The sweet taste of nicotine meets my mouth as I light my cigarette; taking a deep pull. My dad used to smoke too, I remember how he used to skip breakfast just to get a quick puff before he drove me to school as a kid. The lingering stench of smoke wasn't as easy to hide though. If someone were to ask me to close my eyes and describe the most memorable smell of my childhood, ‘cigarettes and black coffee’ would be my answer. Dad always told me not to follow his example, ‘those will kill you’ he said. Well it wasn't cancer that got him, so why should I be worried?

I exhale; watching the growing cloud of smoke forming before me with dull fascination. ‘Is this how much poison a body can hold?’, I always thought I wasn't asking the right questions, that being the reason why I never got the right answers. So how much poison can a man's body hold? just enough to feel good while slowly killing you from the inside. You’ll die either way, so why not enjoy it while you can?

Life is strange like that, one moment you're driving down the road, on your way home from a baseball game. The next you're sitting outside your house, wearing all black, ready to go to your father's funeral. With some fucked up shit happening somewhere in the middle.

Can anyone even be ready for a funeral? Do people prepare for days like these? I’d like to think not. I take another pull of smoke, relishing the sound of burning tobacco.

I pull my head back as I blow out the smoke upwards, looking at the sky. Not many clouds float in the sky today. I’ve never been to a funeral before, but I always imagined it to be raining when there came a time and I did need to go. ‘Not like in the movies huh.’ I once heard someone say that we’re the main characters of our lives. If so then today would make a dull episode. ‘Wonder if all the people we meet in life are named in the credits, when the movie is over.’ I take another pull from the cigarette.

I leave the cig in my mouth; blowing out the smoke through my nose, and stretch out my arm, looking at the calluses formed on my palm, ‘baseball will never be the same’. The sound of cars driving by flows in and out of earshot, the huffing of joggers, chirping of birds, rustling of leaves drift through me. The minutes pass, the seconds tick along on my watch, and the cigarette burns away. The embers draw closer and closer to the filter, the smoke rising with their passing; leaving a long piece of ash still attached. Settling back from my stupor; I flick the cigarette butt, watching as it’s carried away in the wind. Time to get going.

Rising to my feet I dust myself off, the porch steps aren’t as well kept as mom likes to think, the summer breeze brings little bits of nature in its wake, settling on human lands. The thought brings a dry smile to my face, which quickly sours, ‘Need to get them’. I slowly take the few steps up to the front door, exhaling; as I place my hand on the knob. I hear voices from the inside, words I can't quite make out, and sobbing; dry to the ear, wet to the heart.  Slowly twisting the knob open, I step inside; stopping just a single step into the hallway, not quite ready to draw their eyes.

“What do you mean you don't want to go?” Mom’s voice sounds from the kitchen, her words are slow and drawn out, she’s clearly exhausted. Bella’s sobs are dull, her nose running as she sniffles mid sob before answering.

“I-, haven’t seen him-, in such a long time mamma...” She breaks down again, choking on her words as they refuse to leave her mouth. “He didn’t even-, want to talk to me when I called mamma…” Is what she manages to say before she starts weeping uncontrollably. I feel my eyes start to water, whatever she’s caught is contagious. I can’t cry though, even when I tried; I couldn’t. I’m the man of the house now, I need to be strong for them, both mom and Bella.  

Time is never still, and never constant. For some it moves slowly, making them seem younger than they really are. For others it swifts through, wrinkling them beyond their years. Some it cuddles, letting them be slowly accustomed to life in all its glory, leading them through in an even pace. Others it plunges into its stream with little warning, setting them into shoes too big, pants too loose, roles not ready to be filled.

“HE, was your Father, Isabella.” Mom states, her voice stern and heavy. That voice was usually reserved for when me and Bella fought, as kids. It never took much to set us at each others throat. A laugh from me when she brushed her hair would be enough for her to put food coloring in my toothpaste. And a smirk from her when I watched her friends was enough for me to put honey in her shampoo. More often than not we would fight afterwards, bloody noses and scraped knees were as frequent as dad's smoking habits. Well, my bloody nose at least, she was always the bigger one of us, until she left that is.

