I've Lost the Power to Feel

Maya comes home in about an hour, looking satisfied and slightly sweaty. I'm really not looking forward to seeing the damage she's inflicted.

My dad's funeral is on Friday; that's today. This morning I feel nothing; I am in a cloud, a dark one to be sure, but a cloud nonetheless. Cotton balls fill the space in my head where my brain should be. I move like a robot, all movements done without thought or care. Maya isn't as dead to the world as I am, however. She may be able to function after incidents like this, but that doesn't mean she doesn't care, in fact, quite the opposite. She is crying, I am not. I hear her sob as I put on modest copper eye shadow and foundation with gobs of concealer to help hide the dark bags under my eyes.

After awhile, pain oozes into my body, slowly filling me with choking sadness. My joints feel stiff, my head hurts, and it's almost as if someone has taken my heart and has shattered it with a jackhammer. Still, no tears make it to my eyes. Not as the pastor speaks, not as the casket is lowered six feet under, not even as Ashton played a heart-wrenching song called Dear God by Avenged Sevenfold on his acoustic guitar, as my father had requested many years before. The fact that the two men I have lost are in the same room is agonizing. I can't bear to look at my dad's casket, but Ashton looks positively miserable. He has cuts and welts all over his tattooed arms and face; I can see them faintly through the concealer he had applied. My mom took one look at him when he came and handed him hers without a word. I told Mom about what Ashton did a day after I caught him in the act. My mom is gracious, but she knows when wrong has been done. Ashton has attempted to hide a nice black eye behind his long hair as he continues to look at me like a wounded puppy throughout the service. I ignore him.

The rest is dreamlike, but the bad kind of dream, like the one just before a nightmare. Silver mist crawls over the tombstones at the cemetery; rolling over the coffin and the white rose I have placed upon it. White roses had always been his favorite. With gold rays of sunlight just beginning to peek through the trees, I think of how my dad would think this is the perfect picture. I simply see it as a prison: golden bars with a lock of death.
-------------------------------------------

After many lengthy discussions with Maya, we together make a huge decision: it is time for both of us to make a huge change. My entire life has been spent in Minnesota, and now there's nothing for me here. Mom and Dad planned to move somewhere else, somewhere warmer, once me and Vic were in college, but they never ended up making the move. Now my mom is moving down to Florida with my grandparents and sister. There is nothing left here for me.
Not having a clear idea of our destination, Maya and I begin to pack all of our belongings into giant cardboard boxes. I have put in my two weeks at the bar and Maya hers at IKEA. We don't know where we will go, but for now, it sounds like we'll wander until we find somewhere that tickles our fancy.

During this period, we take breaks to consume alcohol and ice cream. We go through a lot of both. Being German, I can hold my liquor surprisingly well, although I try not to drink too much, but Maya's part-Irish heritage fails her. Often I have to hold back her wavy red hair while she throws up, as inebriated as myself, into the toilet. Sometimes, on a particularly bad day, she'll tag along with me when I go to work. She claims she wants to find a one-night stand, which she is famous for obtaining, even though I know it's just a lame excuse to drink her pain away. Maya hates crying, even though she does cry a lot, and the only way around this for her is to get shit-faced drunk. On occasion I have to carry my best friend, drunk off her ass, out of the bar as my shift ends before some middle-aged, sex-driven creep gets a hold of her first.
Soon we have a potential buyer for our cute little house and we are almost finished packing. I am in disbelief about how soon we'll be leaving. A bit of nostalgia washes over me as I pack my last box: stuff from my childhood and school days. How the time has flown...

"Hey, it's Baby Jordan! How may I be of your service?" I have called my old friend Matt Wees. We went to school together: his brother Joey was in my year and he was three years ahead. The three of us have been super close ever since eighth grade. I went to Matt for help when Ashton left me the first time, back when I was a sophomore. As for Joey and I, we just stuck together like glue. We were the oddballs in our grade; we were liked okay (him more than I), but we were 'metal heads' and on the very edge of goth. He, also unlike me, is very even-tempered and gentlemanly, if you ignore the colorful words that compose a good amount of his vocabulary.

"Matt, do you have an RV? I need it for things." I ask, not willing to make small talk at the moment. Matt decided to become a mechanic and after marrying Emma, who had been his girlfriend longer than Ashton and I had been together, and started his own business. Quite an odd choice of career, knowing him. I know he does art in his spare time, but everyone was convinced he would be a full-time artist, or a drug dealer. I do know he is very talented; I even have one of his paintings in my hallway, er, it [i]was[/i], now it's wrapped carefully in a box somewhere.

It doesn't take Matt even a second to reply. I prop my legs up on the cluttered kitchen table in the rather empty kitchen.

