Being home in Tennessee is one of those bittersweet moments. I do feel like a huge weight has been lifted of my shoulders. When I’m here I don’t have to worry about the cameras following me around trying to get a good picture. We’re on my turf here, I can easily loose them. They don’t stand a chance in the woods of Millington. The police also do their job in this state and lock those assholes up rather quickly. They better hope the police find them first and it’s not some Grandpa sitting out on his porch with his shotgun looking for trespassers.

         However, I did meet Kelly here. This was our hideaway.  This is where we took Lemmie to play out in the field and no one bothered us. This is where we met, where we fell in love. We had our first kiss in my backyard under that maple tree. This is where Lemmie was born, and where we hid out for the first six months of her life so no pictures would get out.

         There are far too many fucking memories everywhere I go. I need to go to some distant land where I’ve never been before so I can get away from all the memories. I don’t want to get away from all the memories.  I just want to be able to remember them without having this fucking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know when it’s going to go away.

         I looked out the window as we drove to my parent’s house. Everything is so quiet here. I miss that. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here… except for a girl sobbing as she’s walking down the street with a car following closely behind her. That’s not normal.

         “You think she’s alright?” I asked softly. There’s a man following behind her and a lady driving the car. I would say that’s not normal, not that I’m exactly normal at the moment but maybe they shouldn’t be following her.

         “That’s her father, its fine sweetie,” my mother answered. I guess she knows them; it doesn’t seem fine that the girl is sobbing while she’s walking down the street, but I’ll have to trust my mother on that one.  I have enough problems of my own.

         When we pulled into the driveway it took me a minute before I was able to get out of the car. I’m really sick of this feeling, it’s like I can’t even breathe anymore. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before getting out of the car and walking down the street. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t even care, all I know is that I need to be alone. I don’t like sitting around talking with people. My mother says I need to talk about it, that’s bullshit. Everyone deals with shit their own way and this is mine. Deal with it.

         I walked to the liquor store and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels keeping my sunglasses on as I waited in the short line. They know who I am, they know my story but everyone is afraid to say anything. I’m just getting those looks, those looks of sympathy. They feel so bad for me, they wish there was a way they could make me feel better. Yeah, yeah, keep your fucking looks of sympathy to yourself. I don’t need anyone feeling bad for me.

         After grabbing the bottle I walked down the street a few feet on the grass so whoever is driving by won’t notice me and send me more of those damn looks of sympathy.  It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t make it so damn obvious. I can feel their eyes on me; they stop dead in their tracks and look at me, smiles sliding right off their faces. I don’t need that shit.

         I turned down Smith Street and saw the crying girl still walking down the street this time alone with the car following after her. I’m curious about what her deal is. I have a feeling we may have a lot in common. Instead of being right in front of her I decided to cross to the other side of the road. The people in the car looked at me then at each other, turning their gaze back with the damn sympathy looks. This girl is fucking sobbing as she’s walking down the street and her parents are giving me the sympathy look. That’s fucked up.

         OK, I’ve had enough. I’m staying off the street now and going through the woods. Maybe if I keep walking I can get away from everything. I stopped when I got to an opening; the same opening Kelly and I got married in. Our wedding was perfect, we didn’t have to worry about anything and to this day no pictures from our wedding have ever been released to the public. We had a small wedding, only our family and closest friends so we didn’t have to worry about any of that shit.

         I need to stop with the fucking memories. I wish I could think of something else, anything else, but it all goes back to them. I sat down on the ground and opened the bottle of Jack Daniels, throwing my head back as I took a long swig.

         “Hey man,” I heard the voice of my best friend Trace and looked up to see him sit down next to me.

         I nodded at him before turning my gaze back to the field in front of me. Trace and I have been friends since we were kids. He was my best man, and Lemmie’s godfather even though I never had much faith in him being the religious figure in her life. It’s more of a best friend thing, plus he would have done anything to be called The Godfather. The kid’s been with me through it all, he was there the day I met Kelly and the day Lemmie was born. He was the first one I saw when I got off that plane from Orlando after they died.

         “How are you doing?” I shrugged and held the bottle of Jack out for him to take a swig. He grabbed in from my hand and took a long swig before placing it back in my hand and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

         “Just like the old days, huh?” I replied weakly as I grabbed a smoke from his pack. Back when we were fourteen Trace was the one that stole a pack of cigarettes from his Gramps and we snuck out to this exact field to try them. I haven’t had another cigarette since but they’re supposed to help people deal with shit and I’ll take anything I can.

         “Yeah man,” Trace answered with a quick chuckle, “I got you covered. You beat me to it though,” he said as he held a bottle of Jack Daniels in the air.

         “You’ll have to hook me up once I get there. I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to stock up on the booze.”

         “Yeah, probably not. I’ll sneak some in for you.”

         “Just like the old days.”

         It seemed like days before I arrived at the doorstep of the bereavement center, or whatever it is that I’m at. I didn’t even try to get myself together as I stood on the porch unable to move any further. I made it this far, for the baby; I can make it the last few steps. I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder and placed my hand on my belly before walking in slowly.