“I'm sorry love,” she sighs, her voice calm once more, her energy overspent, “you know he missed you, he was just awkward, his little girl all grown up, he needed time that’s all. Hush now.” I close my eyes, taking in the soothing presence only a mom can give.

I leave the door half open, and take a few quiet steps forward, just in time to see Bella lift her head from the kitchen table. She’s looking at the family photo she had in her hand, “I never should have told him,” she said in a still torn, but much calmer voice. “He never would’ve known…” she whispers, barely loud enough for me to pick up.

It’s strange really, both me and Bella experienced the same loss, but somehow it’s different. Sure, it’s sad, and I feel like shit, yeah. But looking at her now, as rough as she’s taking it; I feel relieved. I could’ve been in her place, crying my eyes out right now, but i’m not. All I feel is pity for Bella, pity for mom. But ours are wholly different stories.

I look to my side, to a small bowl of clay he made, it had a pair of eyes and a smile; with a tongue sticking out to the side. In the middle of the bowl was written: “Keys Please”, in small silver letters. And cracks running from top to bottom, are still visible. I was eight when he made it, took him a few days as well. The first piece of pottery he made, and he kept it out of reach, on a shelf in the living room. And I wanted it. Maybe because I couldn’t have it, maybe because it felt special, maybe because he made it, and it smiled. So I took it, or tried to at least. It broke when I reached for it, fell when I scraped it, and shattered when it met with the hardwood floor. He glued it back together, that too took him a few days. It was in the hallway since, the ‘keys please’ was added afterwards. I grab the car keys; the jangling sound draws both pairs of eyes to mine.

“Whenever you’re ready, i’ll just be outside.” It’s odd, hearing the sound of your own voice after just thinking to yourself for some time. You might think you know what it sounds like, but then it comes out, and it’s a little off from what you expect it to be.

“Of course honey, we’ll be out in a minute.” Mom strains a small smile from her seemingly stoic visage. I heard her trying to cry herself to sleep last night, in the end both me and her couldn't manage to get any rest. My night was spent staring at the ceiling; my thought keeping me awake. Somethings just tend to happen, then you realize you have little control over your life, all it takes is a loud wakeup call, and mine was just loud enough.

Closing the door behind me; I glance at my watch, it’s 11:14am. We should be there at around 12:00pm; if we leave right now, doesn’t really matter, the dead won't mind if you’re late to their party. My eyes are drawn to the street, some people are jogging, others mowing their lawn, some are just walking their dogs. It’s all so normal, like nothing has changed, the world’s still turning. ‘We’re all just dust in the wind’, never really appreciated the song, it's a lot more relatable now though.  

I make my way to his car, a ‘88 M5, black. Seems more appropriate as the only other car we have is red. Opening the door; I climb inside, sitting where he sat. I take a moment to look around, from his perspective. The seat is too far from the wheel, the angle too low for the side mirrors. He was a big man, well, bigger than I am now. I glance up to the rear mirror, dark, baggy eyes look back at me. The color will return with some sleep, but some things rest just can't fix. I need a smoke. I’ve never driven his car before, and he’s never let me smoke inside either. ‘Not much he can say about it now’, I think as I place a cigarette to my lips. My lighter has seen its last day it seems, no matter how much I grind the flint; it just doesn’t want to work.

Maybe he has a light in here, somewhere. I open the drivers visor; sunglasses, and a picture of mom are all I find, she’s younger here, wearing a sundress; smiling. Not sure if i’ve ever seen her smile like that, or was it just not important enough for me to notice? We people, live in the past, we’re molded by it. We see only that with which we’re familiar with. Give a man a uniform, and he’ll start noticing more uniforms around him. Give a man a cone of ice cream, and he’ll notice more people walking with frozen desserts in hand.

We see that which we’re a part of, instinct drives us to look for a group, a pack. Similarity draws the eye, familiarity draws the mind. How many times have I seen mom smile like that I wonder? Is it just an idea my mind irks to let go? Or have I been that blind, that shallow, as to not notice her joy? A photo, a part of the past is what it holds. Will she smile like that anymore? Will I get to see her happy again? Or did I miss that chance already? You can only know you’re wrong after thinking you were right. You can only miss that which isn't there anymore.

