Love Therapy (GxG)

21

The day of the funeral, the sun is shining and birds are chirping happily while I'm watching the casket disappear into the ground.

Mr. Clay seems to have been a good man to a lot of people, as the funeral is attended by no less than a hundred people, at the very least. I've had a hard time deciding whether I should go, me being only a patient of his, not family, not friend. The fact that Kyle couldn't go with me probably participated in my hesitation, but Joy had asked me, during one of our late night studying sessions, what was bothering me, and had promptly volunteered to go with me. She drove me on this sunny Saturday morning, instead of sleeping in, and I'm eternally grateful for her, because I wouldn't have come on my own.

Now though, watching the crowd in black around me, I know it was a good thing to come. Because I know for a fact that these people are not all part of his family or his close friend group. Maybe they were like me, in a very bad place, and George Clay managed to shine a little light on very dark days. Seeing now his wife and four adult daughters -I assume- crying, I realize what a good husband and father he must've been. I know I wouldn't cry like that for any of my parents death. That's why he was such an important part of my life; the first time I realized that adult men can treat me with respect, listen to me and make me feel worth something, and it was with a therapist! The only adult man I ever lived with was my own father and certainly did not do any of that. I understand the tears of the five women, now. It's the good ones who die first.

As a matter of fact, I can't even cry right now. My eyes are completely dry. Maybe it's the beautiful day, it would certainly feel easier to cry on a rainy and depressing day. But I know that's not it. I loved and admired the man, I should be crying. Maybe it's the fact that I feel like I have no right to cry. I hadn't seen him since that last time I visited him at the hospital, because life got in the way, as it usually does. So how could I justify crying when a lot of people closer to him are going to miss him every single day?

As if reading my thoughts, Joy squeezes my hand a little tighter, and I smile sadly in response.

A little time has passed, some people read prayers I didn't actively listen to, and I am vaguely aware that the funeral service is over. Mrs. Clay has invited whoever wants to come to get coffee and a snack at her house, and I internally smile. Generosity seems to be a family trait. She can't possibly invite more than a hundred people, most of whom she doesn't even know!

"Hey wait a second," a tug on my hand, "I'll just say hello to someone." Joy is already leading me toward a very old lady.

I absolutely don't want to go so I tell her I'll wait for her where I am, and try not to get my voice too whiny when I urge her not to take too long. I can't bear being left alone in this sea of people.

I'm leaning on a tree, arms crossed over my silky black shirt -the only appropriate black top I had, if I didn't want to go to this funeral wearing a hoodie- watching people interact from afar.

Suddenly, I feel a presence beside me, even before I recognize the low voice. "Didn't think I'd find you here today Kennedy."

Taking a deep breath, and willing my voice to not be shaky, I turn and meet blue eyes. "Hi. Well, I wanted to come", a little white lie doesn't hurt anyone, I think. The skeptical look that meets me reminds me that I should not waste time trying to lie to a licensed psychologist. I cast a glance around me to try to find Joy and avoid the eyes I feel burning through me. "Anyway, I didn't think I'd see you here either. Not that I'm thinking about you or anything." The awkward chuckle that comes out of my mouth makes me want to throw up. Why can't I just shut the hell up? "Well, you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean." She starts looking around too. I take this opportunity to take her in. My eyes wander up and down her silhouette without my consent. She looks so good it hurts. Tight low bun, all in black, make up accentuating her cheekbones; like a stern but hot school teacher. At the thought, warmth travels from my belly to my cheeks. I quickly look away and at random faces in the crowd to not get caught checking her out. "Are you looking for someone?" I snap my head back to her, but I can't read her expression, as usual.