Auction Tours...

My forehead pressed against the cold passenger window as I stared off into space. My hands cupped together across my lap, with legs crossed forward. The car was silent, no music, not even the sound of breathing.
Like a ghost I saw my ex-boyfriend, Matthew walking through the cold morning his hoodie concealing his spiked blue hair. I was stunned that he would even think of attending and knew that my uncle would taunt me for it. My mother concealed her emotions but held her pale white hand out to her boyfriend for some form of support.
We parked.
I slowly stepped out of the vehicle trying desperately not to get soaked by the morning dew. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I clasped on to a handwritten note. She often told me that I was a wonderful writer. Many times I tried to make her cry with poems and papers. It was her emotions that brought me strength.
She told me that I would regret it if I hadn't written her a month previously or if I hadn't called her more often. She said I'd regret it.

The summer prior I begged her to let me stay home to let me look after her.
"College is more important, you need to live your own life, I wouldn't want you to put it on hold!" she said smiling appreciative of the gesture.
It wasn't a gesture, I would have gladly done it. She was my favorite person, she is my favorite person. She was my godsend.

I made my way through the crowd of family and loved ones, begrudgingly ignoring Matthew. It wasn't right to do so and he was merely looking out for me, but I couldn't face him. I wanted him back and I did for years after, but there was no discussing it... not then.
There were a handful of chairs all in row in front of the large casket adorned with a handmade quilt which held the remains of my grandmother, my Grandma Rose.
I felt like I was crying more than anyone and more than ever before or since. Big well tears shooting out and down my cheeks. I kept my head down as if in prayer, but mostly because I didn't want her to see how upset I was.

She had told me once before that she was dying...
My parents had recently divorced and I was stricken with hatred towards my dad for cheating on my mom multiple times, selling our home and becoming bankrupt. My mother lived in a small two bedroom apartment merely blocks from where she lived on welfare when I was a child. Square one never looked so close.
I came home knowing that my dad was there visiting waiting for me. I walked into the living room the Scrabble board game was laid out on the coffee table. They would often play rounds upon rounds when they were married. I made my way to the bathroom to find my dad's clothes draped all over the floor.
In a flash of rage I pounded on the door violently and with such force I thought it was sure to break. My mom answered in a long night shirt.
"Fuck you, don't even try to explain. How could you?" I screamed.
Grandma Rose lived about seven blocks away. I drove there balling. My world didn't make sense; how could she have done it? Why didn't she loathe him; like I did? All I wanted was to hold my grandma and to feel some comfort.
I leaped into her arms. My mom had already phoned over to give a "heads up" on the situation. I explained to her how upset and disappointed I was. I couldn't stop crying. There was a pause as I pulled away from my grandma I peered into her eyes and she was sobbing also. In my 20 years, I had never seen her cry outside of sappy greeting cards and gifts.
"I can't take it when you hurt so," she cried.
I held her for holding me and whispered to her that I didn't want her to cry either. We both drove to my mom's house where we found her waiting and fully clothed. There were no words only actions as I ran past her and into my room, slamming the door behind me.
A gentle knock followed. Grandma walked towards me and picked me up from the bed and hugged me as I tried to let my anger go.
"I can't have you acting like this Jen, I don't have much time and I won't have you to fighting while I do," she stated sternly.
"What do you mean?" I questioned, knowing that she was most likely referring to what I was dreading.
"Well, Jen the cancer's back and I don't have a lot of time and while I'm here I need you to promise that you will get a long with your mama." she said.
I hit on her chest lightly and cried into her shoulder.
"It's not true! It's not true!" I sobbed.
"It most certainly is and grandma needs you to accept it and do what she asks alright? Now go make up with your mama," she said.
I made up with my mom, but I hated her that night. I hated her for going back to him even though I knew she wasn't going to mend their relationship. I hated her for making me cry and most importantly I hated her for making grandma cry and for letting me find out that way.

As the service ended I walked up to the casket and kissed the wooden top. I slowly slipped the letter down the hole and onto the cool cement casing. I hoped she would read it. This continued a trend for me, I'd often bury notes by her grave in the hope of her reading them or seeing them in some capacity.
There were people surrounding the funeral that I didn't recognize, a gaggle of woman all in their Sunday bests who boasted about how vivid and extraordinary my grandma was. They brought an array of mylar balloons and a flower arch with something about "Sunday Gals" written on it. Even though I had never met them nor they me, they all seemed to know who I was straight off the bat.
"Oh you must be Rosalie's granddaughter , Jennifer. Oh we've heard so much about you," one of the ladies grinned.
"Really?" I questioned. I was slightly confused because I had never heard nor knew of any of the woman. I had only known a couple of my grandma's friends and sadly none of them were there.
"Why yes, your grandma would always go on and on about how you were her angel."