I open the armrest compartment of the center console, inside I find old receipts, small change, and most importantly; a zippo lighter. ’Surprise’, I knew he used to smoke in the car, just never with me inside.

The lighter doesn’t look like much, solid brass, silver in color. It flicks open with a creak, the hinge needs to be oiled i’d say. I once had one just like it; Bella's parting gift from three years ago. It was nice for a while, but fuel needed to be changed, the wick burned out too quickly, and the squeaking… the damned squeaking would drive me crazy. I still have it lying around somewhere, I think. I hear the wheel grinding the flint as I attempt to make fire, all I get are sparks, a few extra tries confirm my thoughts, ‘No fuel, bummer’. I close the lid and put it inside my pocket, might as well keep it.

I guess i’ll just use the car lighter. Pressing the socket in I wait a brief moment until it pops back out, I then press it to my cig and take a deep pull, before placing it back into the socket. Leaning back into the seat; I find it quiet here. I take another deep pull of smoke, enjoying the nicotine's brief stay, before slowly exhaling. Ashing the cigarette outside the window with a flick; I close my eyes and think back to the last thing he said to me: “Stay inside.” He said, and I did.

I take another pull as I look to the passenger seat, I sat right there; looking out the window as he left. Now i’m sitting in his car, in his seat, staring at the empty space of my memory. I know it’s just life and all that crap, but I can’t help but feel guilty, heck I didn't even unbuckle my seatbelt, I just sat there on my phone, waiting for him.

I pull out my phone and go through the messages as I take another pull of smoke, ‘Here it is,’ I was texting with Chad, a buddy of mine, we go way back; to elementary school years. He told me that Cass, my ex, was having a party, and that she invited Ben and the hockey team, a bunch of assholes is what they are.

Chad had the idea that we should go and get our fists wet, it was a tradition in my school, the baseball and the hockey teams had a thing for each other. Nobody knows how it started but it went on nonetheless, and this was a reason if I even saw one. I still thought about Cass as my girl, sure I was the one to break up, but hey, I couldn’t let that sob Ben piss where I ate. So we made plans, and soon the whole baseball team was in on it, and I was grinning like a dipshit, while my dad burned alive.

I hear a door close and look up from my phone, a tear made its way down my cheek, but I manage to wipe it away before either mom or Bella could see it. I take another pull from my cigarette and open the door to step out, throwing the butt on the ground before stepping on it. Mom gives me the ring of flowers she carried, and I place it in the trunk. I then open the passenger and rear doors respectively. Once both mom and Bella took their seats I close the doors with a clink, and make my way around to the drivers side. Once inside I crank the car on, and slowly pull out of the driveway in reverse.

Mom decided to skip the whole chapel thing, never asked her why, she probably has her reasons. So I just drove us to the graveyard, by the looks of it we’ll arrive at about 12:20pm, it’s just fine, the rest are to arrive at 1:00pm. I look at Bella through the rear mirror, she’s sitting right behind the passenger seat, staring out the window, same as mom. Now that I think about it, she looks just like mom in the picture I saw. I turn my eyes back to the road; keeping quiet, I don’t really know what to say, how do people deal with these situations? It’s not awkward, just weird. The three of us know what happened, know what we’ve lost, and what we won't be getting back.

I downshift and come to a halt at a stop sign, seeing as there are no cars coming from both the right, and the left I continue on, slowly pushing on the throttle, feeding the engine with fuel.

“You know, I could never get used to driving stick,” Bella remarks, “why didn't dad switch to automatic?” she asks, making eye contact through the rear mirror.

I notice now that she dyed her hair, it was all black before; just like mine, whereas now it’s more light, almost brown maybe. “Dunno, it’s just different, you have more control I guess.” You really do, it also helps if you hear the revs, it’s a pleasant sound. “You also keep your hands busy, so you can’t use your phone, manual is safer i’d say.” I add, making eye contact with a smirk, it’s been a long time since we took a jab at one another, a really long time.

