It's a grey day, and the golden aura next to me seems an incongruous presence in the cemetary.
A tear, tiny, round, perfect and like a miniscule crystal, glistens on his cheek
One by one, we approach to say a few unrehearsed words. A couple of us spoke at the funeral, but one of the girls - I don't even know which, my mind was somewhere else, and she had on a black veil anyway, and sometimes they all look alike to me- burst into sobs and couldn't say a word then.
I'll be last, hanging towards the back. He hangs back to stand beside me.
"Rain," He says softly, his lips gracing a small, sad smile.
"Yeah."
"It's like God is crying for her."
"God is the last person who'd cry for that woman," I reminded him.
He nods, and for a moment, there is silence again, except for the sound of grey raindrops hitting the earth.
"You know, she's the reason I believe in reincarnation. Or should I say, I believe that's what happened to her."
"Yeah?" He tilts his head. He always does to listen.
"Think about it. Heaven doesn't want her, and I know if I was running the show down there, I'd be afraid she'd take over."
"Point."
We approach the grave together, side by side. I can feel the warmth from his shoulder next to mine. He looks so different in black, in a coat that hides the minute movements of his muscles tensing.
"Well, I never saw it coming," He said with a small laugh. "I mean, I guess I just figured you'd be around forever. I hope that, at some point during the time we knew you, I paid you back for the first night when you saved my life. And a life even more important to me, too. Thanks, I guess. For everything."
He takes half a step back.
I don't move, and I wish that my eyes weren't watering. I don't cry.
"Your turn." He whispers.
"Yeah." I move forward half a step, swallow the lump in my throat. "I'll miss her, you know? I liked her."
He puts his arm around my shoulders. "I know what kind of statement that is coming from you."
"Yeah, well." I shrug, turning to lean into his chest, which is broad, well-muscled, warm. He holds me now, both arms.
"You know, you could cry. It'd be okay."
"I don't cry." I choke on the words.
"Of course you don't. But I wouldn't tell anyone if you did, if you wanted to."
"They wouldn't believe you if you did."
"They might. A friend did die."
"Dead men tell no tales." I remind him warningly.
"Right. And more importantly, dead men have no sex." And he leans in, kissing my cheek, the touch of his lips fluttery and light, and too brief, but warm, and marking a place once stained by tears I tried so hard to fight.
He reached up, and his fingers brush away further teardrops. "I love you, you know that?"
"I don't cry."
"Right."
~Fin~
Back to main list.