This is Not Funny.

Don't you fuckers get smart with the title, okay? I meant this post only. The others are... Well, they're okay. I wouldn't brand them as "hilarious" or anything. "Slightly above average", maybe. Of course the average funny of the internet... Well, minus the porn... Huh.

That just leaves me. Well then I am average. Is that... Do I like that?

Not important. Anyway, the following is the story I am handing in for English. Well, it's the draft. Before my teacher crafts it into something (even more) unholy. This is your undiluted not-funny Jacob right here. Please post any thoughts or feelings, I promise to lie about reading them if you ask me.

---


"It's this one here." Lorrie pointed meekly. I pulled the car up at the end of the drive, so we could walk up to the house. I brushed Lorrie's brunette fringe out of her face. She looked at me with her shimmering blue eyes. "Jay, do you think..." Her voice trailed off with her gaze.

"He's fine." Her eyes snapped back on to mine "I promise you, he's fine." I smiled and kissed her softly. "We should get inside."

The rusted doors of the car creaked like they always do and a chill gust greeted us outside. With it a fistful of autumn leaves whipped past and down the street, past all the white-picket fences and manicured lawns. As the leaves fell out of view, I wished to all hell we could follow them.

I hugged Lorrie close as we walked through the gate (picket) and up the cobblestone steps to the house. I whispered in her ear "We'll get through this, okay?" and knocked on the door. Lorrie assembled herself a smile.

The door opened to reveal a man in his late forties. A green cardigan was stretched over his widening stomach. He grinned widely at us both.

“Lorren! It's good to see you dear,” Lorrie kissed her father on the cheek, “and you must be Jason?” I tried not to sweat too much on the hand I shook.
“Yes, sir. It's good to meet you, sir.”

“Relax my boy! ” He placed his hand on my back and led me into the house, “Any friend of Lorren's...”


Lorrie and I were herded into a small lounge. I spotted a sofa fit for two but Lorrie tugged my hand and instead we sat in separate armchairs. Her father sat opposite, a glass coffee table between us. “So, Jason. What are you studying?” I looked at him quizzically. “I'm sorry, I assumed you two met at University.”

“No, we met at the auto shop where I work, Lorrie brought her scooter in.” I thought back to where we really met, at the bar. When I served Lorrie her jello-shots.

“A mechanic, aye? It's always good to see a man who knows the value of labour.” I smiled at him and Lorrie reached over and took my hand. Her father spotted our hands and his top lip raised up in distaste. “I must say Jason, I'm impressed with your restraint. I'm sure there are a quite few girls your age who are more... Forthcoming. Who perhaps don't take The Lord's word as seriously as Lorren does.”

“I suppose that's true, but I love Lorrie-- Uh, Lorren, and accept that this is her decision, and I respect that.”

“I'm afraid you're mistaken.” Lorrie's squeezed my hand and I looked down to see my knuckles had gone white. I relaxed my grip as much as I could. “You see, this is not Lorren's decision, it is The Lord's. Lorren has no say in the matter.” My jaw went so tight my teeth damn-near shattered. Lorrie's father smiled pleasantly, rose from his chair, and excused himself to make some tea. On his way out he kissed Lorrie on the forehead and I watched her smile up at him as her eyes glistened. Once he left the room a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“It's okay.” I rushed to her side.

“It's not okay!” She sobbed at me. “What are we going to do? He's going to find out.” I held her tight as she whimpered. She felt so brittle in my arms. “What are we going to do?”

We sat together for a long while and I rocked her gently. Both our heads jolted up when we heard the kettle click off.

“He's coming back...” I didn't need to say much more. Lorrie wiped her eyes and straightened her hair. The lounge door started to open and Lorrie readied her smile. Her father set a tray on the table between us and we each took a cup and saucer. Lorrie showed me how to use mine and we engaged in idle chatter for a few hours.


I was thankful her father was not a more attentive man, or he may have noticed the half-dozen glances Lorrie and I shot each other, or how she couldn't stop fidgeting with the flowers engraved in her cup. I let out a few yawns a checked my watch.

“So now you make it obvious.” Lorrie's father smiled. “You've been checking your watch every five minutes for the last half hour.” I hadn't even realized. But he had. He noticed. What else did he notice? It doesn't matter, I tell myself. He doesn't know.

I look at Lorrie with certainty in my eyes.

He doesn't know.

“We really should get going.” I began to stand.

“Wait, before you go, I have a little gift for my daughter.”

“Daddy, you didn't need to do that.”

“You hush my dear. I hardly see you know that you're away at university, I'm allowed to get my little girl a gift.” He pulled a small jewelry box from his pocket and popped it open. “Allow me.” He latched it on behind her neck.