“One time! Oh my god, you’re never going to let it go, are you?” She sighs; now smiling, good. “Can you blame me though? It’s the only edge I have on you.” Not entirely true, I have a lot of those, ‘never show all your cards’ comes to mind. “Oh c’mon, now you’re just being a kiss-ass.” She rolls her eyes; laughing. We used to laugh a lot as kids, sure we fought, but hey, sibling rarely get along. I was a violent one at school, the guys would pick on me cause I was small for my age, so the bloody nose syndrome wasn't kept strictly at home. When we walked home together, me and her, she would laugh at the kids that got it worse, and I would share in that laughter.

I smile, it’s nice, I haven’t seen her in a long time, too bad it took dads funeral to get her here. Well, no point in thinking like a prick, at least she’s here now, with mom and me, in dad's car, driving to watch how what’s left of his body gets buried… shit. With what little mood I had now gone; I reach for the stereo, turn it on, and hit play. Now with some noisy country music filling in the silence; I take out my pack of cigarettes and pull one out, lighting it with the car lighter, before lowering the window again. The window lever is hard to turn, it resists the process, more so on the way down than up . But I do manage it in the end, and the smoke finds its way to the outside.

“You smoke too much, Steve. Those will kill you.” Mom's voice sounds over the music, heh, somethings never change. “I’ll quit before that happens ‘Ma.” The corners of her mouth rise slightly, forming a sad smile. “Always the smartass,” she retorts.

“Why I beg to differ M’lady, I was raised to be a proper educated gentleman, not this barbaric ‘smartass’ you think of me as.” Bella laughs as moms smile broadens, feeling slightly better myself I focus on the rest of the road; as I take a second pull from my cigarette. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all, maybe they’ll be just fine today, maybe we’ll manage.

My third cigarette is thrown away by the time we arrive, as expected; the parking lot is almost empty, most people still being on their way. I take the nearest spot to the entrance, pull the parking brake up, and turn off the engine right after. There’s something special about shutting off the engine. The slight shake as the key turns, the last roar before the momentum dies down, it’s enough to take my mind off things for a moment.

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Stepping outside the car, I look at the hearse near by, it’s bigger than I always imagined, looks more gothic than elegant. Heh I guess if you’re going to be literary ‘grounded’, a certain style is better suited.

I go around to open the doors once more, first mom’s, then Bella’s, after they’re out and walking about, I pop the trunk open and fetch the flower ring. After locking the car we make our way to the cemetery grounds, we walk slowly, dad won’t mind.

We arrive to the casket, meeting the funeral conductor, mom greets him with a handshake, Bella and I do the same. We then take some time to ourselves, just sitting there, close in body, far in soul. I think back to that evening, it was late, the sun was almost set, and there was a slight smell of smoke. Sirens were blazing far in the background, they were loud enough for me to turn up the music. After dad left the car, and while I was still on my phone, grinning and all, that was when I heard the explosion. I dropped my phone in fright, my eyes wide open as a flaming figure fell down from the sky, right in front of our car.

It took me a moment to realize what was happening, my ears were still ringing from the explosion, and my heart was beating loud enough to quell the music. Somethings just happen, sometimes you can deal with what you get, and sometimes you can't. I couldn’t. The flames looked alive, I could feel the heat through the distance, through the windshield, through the fear.  

I remember his screams piercing the through whatever state I was in. It overshadowed the sirens, the music playing inside the car, even the frenzied beating of my heart. It was a raw, inhuman, animalistic scream. I remember seeing his face in the flames, I remember sitting there, not being able to do anything. The screams soon turned to wails, and I was frozen, oh the irony in that phrase… I was frozen in place, while my father was burning alive.

I remember him reaching for something, his whole body clad in fire and he was still reaching for something, could he see me? That’s the question that kept me up at night, ‘could he see me then?’ I hope he couldn’t, I don't want to know what kind of face I made. After the fire department and the ambulance got there it was already too late, his figure was no more than charcoal, and I was no more than a statue.

