by A. M. Hudson
“I’m fine,” I said, scowling at him, but the spite in my tone caught me off guard and flattened my brow.
David stood taller and dropped his hand. My eyes stayed on his shiny black shoes and the pebbly gravel of the car park. It’s his own fault if he’s insulted or hurt that I don’t want him near me; he shouldn’t have pretended to care about me just to save me from myself. I should tell him that I know all about his and my dad’s little conspiracy.
Then again, maybe I should just leave—walk back home.
My gaze lingered between the church and freedom, when Emily caught my eye and waved softly.
Crud. Well, that blows my going home plan out the window.
I fluttered my fingers in the air—an attempt at waving—then dropped my hand and huffed. I shouldn’t have come. I know that. But if I just leave and go home, everyone will wonder why the new girl suddenly disappeared from a funeral—questions would follow.
David looked down at me with a small grin that lit his eyes, but didn’t reach his lips. I love that smile—his secret smile. “Shall we go in?” he asked cautiously.
“Lead the way,” I offered, and walked behind him—slowly. I’m in no rush to be stuck in that dreary red-bricked building, listening to the old ladies with curly brown hair speak in languages I don’t understand.
By the door, a portly woman of that exact description, wearing a black, knee-length tunic smiled at David before quickly returning her attention to the priest beside her. As she talked—in Italian, I think—she moved her fingers anxiously around the beads of a long, wooden rosary.
That must be Nathan’s mum.
“After you,” David offered the pathway, stopping to shake the priest’s hand. I crossed the threshold of the church and dipped my fingers in the holy water beside the door, making the sign of the cross over my body. David did the same.
“This isn’t the time to smile, David,” I said quietly, behind my teeth.
He dropped his private, glittering grin and leaned closer as he whispered, “Sorry. I was er…remembering something.”
Humph. I wish I could find something good to think about in a tragic time. All I can think about is that the last church I stepped foot into was in Perth—on the day I buried my family. I have to stop myself from thinking about that, though, otherwise…I’ll start crying.
The ringing in my ears returned, obviously brought on by the empty chill of the high brick walls and the echoing sobs bouncing off them. I need to sit down. The same blur I saw on the trees through the window of David’s car came into the church and moved the walls around me. I turned my face away from the sight of the coffin at the front of the church and grabbed the wooden seatback. Don’t think about them, Ara-Rose. Don’t think about them. They’re not here—their spirit doesn’t linger in these walls.
But the light hint of smoke from singed candles forced my mind to remember them—invoking what I thought were inaccessible tears. The only difference between this church and the one I said goodbye to my family in, is that the people crying and sobbing around me aren’t staring at me—waiting for me to fall to my knees and weep.
As we finally sat down on the cold, wooden pews, David edged closer to me, allowing more room beside him for other people. The Priest started to address the congregation for the pre-funeral mass, and we all kneeled.
After communion, I knelt beside David and opened one eye to watch him. He seemed intent on his prayer, his eyes closed tight and lips moving fast—speaking in tongues. Okay, so, not in tongues, but something unfamiliar. Could be Latin? David’s never mentioned religion before—I didn’t know he was Catholic, and I didn’t know he spoke Latin. But why not, he speaks French? Then, so does Mike—but that’s different, because Mike’s mum is French, so he grew up with it.
Not that it’s a big deal, like, I grew up in Catholic school, so this is no weird cult to me—but I don’t speak Latin. I’m not sure I even believe in God. Maybe David grew up in an intensely religious family. That might explain a lot, like the not wanting to kiss thing and the way he’s obligated into being my friend.
Everyone shuffled in their places again and began to sit back in the pews. David pulled me up gently by my arm. I glared at him and pulled my arm free. “I can get myself up, thank you.”
“Sorry.” He swallowed and looked away, rubbing his flat palm across the left side of his chest. When his hand dropped back into his lap, I studied the fine lines in his knuckles and the squared tips of his nails. If only I could just…
A murmuring hum filled the emptiness as people dropped from their pews to kneel on the floor—again. Man, this is getting old. My knees hurt, and I feel stupid sitting here with all of these people while they pray.
