees shrink and the stream is gone. I can't see the flowers. I don't see a bridge. What happened there is gone. I study the line of trees, afraid I'll forget this place. Afraid that I won't be able to find it again. I think of the old man. I hear him say she was alive. Did she see the trees? The flowers and the creek? Did she feel the breeze? Was she really alive? Chad knows. I'm afraid to ask.