I just sat there, my seat belt still on, and looked at what was once my dad. The same one that picked me up from school that day, the same one that took me to the game, the same one that told me to ‘stay inside’. So I did, I stayed inside, like a good son…

I feel a hand being placed on my cheek; turning me around, it’s mom. She starts wiping away at the tears, at my tears, I didn’t even notice… “I’m sorry…” Is what I try to say, but my voice is off again, barely a whimper. So much for being the man of the family now, crying like a kid, shit.

I gently press my hand to mom’s; gripping it, and slowly place it on her lap. “Thanks ‘Ma” I say, now with a more stable voice, while blinking the tears from my eyes, before wiping my face with my sleeves. “You shouldn’t use your sleeves,” she whispers, it hurts her to see me like this, I can tell. But it hurts me so much more. “Here, use a handkerchief.” She adds while handing me a white, square piece of what looks to be cotton. It’s soft.

“I’ll be back in a few.” I stand up; handing the handkerchief back to mom, I do need a few minutes, and I could really use a smoke right now. “Take your time.” Is all I get in return, mom closes her eyes again and Bella’s just sitting there, counting the clouds by what it looks like.

I start walking away, just far enough to be out of sight. Shouldn't have broken down like that, no point crying over spilt milk and all, he’s dead, nothing to do about it now, deal with it. Easy to say, harder to do. What happens after this is done, do we just go back to how we were? Is that even possible? Do we just move on, forget about him? Mom gets a new husband, we get a new father? Fuck that.

I stop, taking a minute to grab a cigarette from my pack; quickly placing it in my mouth. I really need that smoke now. I reach into my right pocket for a light, taking out his zippo, I flick it open and grind the wheel, nothing but sparks, damn. This sucks, I ain't asking the funeral guy for a light, no way. I start walking down a trail back to the parking lot, i’ll just use the car lighter again, no way around it.

As I walk the trail I take a few glances at the tombstones around it, some bigger than others, some fancier, others simple and small. On one of the smaller ones I notice a tiny flame, dancing away in a small metal box, with a closed lid. ‘A grave candle huh’, whatever works I guess. Carefully raising the metal latch, I open the lid; taking the candle out, and slowly raise it to my cigarette.

“Fuck me,” I whisper as the already miniscule flame is extinguished by a small breeze. Sighing; I place the candle back into the box, taking a moment to read the epitaph on the stone.

VINCENT BELLOW

“Where nights are cold, and full of darkness, lies a man who smiled the brightest.

The path he’s chosen led him here, where you now stand, he lies so near.

The steps he took attempt with care, lest you end up in here as well.”

  1968  ----  2016

“Interesting, isn’t it?” A smooth voice rises  from behind me, laced with a fair bit of both amusement, and melancholy. Glancing back I find a girl, a woman, seems to be no older than 25, pretty too. She wears her blond hair in a bun, her shirt matches her green eyes in color. She has a bundle of flowers in one hand, lilies. The second one is tucked inside her pocket, with her thumb sticking out.

“Yeah, that’s a good word for it,” Is normal to make small talk at a cemetery? Didn’t hear her walking up to me, and I should’ve. The dry fallen leaves and the loose pebbles would have made some sound at least. “It leaves a few questions in mind though.” Sounds like a riddle even. My philosophy teacher, mister Bailey, used to say that the answer hides in the question itself. “What’s the meaning of life?”, life. “ Why is there something rather than nothing?”, nothing is something, or the absence of something, just like the absence of something is something in itself. And if not, it leads to a better question. “Do we have free will?”, what is free will? “Does God exist?”, What is god? Sure philosophy was an easy class, where no answer is wrong, but hey, it stuck.

“That it does, the questions can be answered only by the person who reads them, it’s personal like that.” Her gaze leaves mine as she approaches the grave, flowers in hand. She then places them at the base of the tombstone, ‘yellow lilies’. I vaguely remember they symbolize happiness, and remembrance.

“It’s been half a year now, it gets easier with time.” She says while standing up. “Isn’t easy right now though.” Is my answer, I never considered the possibility of loss this early in my life, never had reason to.

“Who are you escorting?” she asks, weird phrasing, what is this, a ball? “My dad, people should be arriving soon,” In about 20 minutes by my watch. “I needed to get away, catch my breath, do you have a light by the way?” She looks me up and down, a small smile finds its way up the corners of her mouth. “I’ll share a light, if you share a smoke.” Fair trade.

