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|Llama's for Sale (standard:drama, 656 words)|
|Author: Nony||Added: Nov 21 2002||Views/Reads: 1812/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This is about a girl remembering the death of her father.|
After the funeral everyone is quiet on the ride home ... why talk? There's nothing to talk about. We all stare out the window. By the look on our faces, you'd think we were all pondering the meaning of life, why are we here? Where are we going? But it was mostly, why did it have to be him; we weren't ready to let go, why is God doing this to us? I remember the phone call my mother received. We were watching Diagnosis Murder together. She never usually watches television with me. I only asked her to stay up and watch it with me because my father hadn't returned home from the church meeting yet. It was getting later and later and then the phone rang. I hopped up to answer it, really happy. I was thinking 'My father is calling to ask if we need something from the store (he always went to the store when coming home from anything) and I can tell him what was happening on the show and then we could talk more when he got home.' A woman's voice was on the phone. Asking to speak with my mother. I handed her the phone and told her it was a telemarketer. They always pronounced our name wrong on the phone. I stared at my mother as she talked. She hung up the phone and told me to call my brothers, my father had been in an accident and it was fatal. She was so nonchalant about it. Well, what did I expect? She didn't cry when her own father died...at least...not in front of everyone. I guess when she went to her room she grieved in private. I went to my room and straight to my closet. Some people thought that was a little odd, but when I was little and I thought I would get in trouble for something; I would hide in the corner of my closet. There, no one can find me. My problems were outside my closet door and I was safe inside my own little world. We drove along the same road to the hospital, to make more arrangements for his funeral, to buy his flowers...and his headstone. (Back and forth and back and forth.) My brother said the headstone would make it official. I cried all night after seeing it, because I didn't want it to be official. As we would travel along the road, my brothers would point out little things that my father used to point out to them. Then we all remembered my father said he saw llamas outside of a house one time. We all laughed at him, (jokingly of course) llamas are found mainly in South America. But then he drove me past the house and stopped the car. We had to reverse a little bit to see into their yard. There wasn't anything outside. We strained to see past the front yard and to the pen in the backyard. I still didn't see anything, but my father kept saying, “I saw llamas here, I know I'm not crazy”. Then I saw the sign; it said ‘Llama's For Sale'. I pointed to the sign and laughed. He didn't have to show me the llamas anymore I believed him. After that day I asked my parents every other week if I could have a llama. "Llama's for sale" I broke the silence in the car and laughed out loud. Everyone looked at me slightly and then back out their windows, except for my oldest brother. "What are you talking about?" "The llamas, I saw a sign, I know he saw llamas. I mean, come on, what kind of nut job would have a sign ‘Llama's For Sale' if they didn't have any actual llamas to sell." My brother shrugged, "Okay...If that's how you choose to deal with it..." I nodded and smiled the rest of the car ride home. Tweet
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