Vengeance is Mine

I don’t care what the police report says, my sister did not commit suicide.  She was all I had in this world, and I knew her better than I know myself.  Not only was she a joyful person who loved life, but because of who she was, what she was capable of, taking her own life was never an option.  I stared down at her lifeless body and grimaced.  Even this was all wrong.  Father must have chosen these clothes, and they looked like they had come out of my mother’s closet.  Melayia wouldn’t have been caught dead in the high collared ruffled blouse, or the polyester skirt… but here she was, dead and about to be buried forever in the hideous outfit.  The hair was all wrong too.  I knew it was a wig, but it wasn’t even close to her natural color or style.  I knew the medical examiner had shaved her head for the autopsy.  I knew the bullet had blown away most of the left side of her head.  But the wig looked like it belonged with the outdated clothes, stuffed away in some old lady’s attic.  The mousy brown hair curled toward her face and looked a little flat on the back.  I had the sick feeling that this wig might have adorned more than one dead person.  People always say the most bizarre and inane things at funerals, like “She looks so peaceful.” Or “She looks like she’s just asleep.”  Hell no, she looks dead.  I motioned for the funeral director to close the casket.  No one outside of family was going to see the body. I had to take my place next to my father at the wake.  He was sitting in a chair, balancing his cane in front of him with his gnarled hands.  He looked rather dazed and confused, but that was his permanent expression since dementia had begun to set in a couple years ago.  I couldn’t imagine what a blow to him Melayia’s death must be, since she was the only daughter he remembered and recognized.  I was a stranger to him, and my presence beside him offered him no comfort. I wasn’t prepared for the crowd that came for the wake.  I suppose I should have expected it.  In her short life time, Melayia had touched so many lives.  She had worked for the Regional Ambulance Service since she graduated from high-school, and as an EMT she had delivered babies, rescued people from crushed cars and done CPR.  She had saved lives, both in conventional, and unconventional ways.  She had been given awards for her outstanding service, and as if that weren’t enough, she had also volunteered with the fire department and a handful of other community organizations.  In a small town like Rutberg, she was practically a rock star.  Melayia had always hidden in plain sight.  She made sure that people saw what she wanted to them to see. Unlike me, who stayed hidden in the silence and the shadows.  Most of the people who filed by  me, mumbling condolences didn’t even know Melayia had a sister.  I watched them all silently, and kept my mouth closed.  Julianna Potter didn’t talk.  That was Melayia’s idea too.  If I didn’t talk, I couldn’t tell any secrets.  I had been silent for so long now that it was almost a reality for me.  I had learned ASL, but most of the time if I had to communicate, I used a pen and a paper.  For the funeral I had prepared a note which said, “I am Melayia’s sister, Julianna.  Thank you for coming, our family appreciates your sympathy.”  As all of these faces filed past me, I tried to find the one.  I thought for sure when I laid my eyes on the murderer, I would just KNOW.  I would look in his eyes and see his guilt.  Or he would just give of the that creepy homicidal vibe.  But faces blurred in front of me, and none of them seemed exceptional.  I saw people we had known from high school.  The detective who had worked on her case, Seth Winters had been in my class.  It was funny to think that the school bad-boy had grown up to become a cop.  Her co-workers from the ambulance filed past in their uniforms.  Some of them with red, tear-streaked faces.  The fire chief came in his dress whites, his cap tucked under his arm.  He looked familiar too, but I had to squint at his name badge to put a name to the face.  John Kolter. Yes, I remember him, though he’d been tall and skinny in highschool.  He’d grown into his frame, and his carrot orange hair seemed to have matured into an attractive auburn.  He shook my hand and mumbled something sympathetic, but never looked at me. There were staff members from the hospital too.  I had worked in the hospital for two years now, but I don’t think a single one of those doctors and nurses knew my face.  Most of them worked in the Emergency Department, where they’d had constant contact with Melayia when the ambulance service brought in their patients.  I was just an EVS tech, and nobody is more invisible than a janitor.  Dr. Lobello came by.  We had gone to school with him too.  Keith Lobello had  heterochromia iridis, two different color eyes, so he was hard to forget.  He looked right at me with his one blue eye and his one hazel eye, and didn’t recognize me or remember me, not from high school, and not from work. Out of all the people who passed, only one person came there to offer ME their condolences, and that was my landlord, James Cameron.  James was a tall, athletic African American man.  He had been home when the police had come knocking on my door to tell me that Melayia was dead.  He had gently put his arms around my shoulder and explained to the cops that I wasn’t able to talk.  He had driven me to the station, and even sat beside me as they explained how they had found Melayia’s body in her parked car, in the Hill Side Cemetery, parked in front of our mother’s grave.  He had held my hand as they told me that she had shot herself in her head. I had wanted to cry and scream and deny it… but I had to be the mute sister.  I had scribbled down on my pad of paper – “Women do commit suicide using firearms.  My sister did not commit suicide.”  Detective Winters had looked at me sympathetically, and answered, “That’s usually true, statistically speaking.  But there are always exceptions.”  And then the worst part… the part where I had to walk into the morgue and positively identify the body.  I had to look down at my sister, with all her hair shaved off, half of her face unrecognizable, the left side of her head blown away.  It was by far the worst day of my life, and an image I would never scrub out of my head.  But all through that horrible day, James had stayed beside me. James was now at the wake, dressed in a crisp dress shirt and a tie.  “I’m so very sorry, Julianna… “ He pulled me into a hug and gave me a squeeze.  He looked down into my eyes, and seemed to will me to stay strong.  Then he moved on to my father.  He tried to introduce himself to my father, telling him he was my landlord, but my father only looked at him blankly. “Did you know Melayia?” James nodded.  “I met her a few times, Sir.  She was a good woman.” “Yes… yes, she’s my daughter.” My father said vaguely.  James shot me a sympathetic look, and then moved on so that the people behind him could move in with their canned condolences.  I couldn’t help but wonder how many people were here just out of morbid curiosity.  It has been all over the news and printed in the local paper – local hero commits suicide.  EMT shoots herself in the head.  How many of these yahoos wanted to come and see it for themselves.  But I had ordered that the coffin be shut, so all they got to ogle was a pretty photograph of her laughing beside the lake last summer.  That’s how I wanted the world to remember Melayia… she laughed at them.