“Deal, i’ll even throw in a few if you need some for the road.” I say as I take out my pack. “I don’t really smoke too much, only with company.” She answers, so there are people like that huh. I pass her a smoke and she lights it; tossing me the lighter right after, as I light my cigarette I look back to the grave candle.

“Im Steve, by the way.” I introduce myself as I bend down to light the candle up again. “Clementine, nice of you to do that.” She remarks. “It was kinda my fault it died down, I tried lighting my cig with it before, sorry about that.” Well that does make me feel a little better, coming clean and all, I would be pissed in her stead. But then again, my situation is still fresh and steaming. Is there ever a bad time to make puns? Guess so, it doesn't make me feel any better.

“It’s just a candle, never really got the point of it, but hey, that’s what people do.” I guess she’s right, a candle isn’t much company to a dead man. Won't be much good for warmth either.  “So what’s the story behind this, if you don't mind me asking of course” I say as I turn to the epitaph on the stone.

“That’s my dad,” I hear her voice, but I don’t see her say the words, her eyes are glued to the stone, smoke rising from her mouth. “When I finished my medical studies, he was left alone.” She takes a moment; drawing a deep pull of smoke, and I follow her example.“A friend of mine recommended I apply for internship in germany, and I was accepted. So he went to pursue his dream, he was an alpinist in his heart.” She takes another pull of smoke, the brief moment is enough for her eyes to wander back to the stone.

“He died alone, In the cold.” I know there’s more to it, but the rest is not meant for me, it’s hers to know. I take a look at my hand, the cigarette rests between my fingers, a steady stream of smoke rising from its edge. Is this all we are? Fuel to be burned away with time, only to be extinguished in the ground when life is done with us? Mister Bailey would say life is more than that, he’d tell me to think bigger. “Expand your mind, and see what manages to flow in through the gaps.” Is what he used to say in class. Sure sound pretty, but what’s the point?

The silence that followed her words stretches on, I flick the ashes off of the cigarette and take one last pull. “Mine died in a fire,” the words leave my mouth before I know it, guess I need someone to talk to about this.

I flick the cigarette a few times, until the rest of the tobacco falls out, leaving only the filter, I then place the butt in with the rest of my pack, even I know better than to litter in a cemetery.

“I saw him burn away, can you imagine?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. “I was there, but he still died alone, we all die alone.” Am I right? I don't really know, but that’s what it feels like, so for what it’s worth, that’s the truth.

“Sometimes things happen, we can't really control our lives, we can limit ourselves, sure, but control is not something we get to have.” The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, it feels good to speak your mind, but it just sounds wrong out in the open.

“I guess you’re right, but that’s a depressing way to live by, isn’t it?” And she’s right, her eyes are locked onto my own, the gaze is intense, she’s waiting for an answer.

“It can be, guess it depends on what you do, the things you want, and how much you want them.” Again the words leave me without much thought. “Are you willing to bet your life, for a chance at success? Or are you ok with what you have?” A game of chance, either you raise or fold, I guess.

“You’ll still lose in the end, the game is rigged, you can't win, question is; will you try?” Shit, is this too much? I need another smoke. I feel less confident in the words now that they’re not my own anymore. In a perfect world I would be able to say what I think and feel good about it. Because I know that what i’m saying is right, and i'm right to be saying it. But our world isn’t perfect, and I feel as if I just opened a door I would prefer being closed.

“You sound a lot like my dad you know, he would have been proud if he had a son like you, just as i'm sure your own father was.” We’re not that different, me and her, both our dads left us behind, or was it us that left them? I could have stopped him, I could have helped, I was the one who killed him, just as she was the one to kill her dad, she left him alone, just as I left mine. I once read that the deepest seeds of regret are sown by the actions that we don’t take, by the things we don't say, by possibilities lost. If I was just a little bit more involved, more interested, then maybe he would still be alive. I didn't even asked where he was going, why should I stay inside. I could’ve stopped him, I could’ve stopped him…

“Can I have that light again, please?” My throat dry, hands shaking, my knees buckle from under me and I find myself on the ground, my vision blurry, this is bullshit.