"Why the hell do you need a fucking RV, you crazy woman? 'For things' isn't a good answer. You gonna cook meth like those guys from Breaking Bad?" Matt, although very kind-hearted, is quite vulgar (guess where Joey learned it) and occasionally a bit mean. I don't mind it, in fact, it's kind of refreshing after the constant coddling and overly-nice treatment I've received the past couple weeks.

"Well, Maya and I decided we couldn't fit a horse on a commercial jet, along with the contents of our entire house," I shoot back, a smile almost forming on my face.

I can almost see his eyebrows rise. "You guys are moving? Do you know how hard it is to move all your shit PLUS that horse of yours? And with an RV? Good luck."

"Yes, dickweed. Have a little faith. Maya and I are selling the house; c'mon, we don't have forever."

I hear him whistle. "Fine," he grumbles. "I'll call you back." I hear him mutter 'crazy ass bitch' under his breath.

"Thank you, Matt!" I coo in a mockingly sweet voice. He huffs and we disconnect.
After awhile he calls me back. He pulled a few strings and got us a relatively cheap RV. We have to bribe the owner, but it's so worth it; RVs are insanely expensive. And, thank God for Craigslist, I did some searching and found someone who's willing to part with their old straight trailer for under a thousand bucks. Everything is going great so far.

Maya comes up behind me and plops her chin on my shoulder, scanning my laptop screen as I search the bowels of Hot Topic's website, looking for nothing in particular.

"Jordan," she asks, her head bobbing up and down against my shoulder with each syllable. "Where are we going?"

I think for a minute. Where are we going, exactly? I haven't given it much thought, to be honest. I am getting ready for a road trip that doesn't exist. I am silent in thought as Maya huffs and bounces out of the room to do laundry or something, I don't really care.
I think about that hard for an hour at least, my computer lying untouched on the table. An idea finally pops into my head, which is throbbing since I have, yet again, neglected to take my medication. I blame it on thinking anyway.

I find my aunt's number deep in my phone's contacts. As it was ringing, my brain almost audibly whirs as I contemplate what I should say. After about 5 rings, my aunt picks up.

"Jordan, is that you? Oh my God, I haven't heard from you since, must have been at least a year!" I barely hear my aunt's normally low-pitched voice over some wild glam metal band playing in the background.

"Hey, Aunt Marie. It's me, yeah." I talk loudly and hope she can hear me.

Okay, let me set something straight: Marie was not your typical, everyday aunt that sends you ten dollars for your birthday every year and doesn't let you touch her fine china, even on Christmas. Nope. Marie is the most metal adult I have ever met in my entire life. She's filthy rich, too. She divorced her husband years ago and somehow she got the house and a ton of money. She doesn't brag about it, but she does flaunt it a little sometimes. She's one of the only people in my extended family who actually sends me birthday presents still, and they're expensive. I even got a brand-new Coach bag one year. My mom doesn't like to talk about her much; I think she's a little ashamed of her lifestyle. Still, she is my favorite aunt out of all the ones I have. She lives somewhere in California, I know that much. I think there may be some hope there.

"So, why'd you call dear, do you need something or do you just wanna chat?"

My face goes red. I hate asking people for things, really. I almost offered Matt money for finding us that RV, but I knew he'd yell at me. "Well, um, Maya and I aren't feeling that Minnesota is our home anymore. We want to have a new start, and I was wondering if maybe we could stay at your place until we can find a place of our own."

Without missing a beat, she squeals. "Of course!" I am a bit taken aback at her enthusiasm. "I haven't had anybody in the house for such a long time. You and Maya are welcome for as long as you want!"

I exhale a sigh of relief. "That's wonderful, thank you so much! If it isn't too much trouble, do you think there's a stable anywhere near you? I couldn't bear to sell Sootar."

There was a moment of silence, and I bear myself for bad news. "You know what? I think there's one in the next town over. How 'bout I check it out before you get here?"

"That's so perfect, thank you. I was thinking a week, maybe two? We still have some stuff to pack and Maya and I are on our two-weeks notice."

"Fantastic! Everything'll be ready when you get here, Scout's honor."

I smile for the first time since Dad died. Aunt Marie infamously dropped Girl Scouts after a week, and Dad would often tell me the story of her exit on long car rides. "You're the best, Aunt Marie, you really are."

"I know, honey."

"See you soon."

"Keep safe, both of you." My aunt hangs up after that.

"MAYA!" I immediately yell over my shoulder.

"WHAT?!" Maya's response flies down the hallway, muted by the laundry room door.

"WE'RE GOING TO CALIFORNIA, BABY!!"

Screaming ensues for the next few hours, then a few days, and until we reach our destination.

Notes

Yoo. Done with Chapter what, like 8? Nope, 6. 8 will come, though, promise. I am not giving up on this story after how much work I put into it.

Hope everyone enjoyed!

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