Thoughts of the past and what could be
Print Edition
RIGHT foot, left foot. Her legs suddenly don’t feel like part of her body and the black umbrella in her white-knuckled grasp trembles as she struggles to move forward.
Wrapped in black silk, she resembles a newly-hatched raven chick taking its first tentative steps. Raindrops sink into the unruly curls that have escaped the canopy; one falls onto her caramel skin. So miniscule and insignificant, yet it sends a jolt of piercing iciness through her veins.
Breathe in, breathe out. He finally looks up and spots the casket and the chairs at the same time. He doesn’t know if he can bear to look into the former or if he has the strength to make it to the latter. A flash of copper demands his attention and he jerks his head towards it, only to see the recipient of all the pitying looks. The girl who must be hurting most out of all. The girl who, in a moment, will have to do what any other person her age shouldn’t have to — lower her mother six feet underground. The girl who was once so familiar to him.
She chooses to sit down. Almost unconscientiously he slips into the row across from her. He doesn’t expect for her to be looking right at him when he lifts his eyes. Bright hazel orbs meet his stormy blue ones.
So many things fill the air in that instant. Resentment and regret. Sympathy and scorn. Thoughts of the past and what could have been.
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