“Are you alright?” She asks as she hands me the lighter. Fuck no, i'm not alright, my father is dead, what a stupid fucking question.

“Yeah, i’m good, lately I keep getting these episodes, anxiety I think?” I mutter; taking the lighter and igniting my little piece of heaven, drawing a deep pull once more. What would I do right now if I wasn’t a smoker? Drink water to calm down? Who does that?

“I had those too, the panic attacks, my mind was straying off to places better left alone. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, everything reminded me of him and I felt a little part of me dying along with every memory, every good memory I had.” She says; while bending down to be eye level with me.

“I was so afraid then, ‘what if I forget’, I thought to myself. What if I can't remember him, what if I can't tell my own son stories about his grandpa.” Her voice is steady, but her eyes are moist. “I was pregnant when he died, didn't know a thing until two months later, when I was released from the hospital. They kept his body in a freezer, a freezer!” This time she finally cried, the steady voice she had until now is no more.

“I didn't believe them at first, but when I saw the body, I just broke down. Gimme another one of those.” She stretches out one hand, while she’s wiping away the tears that left her eyes with the other one. I give her another cigarette and she lights it, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“My father died and I didn't even know, I felt like the worst kind of person, so I blamed everybody else. First the doctors that didn't want me to know, I was still weak at the time and they couldn't put that kind of pressure on me, I knew that, but knowing doesn't change how you feel when the world is crumbling apart.” She’s visibly more calm now, she takes another pull of smoke before continuing, and I blow out the breath I held as well.

“Second was my husband, I blamed him for agreeing with the doctors, he was family, ‘he should understand’ is what I thought. He was worried for me, and for the child, he couldn't tell me, it tore at his conscience, he told me that after, the way he needed to smile at me when I was lying in bed, It was killing him. But again, he did what he did, and I hated him for it.” The cigarette burns away in her hand as she’s lost in thought, but then it slowly arches towards her mouth, the smoke being inhaled briefly before escaping back out.

“Third was myself, I hated that I left, hated that I didn't know, hated that I never said ‘thank you’ to him for loving me, for raising me, for being who he was. Hated that I didn't say that I loved him enough, hated that I didn't call as often, hated that he didn't get to see his grandchild.” Is this what it’s like for Bella? Shit.

“Then I hated him, he left me a message, one that took me two months to get.” She wiped the last of the tears from her eyes, before placing the cigarette back to her lips.

“He recorded it just before he died, he said he was not afraid anymore, that he accepted it. He said he missed my voice, and asked me not to hold it against him. And that’s it, done, over.” Her voice breaks again, I wince as I take another pull of smoke.

“Clearly i'm still not over it, but trust me, it does get easier.” She looks me in the eyes as she finishes her story, I try to say something, but I can't, my voice is stuck in my throat. I understand her, what words can describe that? She smiles, seemingly knowing what i'm thinking. Then she stands back up, offering me her hand.

“You’re a good kid, Steve. Make a good listener, thanks for bearing with me, didn't really have anyone to talk to about this.” Her eyes are clear, if a little red, almost no traces of the tears remain.

“Same for me I guess, thanks for the light.” I say while standing up, I notice now that she’s quite tall, at least half a head above me.

“You’re welcome, I should be going now,” She says; reaching a hand into her purse. “Here, keep the lighter, I does more harm than good, but at least you’ll have some use for it.” She takes my hand and places the little lighter on my palm, her eyes are like marbles now, shining with resolve.

“Thanks.” I stare at my palm, with the lighter lying in the middle, I haven't really looked at it before, but now that I do… It’s a pretty lighter, a clipper, gold in color, sorta matches her hair.

“Take care, Steve.” She turns her back to leave, quietly making her way back to her own world.

“You do the same, Clementine.” I whisper to the wind, with her now gone from my vision. Now I need to return to my world, where two ladies need me to be there for them. I place the lighter into my jacket pocket and make my way back to the casket. My steps feel lighter, guess talking does take a weight off of the heart, huh.