“Oh, I love it.” Lorrie hugged her father and even I couldn't see a trace of a tear in her eyes.

“You kids have a good drive back. Jason, it was a pleasure to meet you. God bless you both.”

The door shuts behind us and I wrapped my arm around Lorrie as we walked down the cobble steps. I felt her shaking and wished I could believe it was the wind that made her do it. At the end of her new necklace a glass cross sparkled in the sunlight.


Lorrie made sure we were well out of view of the house before discarding her facade. Tears streamed down her face. She grabbed my shoulder and buried herself in my chest. I pulled over and held her tight. She looked up at me with mascara-smudged eyes and her lip trembled.

“What are we going to do?”

“We'll think of something. We'll find a way.”

“How? I mean, what is there? What can we do?”

“I don't know,” I sighed, “But there has to be something.”


We didn't talk much the rest of the way home. Lorrie would sob quietly to herself or cry so hard she couldn't breath just right, and I would rub her back when she did, but we didn't talk much. We drove past the campus where Lorrie used to stay and I noticed her gaze linger a little too long. We were nearly home and Lorrie started to straighten herself up, put on a fresh layer of mascara. By the time I pulled into the parking garage she looked as though we'd come from a dinner party. She insisted we take the stairs to our floor so she could finish her make-up. I told her she couldn't get more beautiful and pressed the button on the elevator.


“Hey Mom.” I closed the door behind us and took Lorries coat.

“Hi you two!” Mom hugged Lorrie. “You don't worry about him, okay? This is your life, not his. You make your decisions and he can just deal with them.” Lorrie nodded and smiled. She did neither with terrible commitment. “Well, I should get home,” I handed Mom her coat, “I just put him to bed.”


I followed Lorrie into the small bedroom and put my arm on her shoulder. I smiled down into the crib. Wrapped in a tiny blanket, holding a tiny teddy bear, was a life. A life so huge it had shaken the foundations of those around it. I looked down at the life that had taken my job. The life that took Lorrie out of university. The life that made her fear her father. The life that gets me up at four A.M. every morning to go courier things I can't afford. I looked down at the life I love more than anything in the world. I looked down at my son.

“It's so worth it, you know.” I whispered in Lorrie's ear. “All the crap. All the change and all the things we've lost and all the shit we go through, it's worth it. He's worth it.”
Lorrie was quiet for a long while. Finally she smiled and whispered back at me.

“Yeah.”


I woke up. The moon spilled light along the bedroom. The last thing I could remember was Lorrie tossing and turning. I looked over at her. She wasn't there. Something felt... wrong. I got up and walked to the bathroom. No light leaked out from underneath the door. “Lorrie?” I whispered.
No reply.
I checked the kitchen. There was no one. “Lorrie?”
No reply.
I stood outside the small bedroom. My hand rested on the door handle. Something told me not to go in there. Something told me to go back to bed. Told me everything was fine. But I had to. “Lorrie?”
No reply.
I slowly pushed the door open. She wasn't in the room.

Nothing in the crib was moving.

There was a note on the side table. It started “I'm sorry...”


It was a small funeral service. Lorrie's father did not attend. The priest said some crap about God's will as they lowered the tiny casket and Mom burst into tears. I only had a priest in because I though Lorrie might want it that way. Mom held me and cried. The priest started walking towards us. Dad spotted him and helped pry Mom off me. The priest took me to one side. “Jason, I can't imagine what you're going through. How you must feel... But you must believe me, there is always a reason. Don't fall into your grief, my son. Let the Lord light your way. He'll keep you safe.” I took the priests hand off my shoulder.

“Don't. You're damn right you don't know how I feel, but know this: God ain't going to get me out of this. God is the reason my son is in that grave. Don't give me all this shit about God.”

“Jason...” The priest was mortified, “You can't believe that.”

“She left a note, you know. Before she left. Before she suffocated her own son.” I locked my eyes onto the priest's. “In it, she swore. She swore she heard the voice of Jesus,” He stared at me in horror. “telling her it was wrong to keep it.”

I trudged through the snow. Harsh winds chilled me to the bone. I walked out of the cemetery. I kept walking. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't much care.

---

A friend has pointed out all the typos in that thing. My blogs have the title up there for a reason, okay?

Also, so I don't get accused of plagiarism and have books thrown at me (or whatever the correct procedure for plagiarism punishment is), I did in fact get this idea from a song. It's one of my favorites, by the band Hurt. It's called "Rapture", and there is a direct quote in there if you know the song well enough. That's also why the main dude is named Jay and the gal Lorren, as the lead singer/violinist/composer of Hurt is named J. Loren Wince, and I want that to act as further evidence to the "homage" idea I'm going for here, rather than ripping the bastard off for four credits.