Right now, this church feels more like a prison than a supposed house. But I’m trapped—unable to run—fenced in by a large, round, sobbing woman on my right, and David on my left. He’ll follow me if I do, and everyone will turn and look at me. They’ll all say I wasn’t ready for this—they’ll tell my dad, and he’ll leave and come after me. Then he’ll think he was right—and he was right—but I’m not going to let this defeat me.
David, deep in his thoughts, with his eyes closed, lifted his hand from the tight prayer grip and moved it onto mine. His smooth, cool touch took my breath away. My concentration wavered for a second, and a solitary sob left my lips. David looked at me with round, focused eyes, then mouthed, “Are you okay?”
Oh, man, that makes me feel even worse. It should be me asking if he’s okay. David’s question went unanswered as we sat back in the seats. Instead, I looked forward and watched the priest waving his hands over Nathan’s closed casket.
It’s hard to believe there’s a person in there. I have to focus—to see it for what it is on the outside. A box. Nothing more.
David squeezed my hand firmly. “Just don’t think about it, Ara.”
I turned my head to look at him. I wonder if my face is giving away my internal emotional turmoil. The poker face I was practising last night slipped back into place like a well-worn mask. All I have to do is sit and wait patiently until this torturous moment is over.
One of the kids from school stood up the front of the church and read from a stack of palm cards—talking about the tragedy of losing someone we love, when they had only just begun to live. “Nathan was, and will always be a well-respected and much-loved friend,” the boy said. “He was there to give advice or a quick word of encouragement to anyone—be they a jock, a chess geek, a cheer girl or even a kid he didn’t know, who looked like he mighta needed a little help—a little sunlight.
“Nathan was that light. He was the guy we all expected to see graduate with honours, make the national football league, marry the prom queen.” The boy smiled then, and looked at Emily. “Death is tragic in any case, but when it comes so suddenly and takes the life of someone who had so much to offer the world, who never had the chance, it truly is a tragedy.” He touched Nathan’s casket and placed the palm cards on top. “We’ll all miss you, Nathe—rest in peace, man.” Then, he stepped off the altar stand and his friends patted him on the back as he sat down.
The grey sky opened up as we stepped outside the church, and the cool breeze eased the trapping tension of my own sorrows—sorrows I had no right to bring with me to the farewell of another.
Small droplets of rain began to sprinkle over the black hearse while David and a group of footballers carried Nathan’s box, and slid it into the back. As I watched them close the door, my emotions remained amazingly square, like a blank page. Controlled and composed. No one would know how I’m feeling, inside. I’m too good at playing the role of normal.
“You okay, honey?” Dad whispered in my ear as he stood beside me.
“Mm-hm.” I nodded.
“You look pale,” he added.
“I could take her home?” David offered quietly.
“I’m fine,” I scolded and followed the procession line to the church gates—leaving David and my dad behind.
&
nbsp; As we passed into the cemetery, walking slowly behind the long black vehicle, I closed my eyes and let the darkness narrow me in. There are no gravestones—there are no dead bodies and no skeletons lying under this grass.
The huddled mourners’ sobs around me guided my blind footsteps until a hand grabbed my arm. My eyes flashed open to David’s face. Where did he come from? He was walking beside the hearse a second ago.
“Don’t walk with your eyes closed—” he said, “It’s dangerous.”
I nodded, and David walked away—back to the black car.
Humph! I tucked my cold, shaking hands into my elbows. Who is he to tell me what to do?
A grumbling roar rolled across the sky, and everyone looked up—squinting against the white sun until a cloud shadowed its glare, and soft, icy patters of rain came down, making little dots of cold rise up on my arms.
With my hand across my stomach, I folded over ever-so-slightly, realising how much this day resembles the one I buried my family on—cold, grey, and I’m all alone.
