Short Stories #6: It's not okay
TW/CW: Death is mentioned various times, grief, and mentions of self-harm and addiction.
Tom hated suits. He hated how tight and uncomfortable they were.
And that's all he wanted to focus on, really.
Because truthfully? It was all that was keeping him from bursting into tears, right there in the cemetery.
The sun, tauntingly, hid behind the clouds, much like the boy’s emotions had.
But, his mother kept him grounded…Fortunately, and unfortunately. Her white fur stood out and contrasted with his whenever she held his paw. And for once, he…
The burial had been different. Of course it was; when it came to his family, there was never just one eulogy.
MJ was the chosen matrimony amongst the core family members, but since her passing, that title has gone to Mr. Katz.
And so, he was the first to give his eulogy. Ms. Kitty White would have…She should have. But she couldn't bring herself to.
Then came Oswald, and then Mickey. All of decent lengths.
But then it was his turn.
Thomas heard his mother's words, assuring him he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to.
And so, the little black cat stepped up to where the podium had been set, and looked at the paper pinned to its surface.
He took a breath, but couldn't get the words to leave his mouth; not when his own writing made no sense. The words seemed to move whenever he blinked, and what he had written was barely legible.
He could feel too many eyes on him, and he was silent.
That was, until he saw his mother prepare to stand up and take his place like the two of them said she would if anything went wrong.
“Hey. I’m…I’m Tom.” He began and took another breath.
His mother sat back down.
“Short for Thomas. Thomas K. Cat. I am…Felix…And Kitty Kat White’s son.” He began, recognizing the mild surprise on his mother’s face.
“My parents had me in Australia, and…Felix had left us. My Mum, despite her resentment, only told me good things of him. And I believed every single one of them.”
Tom felt his shoulders relax, “He was my hero, and…I wanted to be just like him; adventurous, brave, witty, funny, and charming. I wore his old clothing, took up his old hobbies, and even spoke the way he did.”
“I…I even began smoking at a young age. And…That should’ve been my first sign that Felix…Wasn’t perfect.”
“He always said he had left Mum and me because he just couldn’t handle having such an amazing son. And I believed him. Why wouldn’t I?“
“What reason could I ever have had to suspect he was a drug addict dealin’ with PTSD?”
Thomas sighed, his ears lowering as the memory returned to him, when he saw his beloved father lying on the ground, red dripping from his wrists, pale, cold…Dead.
“…Ever…Ever since he died, I’ve…Seen things in a different light. Whenever someone said I was ‘just like my old man’, i-it…It didn’t make me smile.”
C’mon, hold yourself together.
“I realized I…Didn’t want to be like him.”
“I didn’t want to hurt those I loved just to pursue something that would kill me in the end. I didn't want to be irresponsible, too unstable to have a child in my custody, reckless, or…Or self-destructive!”
He felt like a traitor. He loved his Dad…So why was he in deep hatred of these aspects of himself?
He took a shaky breath in, and out.
“But I do want to be brave like him. I want to be kind, ready to help, I…I want to put smiles on other people’s faces and crack witty jokes or replies…”
“I want to be fashionable like him…Prepared like him…Clever like him.”
He felt tears prick his eyes, but…He didn't supress it.
“I’m not Felix. I’m Thomas. And…I like to collect baseball cards, and learn about history. I like to hang out with my friends and get into trouble.”
“I’m not perfect…But I want to do what my father never did: self-improvement.”
“I want my friends to look at me, and not worry if I’ll do something bad to myself.”
“I want people to see me, and greet me as Thomas, not Felix’s kid.”
“And…I want to be like Felix…But only in a way Thomas could be.”
“Thank you.” He nodded his head.
Thomas let out another shaky sigh as he approached the open casket.
He looked inside, his paws landing on its edges.
There Felix lay…His face free of turmoil, relaxed, fur groomed, well dressed…
Thomas hesitantly reached out to brush against the back of Felix’s palm, his fur and skin cold.
The boy bit his lower lip as if to bite back the flood of emotions that threatened to escape.
“…I love you, Dad…” He whispered, for only him and Felix to hear. If he could hear.
“I’ll…I’ll see ya’ soon. But…Not too soon, okay?” Tom hated that he almost smiled at his own words…But smiled anyway because he knew Felix would’ve done the same thing.
He stepped back with a heavy sigh and went back to his seat. He felt his hand become stiff, as if still able to feel his father’s fur.
His mother wrapped an arm around him and pressed her nose against his head. He felt her tears over his head, and he sighed, resting his head against her chest.
Maybe…Maybe things weren’t going to be okay immediately.
But that was okay with him.