         We were greeted by smiles, although I was unable to smile back. Instead, I stayed close to my father as we were led into a room at the end of a hallway with two single beds. There was a small window with white curtains and a view of a small field and the woods. I claimed the bed closest to the window and took a deep breath before sitting down. I looked at my mother, then my father, then back out the window. No one seems to know what’s going on and I’m having a hard time figuring out how this is supposed to make me feel better.

         “Well let’s see,” my mother said as she sat down at the desk and grabbed the packet of papers. I feel like I’m back in college, this whole place is set up like a dorm. Why are there desks? Are we going to get homework? “It says there’s a few counseling sessions each day, but you’ll have a lot of time to talk to other people going through what you’re going through.”

         “Really mom? I would love to meet the other people whose husband died because he was trying to swerve out of the way so she wouldn’t get hurt. Oh, and if I could find another one that’s pregnant with his baby then that’d be great.”

         “Sweetie, I know it’s hard…”

         “You don’t really know how hard it is,” I broke in. I’m so sick of everybody pretending they understand. They don’t. They just look at me with those damn looks of sympathy, like they’re so sorry for me and they know it’s hard. They don’t know shit, “But these people do, right? That’s why I’m here?”

         She didn’t have anything else to say. That’s the first time I’ve snapped at her, but I’m sick of her assuming she understands everything. I took a deep breath and fell back on the bed. All I want to do is go back to my house and lay in my bed. This is bullshit if anyone thinks this is supposed to help me. It hasn’t been that long; I think I still have a year or so before people are worried.  But then there’s this baby growing inside me. That’s a weird thing to get my mind around. I still don’t think it’s hit me yet.

         “Well…” my mother started talking again and I closed my eyes, “Why don’t we help you unpack?”

         “No, I’m fine. I’ll do it.” this is the most time I’ve been with people in a long time. I can’t handle it.

         “We’ll leave you alone and let you get settled,” my father spoke up. He’s always been the one that knows what I need. My mother’s always kind of pushy and in your face, but my father can tell I need space.

         “You can call us if you need anything. We’ll be back to visit in a few days.”

         You mean I can call? I feel like I’m in prison, I’m actually able to use a phone? “I’ll be fine.” Even though there is no doubt in my mind that I will not be fine, I still have this weird need to make my parents believe I’m not suffering as much as I am. I don’t know why. 

         Finally they left me alone and I fell back down on the bed. I dare not venture out to the common areas; I like it much better in this room by myself. Of they’re going to make me leave my room at home I’ll just stay in this room here.

         This place is like a fucking prison.  There are so many people here smiling. They can’t be the fucking patients, am I a patient? I don’t even know why the fuck I’m here. There is no possible way this is going to help me. No possible way.  The lady leading me to my room is fucking crazy. She keeps looking back at me and smiling. What does she think this is?

         “Here you go Mr. Timberlake, your private room.”

         I walked past her and into the room, throwing my bag on the desk. This place really is like a prison. There are two twin beds, two desks and two small dressers. I haven’t slept in a bed this small since I was seven. And this is supposed to make me feel better? I highly doubt that. I took a deep breath and fell on one of the beds, adjusting the hood that was covering my head so I could breathe. So this is what hell must be like.

         “What do I have to do?” I asked my mother even though I already know the answer, I don’t have to do anything.  I know there’s some kind of group therapy session as well as the one on one bullshit that I’ve been doing for the past five months. My mother read through the papers and explained everything to me, at least I assume that’s what she’s doing I’m not really listening. I’m just going to lay here and pretend I’m trying so she can sleep at night. I will be locking myself in this room for at least the majority of my time here. I do know that for a fact.

 Maybe I can just pretend I’m cured so I can go back home to my house that still smells like my girls. What if it doesn’t smell like them anymore when I get back? What if everything is so different I don’t even recognize it? What if I forget their smell all together? I can’t have that. I can’t even fucking think about that.

“Justin?” my mother’s soft voice spoke and I looked up to see her standing over me, “I’m going to get going. There’s a get to know everyone dinner in about an hour. I really think you should go.”

“Yeah Ma, I’ll go.” I’m definitely not going to a fucking get to know you dinner. I’m also not going to the ice cream social or the fucking Rocking Bowl craziness that is tomorrow night. I’m here, that’s about as much as they’re going to get.

“It would be good for you to leave this room Justin, it’s better to get your mind off everything.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Does she really think going to a fucking get to know you dinner will get the death of my wife and daughter off my mind? “At least try sweetie, it won’t hurt to try. You’ll see there’s a lot of other people going through similar situations, and together you’ll get through it.”

Now my mother is writing fucking Hallmark cards. “I’m fine Ma, I’ll go.”

“Well alright. They said no visitors tomorrow, but I’ll come by the next day. You can call me if you need anything, alright sweetie?”

“I can call? They’re not going to take my phone away?” this is prison, isn’t it?

“Of course not sweetie. Take care; try to make the most out of this situation sweetie. I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Bye Ma.” I opened my eyes realizing how worried she really is and stood up to give her a hug. “I’ll be fine Ma, don’t worry.”

She nodded her head and I watched as a single tear fell down her face. And now even my mother is doing it, she’s giving me that goddamn look of sympathy.