Little black umbrellas popped up all around me. I rubbed my arms with my fingertips, holding my breath to keep the cold out. But the shivering and dizziness just aggravated my exhaustion. I need to lie down.
“Are you okay, dear?” A skeletally haggard old lady reached her hand toward me.
I nodded, taking a step away from her when a long, firm arm scooped around my waist and pulled me under the shelter of a black canopy. The rain tapped the umbrella softly, soothing my suddenly racing heart with its song of nature. “She’s fine.” David’s silky voice hummed through the top of my head. “She’s with me.”
“Okay.” The old lady smiled at David, but when she looked at me, her eyes narrowed.
“Aren’t you supposed to be up the front?” I asked, craning my neck to look up at him.
He winked at me and a smile warmed his face. “I thought you might need some shelter.”
I pushed his arm from around my waist and rubbed the fine spread of raindrops off my skin. “I was fine. I don’t need you to shelter me.” Only I do—so, so badly that it hurts just to stand this close to him.
“Oh, um—” He lowered his gaze to the floor and placed the umbrella in my hand, squeezing my fingers around the handle before stepping back into the rain. “I’m sorry.”
“No, David—” I reached out, but he strolled away too quickly, disappearing into the mist of rain cloud. What is wrong with me? Why did I just say that?
The congregation dispersed suddenly, then formed a semi-circle around a rectangle hole in the ground. I scanned the crowd for my dad or Vicki, finding them beside the priest at the head of the hole.
The rain came down harder then, making my ears feel blocked with its noisy pattering. Droplets of cold water splashed up onto my shoes, wetting my toes, while we stood around and waited for the boys to position the pine box in the ground.
The priest readied himself, straightening the cloth over his shoulders while an altar-boy tipped and swayed, standing on his toes to keep an umbrella over the man.
The rain stopped abruptly and all eyes cast to the heavens for a moment as umbrellas closed, like flowers at dusk, all around me. I leaned the umbrella David gave me against a nearby headstone and folded my arms over my chest.
As the priest began, Dad wrapped his arm around Mrs. Rossi and cast a quick glance at me; I smiled reassuringly. On the outside, I know I look strong, but inside, my heart is pouring like the rain passed, and my arms feel weak, like the blood’s too thick to pump smoothly through my veins.
Looking around for David, I drew a breath through my nose and stiffened my upper lip—feeling the pressure of all the grieving people start to penetrate my emotional wall. When I looked at Nathan’s mother—crying her heart out for her only child, her precious and special baby boy—the memory of Harry came flooding back to the surface with a vengeance.
My hunger gave way to the green ogre, making my chest quiver as I fought to suppress violent sobs. Tears boiled up under my lashes and thrust themselves onto my cheeks without approval. They will be held back no longer. It’s just no good—all I see is myself, in place of Mrs. Rossi. I remember how much it hurt to say goodbye. I know how much she’s hurting right now. But I can’t help her, and nothing anyone says will ever make the pain go away.
The repressed grief burst out of me like an uncontrolled gust of rain-laced wind; I folded over a little more. No. No. Stop. Please. Not here. I have no right to cry here—for this boy, for Mrs. Rossi. I never knew them.
But Nathan is in there—in that box—and even though it’s closed and covered in flowers, I can see him; as real and clear as I can see my own hands in front of me.
The thunder cracked overhead and a flash of lightning lit the coffin in a white glow—the last light it will ever see. Looking up through swelling tears, I focused on the tall, familiar man standing near the priest with his hands clasped in front of him.
Mike? Is that Mike? What is he looking at? Why is he crying?
My head turned to follow his gaze, and my heart shot into my throat, falling straight back down into my gut. Mum. Harry. No. This has to be a dream.
My eyes brimmed with tears that spilled at the sight of a tiny white and blue coffin beside a long, cherry-coloured one.
