I looked at my father, Jean. He seemed at peace, as if nothing had happened the night before. His face of stone, and eyes of marble, he looked into empty space, in the direction of the church. One of the gravest and saddest things in his life has just happened, and he did nothing about it. In my country, we call it 'nulle vides'.
My mother, Georgette's, expression was the black to my dad's white. As opposed to his stone face, her's seemed to be made of liquid, dirty with tears of sorrow, or in french 'douleur', and wrinkles marking her old age.I knew she was doing it all for show. She showed no real sadness. It was the first time in weeks -no, monthes, that she and my dad talked. Since their devastating fight, that night, he left us, transforming her into a widdow.
I remember perfectly...
The night we all found out I had cancer was hell. My parents were sitting in the living room when they realized that my test results wouldn't come by mail. So, they sat. They sat there, waiting, for something that seemed to convert a few minutes into an infinite eternity. A black hole.
Many people say that the color black was evil, and that it brought bad luck. In my opinion, I believe that red is evil, and that black; it is nothing but deepness that would never seem to end. You can try to swim through it, but all that you will do is drown, and float up to the white surface, dead.
I kept on looking over to my parents to see if anything was happening. I was sitting behind the wall seperating my bedroom from the living room. Only if I turn my head to the direction of the door, could I see my parents' current state.
They were glaring at the telephone, waiting for a call from the hospital. Apparently, the results were to arrive today.
