by Rhonda Crone

Created on: September 03, 2008

Hank Has Left the Building
I don't know what happens when people die, can't seem to grasp it as hard as I try, it's like a song I can hear playing right in my ear but I can't sing, I can't help listening.
- Jackson Browne
At the fragile age of 14 , Beth and I had our first real experience with death. We had been at the mall, walking around in circles, buying little candies that popped and fizzed in your mouth at the gift store or cheap plastic earrings and sunglasses at the Cheap Crap Store. It was about time to go, so we journeyed to the front entrance by the movie theatre where we were always picked up by one of our mothers. Instead of Beth's mom's old silver Cadillac or my mom's black and gray Lincoln Town Car, we saw a gold Mercedes. It was, of all people, my next-door neighbors Kent and Katie's mother, Evita. We walked up to the car, confused, and she motioned for us to get in. "Beth, somethin's happened with your dad. He's at the hospital." By her dry tone, we could tell it wasn't good. "He had a heart attack. It might be okay." Of all people to serve as the bearer of this news, it was hair-doll Buddha witch lady. I started hitting the back of the seat, and squeezing Beth's hand. We drove up to the emergency room, and there was Beth's mother, April, standing in the parking lot, with a wadded up tissue and her husband's watch in her hand, bawling. We immediately knew.I immediately burst into tears, even before Beth did. She started weeping quietly. Beth busted out of the car and up to her mother. I don't even remember getting out of the car. My parents were there, and several other close friends were standing around. April was in shock, and hysterical. Her husband dropped dead at 42. The rest of that day was a big blur. The next week was a blur. Beth was mostly a Daddy's Girl, and she did not cope well. Her relationship with her mother was far from perfect. April checked herself into a nut-house, and stayed there for weeks. Beth and her brother Patrick, five years younger, had to move in with us. I remember all their stuff sitting around everywhere in cardboard boxes. They knew that their mother couldn't handle their father's death, but they also knew that they couldn't exactly handle it well, either. All they knew was that my father drove her away, gold watch clenched in her hand, tears streaming down her face, to some place that was supposed to make her stronger. But it didn't make her stronger. April finally returned home, but she was still incapable

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