Dad leaned closer to me as they lowered the coffins to the ground, and he whispered in my ear, “I gave them a little blue bear, Ara.” I jumped back at the sound of his voice so close, and looked across the way; Dad’s still there—standing beside Mrs. Rossi. “It was the one in his cot—” he continued, his voice coming from inside my head. “He had a blanket and a photo of you and your mum.”
I looked back at the boxes containing my entire family as the priest spoke over the smallest one. “Which one, Dad?” I asked. He never told me which picture he took to lay beside the tiny, broken little body of my baby brother.
Dad didn’t respond. But he couldn’t—he’s not standing here with me—he’s all the way across the other side of the hole in the ground.
“As we lay this child to rest,” the priest said, “may the angels greet him in heaven. Father, for you are the all forgiving.”
But what if there is no heaven? What if Harry’s lost out there somewhere—alone, crying for me, and I can’t come to him. He’s too small to be all alone. He’s too small to be gone. He shouldn’t have been there. He should’ve been safe in his bed. He should still be alive.
I wiped my face, smudging the rain into the tears while I watched Mike sprinkle a handful of soil over the coffins. Then, he looked at me, and my heart stopped beating as our eyes met.
Can he see me? I can’t move—can’t cry. This can’t be real. Mike can’t really be standing there—right in front of me. “Mike?” I called out to him, but he looked past me.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” The words of the priest filled my ears; they sound too real, like I’m still there.
“Ara?”
My mind snapped back to the reality of a cold, rainy day. People sobbed hysterically around me, and Mrs. Rossi fell into my dad’s chest, hiding her face.
Lost in the unbelievable realism of my memory, I hadn’t felt David place his arm around me. His voice, saying my name, echoed in the distance of my memory. I looked up at him for long enough to see extreme concern behind his eyes, then I attempted composure in the form of a deep breath and let my gaze drift back to Nathan’s box.
As it slowly lowered closer and closer to the ground, I thought about the empty space—the horrible moment which brings everything into reality the minute you leave the funeral and walk into that vacant house.
Before they’re gone, before you bury them in the cold, hard ground, everything seems surreal, like they’re just on a shopping trip or somewhere in the house where you can’t hear them. But when their flesh touches the earth and settles in the final destination for all eternity, it takes with it the cloud, the safety of the cage that hides you from believing they’re never coming back.
Whe
n Nathan’s mum gets home, she’ll fall apart. She’ll cry until there are no tears left and it will still do her no good. Nathan will never come back—Harry is never coming back.
My shaking hands turned to ice. David’s grip tightened around me, making hot blood rise into my chest and flood backward over my head and spine.
All the things they’ll miss out on; it’s too much to bear. Nathan will never finish high school, Mum will never see me get married, hold her first grandbaby and…I swallowed hard and pressed my shaking knees together—Harry will never go to school, never paint his first picture, never learn to walk…and he never even got to have a birthday party.
Oh God, it’s my fault. I took all those wonderful things from them. It should have been me. Why wasn’t it me?
The oxygen around me felt over-used. My head rocked back and forth inside, and as the shivers ran from my hands, up my arms and into my chest, I heard a quiet gasp—and everything went black…
Grains of sand fell through a narrow passage in a glass jar and hit the base with a soft pattering. The ground swayed gently beneath me while the canopy kept the chill of rain from touching my skin.
The frosty rushing of my whole world feels calm now, closed in by the warmth of the summer sun. It’s just David and I, standing on the island in the middle of our lake, watching the rain fall onto the leaves above us—staying perfectly dry in the hidden clearing where I had my first kiss. But it wasn’t a real kiss—it was fake. David doesn’t love me. He was just pretending. He only wanted to make sure I didn’t kill myself.
A heated tightening twisted my stomach and the grains of sand hitting the glass splashed into my eyes—burning them—forcing them to close.
What’s going on? Where am I?
The dry sting of the sand lifted my mind from the dream of David, and with a rush of panic, my eyes flung open to the grey, dreary day, and right by my brow, the strong chin of a man—the breath from his nose brushing my fringe.
