Alexander

I don't know why I went. I know now that if I didn't, the regret would have been too much. It came in a rush: I could not believe he was gone. An old man, whom I knew only from a few brief encounters from the cool, deep blue of his backyard pool, swimming with you, whilst he tidied the yard.

You are there; you are always there.

I went that day, as much to see you as to pay my respects to your grandfather, and in a way it was more your funeral than that of a kindly old man I barely knew. There was no choice whether to attend or to call you later to log my condolences, and I went, out of obligation, even though I felt an intruder amongst the stern suits and watering eyes.

I see you.

Standing outside the church, I saw you, receiving embrace after consoling embrace; you saw me and smiled. I nodded, knowing in my heart that if I even so much as touched you, the dam of emotions I had been bottling up since you walked away from me, from us, would flood out and I would scream.

Don’t touch me.

I felt like screaming, crying in hysterical pain and asking myself yet again, what I did to force you to walk away. I sat next to my grandmother, in a pew I knew only too well from years of churchgoing, although in recent times, my Saturday night jaunts with you -

whitepantseightoutoftensizesixenvyblondelegsiamnotteniamzero

- and the boys had overtaken my devotion to my faith. But today was different. My emotions were suspended, and my hitherto experience of life was disrupted, inexorably changed forever. I watched you, four pews in front, trying to be strong, trying so hard not to cry.

You never cry.

I'd never seen you weep, I'd never seen you crack, show weakness even, because for you the world was inferior, and to show weakness was to compromise your superiority. To be forced to realise that you were just like me, just like everyone else. Sitting there listening to the priest commending attributes of a man he never met, I felt cheated.

Let us pray.

Cheated that you could walk away from me so easily. You called me clingy once, a conversation I'll never forget - the beginning of the end. Was it that I tried too hard? Or did I get too close to your supercilious ideals of self-importance? You don't understand, Alexander.

You make me scream.

If you keep walking away from those who care, from the world when it begins to press on your self-righteous bubble, you will find yourself one day walking a very lonely road indeed.

Amen.

I looked down from my contemplation of the silver crucifix, Christ's evident pain mirroring my own inner turmoil, to the paper lying untouched and unread in my lap. A fuzzy photograph of the old man I felt such affinity for in his terry-towelling hat, looking out at me below the words:

"Alexander George Melville, 10 November 1918 – 5 June 2002".

You are Alexander, and I find it intriguing that such a selfless and caring man may be your namesake. Approaching the coffin -

Cold hard dead wood.

- I placed rosemary and lavender on the decorated Corporal’s cap at its head, and returned to my seat, stony-faced. I would not allow you to see me cry; you had seen it before, and you would not again.

You make me cry.

Once seated, I allowed the tears to flow, and my grandmother handed me a tissue from the bottom of her handbag.

Crushed. It smells like her.

When it was all over I walked outside, where the priest I have known for so many years was surprised at my presence, and exclaimed in his high-pitched pious tones how lovely it was to see me in attendance. As the coffin was taken away in a car -

black

so black

- I turned to you. I said nothing. "You came", you stated, and I didn't know what to do.

I still don’t know what to do.

I nodded. A pretty blonde came up and kissed you on the cheek. I wondered if she was your cousin or your girlfriend. Still so jealous. It makes me furious.

Beside myself, I step away.

I missed the introductions completely. I hope you are happy together.

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fakesmilesupercilousgreedselfishsoselfishyouyouyouphony

I still have no idea who she is. I still have no idea who you are.

Alexander.

Of course I came. Never ever assume that I don't care. I walked away. It is my turn now to walk away from you. Later you thanked me profusely for coming, out of pious necessity, and e-mailed me every so often. I did not see you again.

Never again.

I still hear about you from others, they say you have changed. I wonder why you should today be in my mind.

Contemplate. Anguish.

Now I sit, watching pieces of stick fall from my hands to disappear in the tumult of the creek. It is such a peaceful place here. Uninterrupted. The sun goes down; the sky is the colour of pain. I watch the twigs being whiskedwhirledflurriedsunkaway.

And I think.
Of you.
Alexander.