Mom and Bella are still sitting where I left them, only now there are some more people occupying the surrounding seats. Some are standing, quietly having conversations off to the side. My seat is still vacant, well I AM the guest of honor I guess. I take a moment to  get my shit together, closing my eyes and exhaling a slow, steady breath.

“I'm sorry for your loss.” I open my eyes to find someone standing in front of me, some older fellow I vaguely recognize. Probably uncle Howard, yeah. Although I haven’t seen him since I was a kid. I remember he and dad had a fight over something at one of Bella's birthdays a few years before she left. He looks quite a bit older now, smaller than I remember even.  

“Thanks.” I briefly answer. He has a reason for being here, maybe he come to see our family. Maybe to say goodbye. Maybe because it’s the proper thing to do. Who knows, and I don't care enough to ask. For whatever reason, her’s here now, and I appreciate that.

Many more people greet me on my way to my still vacant seat. Some offering condolences, others wishing me to stay strong. I just answer with ‘Thank you.’ Until someone else makes eye contact and the cycle continues. Eventually I do manage to take my seat, and mom places her hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently to draw my eyes. She smiles then, a small, weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. I answer with one of my own, “We’ll be okay ‘Ma.”

She nods at that, and her hand return to its original position; right on top of the other one, resting on her skirt.

I sit with my back straight, head facing the casket. It’s time. The priest clears his throat, and the many whispers quiet down. Men and women gather ‘round, and he starts his speech, he has a lot of empty words to say after all.

“Let us commend Alberto Russo to the mercy of God.” He takes a breath, “To you, O Lord-,”

I look up, the sky is clear, not a cloud in sight. I’ve been doing that a lot lately; looking up at the sky. Don't really know why even, maybe i'm looking for something, or maybe it’s just what people do to escape. No eyes to judge you up there, no bitter smiles.

“Amen.” The priest's speech is over, we spoke the ‘amen’, time for the lowering of the casket. ‘Amen’ the word holds power, if not by god, or even religion, than by the people. It’s a word of union, people say it together, in unity. It connects us, and at the moment we spoke it, I didn't feel alone. Our little family of three, became something more, if but for a single moment.

“We therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.” And dad’s in the ground. The priest throws in a handful of dirt, and I stand to do the same.

Two steps, that’s the distance between me and the casket in the ground. Two steps; that seem so far away. Can I reach him? I turn to face mom, I just can’t do this alone. But for whatever reason my eyes wander, and I see her. I clearly remember seeing her before, on the evening of his death. She was standing outside, holding a small bundle, staring at his smoking remains. Just as I was. I remember my eyes drawn to her because she murmured ‘thank you’ over and over again. I knew then what happened.

Didn’t take a genius to guess why dad left, why he died, and why she was rambling. She didnt cry then, unlike how she’s crying now. He died because of her, he left our family to save hers. The baby she’s still holding is asleep right now, but on that evening it was screaming for attention, It was afraid. The breath I held escapes me, and I know exactly what happened, how it happened.

“Stay inside,” He told me as he ran into the building. At the time I didn’t really notice the quiet cries, or screams from the outside. But now that I recall that night, they were there, I just didn’t listen. My dad heard them though, so he ran outside to help. With sirens blazing in the background, and the smell of smoke in the car. Back then I didn’t bother with the smell because I thought it was from inside the car, maybe an old cigarette not properly put out, not important enough for me to note. But dad never smoked with me in the car, and we were together the whole day, since he picked me up from school.

He ran into the building, to help this woman. Her family was in danger, her baby, and he saved it. Was it a fair trade though? Was his life worth the life of a stranger? Why did he have to pay for her mistakes, for her family? What about ours?! Who is going to save us now? Shit. Fuck. Why?!

“Why?” I stutter through my tears and suck in a sharp breath to regain control. Her eyes widened then, but I didn’t wait for her to reply. It doesn’t matter, it happened, it’s in the past now, he chose to do it. Deal with the now, then take measured steps towards the future, one at a time.

I find myself at the edges of the grave, looking down at the casket. The dirt in my hand seeps through my fist and bounces off of its surface. “Bye dad,” I whisper as the last grain of dirt falls down.