The Bright Side

Chapter 9 - Part 3

TRISTAN

The funeral takes place on a brilliant Friday morning. The sun is burning down although it's late in summer and everything seems to be brighter and more colourful. I can't but think that it's a gift for me, that the universe is assuring me that this is a good day. That it's not going to be one of the worst days of my life. Every single cell inside of me just wants to skip it - the day I'm going to have to attend my father's funeral, the day I'm supposed to be sad, the day I feel like I'm supposed to appear shaken, even if only for my Mum's sake. And I'm afraid of what's actually going to happen; I've never been to a funeral before. No one in my family has died yet, only my granddad, but that was when I was four or something and I can't remember anything. I wonder who's going to be there, if they are going to be there – his "friends", which family members will show up and which won't. How I will manage to grieve for a person that I've despised so much over the past years.

I'm nervous all morning. My suit sits perfectly and still feels too tight around my skin. Breakfast is the same as always, but tasteless today. The walk to the church is only half a mile, but seems to take two hours. All the while my heart is thrashing in my chest and against my stomach, making me sick to the core. 

I don't dare to look at the people that have gathered inside; I just keep my head down and follow Mum and Rory to the front. We sit down right in front of the casket. It's plain wood, decorated rather subtly with white lilies and I try to not think about the fact, that my father's dead body is decomposing inside of it. And then it hits me with full force. How dare he die before I had a chance to give him a piece of my mind? How dare he back out like this? I have so much to say to him and now he's lying in that freaking wooden box up there, free of all responsibility. My thoughts weigh so heavy that they press all the air out of my lungs, they tie my intestines to knots and force tears to spill over the brims of my eyes. I'm sitting there crying all the way through the ceremony, unable to pay attention to the service, drowning in anger that's even more fuelled by the picture of Dad up front smiling indifferently at the congregation. Mum takes my hand and leads me all the blurry way to the six feet hole at the end of the graveyard and I just can't stop crying. I always thought I'd have more time, that I could see to making peace with him some time later. It would've been something a future version of me, a more mature version of me would've dealt with. I feel robbed of time. The minister speaks some final words as the casket is lowered into the earth, all the while I'm desperately wishing for something to make the pain in my throat, my stomach, my soul subside. Imagining the Tre Flip won't do today.

We walk towards the exit and then stand there, Mum composed and Rory and me wailing. Rory, because he's sad, and me, because I can't contain all the hatred inside of me. There seems to be an endless stream of people offering their condolences, and their pity for what they assume is my sadness makes me cry even more. I shake their hands and nod and wipe my face before the next person appears and I feel like I'm shaking hands with the same person over and over, because they're all the same to me. Black suit, white shirt, black tie, black dress, black blouse, black coat. Black, black, black. And then there's Sky. Finally. Also completely in black, but still standing out of the crowd so much. I haven't seen him in church and that he's standing before me now, that he's here instantly makes me feel better. He's wearing the same black fedora as I am. The way it's pushed back on his head a bit makes him look so cool. I tap the brim as he steps in front of me and he does the same, pressing his lips together. I wish he would show me one of his scarce beautiful smiles right now; I know it would take all the weight off my shoulders. It would be such a nice change from all the moping faces I've looked into today. My hand grabs his wrist and I pull him into a hug; it's the only thing that will enable me to endure the rest of the day. The intense smell of patchouli at the side of his neck hits my nose and I wrap my arms around his waist and dive into the sensation of everything around me fading out. Hugging Sky can do that to me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and presses the side of his face against mine before he gently pats my back and then retreats, nodding towards the line of people behind him. The place Sky just stood is instantly taken by the next plain, all-black person, and instead of peaceful, I'm feeling restless again.

If you liked this chapter, please don't forget to vote below or leave a comment. Thanks!