I hate Memorial Day. I know all you kids out there love it because you get a day off, but for me it just brings up a bunch of painful memories. You know, the ones about my father dying in war.
All our eyes were locked onto the gravestone. It was pretty windy, but we didn't mind. Most of us, anyway. I read the gravestone for about the 50th time: Here lies Paul Berman: October 13th, 1961 September 5th, 2005. A beloved solider. I could feel my eyes getting misty again, so I wiped away the tears before anyone could notice. Sadly, my friend Stella did, and tried to comfort me. I gave her a look that read 'please-just-leave-me-alone.'
It's not that I didn't appreciate her comfort, but I didn't want anyone to think I wasn't tough; that I was one of those people who cry over every single thing. My dad always told me to stay strong at all times. I'm not gonna break that promise, even if we are mourning him. Still, I wish Duncan could've been here too. Apparently hanging out with Trent was more important that coming with his girlfriend to comfort her. Just great Duncan, thanks.
I looked to see what my family was doing. My mother Marissa was trying so hard to fight back tears, but she was failing, like she does every year. Stefanie, my little 'angel' of a sister, was doing that same thing as my mother, but she was defiantly losing the battle.
My awful stepdad Zack looked so bored, like he didn't want to be here, and I know he didn't. God I hate him. His bastard child and my stepbrother, Jeremy, was definitely bored. He was yawning and everything, and at one point was pacing around. God I hate him more than anything. I hate both of them. I wish they were dead. "Can we go home now?" Jeremy whined suddenly.
That's it, he's gonna die. I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna punch the brat in his big mouth! "Jasmine!" Stella shouted snapping me out of my homicidal state. She was holding my arm, and I realized I was getting ready to swing at him. "Calm down, Jasmine. Have a Twizzler."
I sighed. I took my rolled up Twizzler bag from my pocket and ate one of them. I eat them when I'm stressed, when I'm sad, when I'm happy, when I'm angry, when I'm neutral
.point is, all my emotions demand Twizzlers. I keep them in my pocket at all times.
My mom eventually gave into Jeremy's whining and we all went back to the van and piled in. He had this huge grin I just wanted to wipe off his face. Oh well. I got into the car and took out my iPod, drowning out all my issues with When We Die by Bowling for Soup. It was a long car ride home.