❝that's why a funeral is pretty
damn sad 'cause in the end
you realize you already been
through hell.❞
APR 30,
the day of the funeral.
THEIR
song was playing. the one that nisha and her father always listened to together. the only difference was that she was now listening to it alone. "stop crying your heart out" by oasis. ironic enough and impossible to do when the one she used to sing it with was now lying in the coffin in front of her. with her hands tied to her stomach, the girl stood upright, her eyes riveted to the picture of her father lying on the solid wood of his deathbed. he smiled with the same smile as his daughter. the one she had lost since that coffin was closed over her father's lifeless body. unable to take her eyes from his on the picture, nisha felt herself falling into them as their music echoed through her heart, causing her thoughts to drift to beautiful memories, sweet memories, days when she was happy. she didn't want it to stop. hearing the last notes evaporate into the air would make her mother's cries more present, and mean it was time to say goodbye. but the girl wasn't ready yet, she didn't want to say goodbye forever.
dark tones dominated a large number of people at the funeral, her father was a popular man in their neighbourhood. nisha hated them, wanted to scream at them to get out, to leave her alone with him. selfish, yes she was. for her, no one shared the same pain that had been splitting her heart in two for the past few nights. so why were they there? all of them. all of them scrutinising them, nisha, her family, waiting for the slightest tear to roll down her cheek, the slightest handkerchief to emerge from a pocket to wipe a runny nose. they were strangers. people from far away, who didn't know her father, or at least not as she knew him. the girl didn't want any more of the pitying looks she received whenever she had the misfortune to meet the eyes of one of these people. the condolences, the flowers, she was tired of accepting them, of pretending she was fine when all she wanted was to be left alone.
perched on high heels, she had made an effort to look presentable. "dad would have wanted us to look good for his funeral, especially you and your brother," her mother had told her. nisha had wanted to scream in her face that she didn't know because her father wasn't supposed to leave so soon and they had never talked about his death together, but she hadn't had the strength. so the girl had nodded and dressed in a black suit, similar to her little brother's, except for the shirt she wasn't wearing. five-year-old arun surely didn't understand everything, and if she was honest, nisha envied him a little. she would also have liked to be told that her father had become one of the stars in the sky when she would have asked where he was, but at the age of nineteen this was not conceivable.
"is this the ceremony for daddy to become a star?" arun had whispered in his older sister's ear while they were at the church earlier.
nisha had not been able to answer. her brother's question had made her eyes moist and her throat tight. it was jude, having heard the little boy's sighing words, who had then answered for her after seeing his best friend's condition. he too had a stinging nose and eyes that were more glassy than usual, but he didn't want to break arun's innocence, who was far too young to suffer the pain that adults endured.
"yes. and we're giving him a very nice ceremony to make sure he has a good place up there," a small smile accompanied his words as he pinched the little boy's cheek to nisha's left. the latter had then looked up at jude before giving a small nod in appreciation of his handling of the situation.
as in that instant when, just as the moment she had been dreading for minutes had arrived, she looked up at jude, just seeking for simple comfort through his pupils. while the last note of music sounded like death in the gloomy atmosphere of the cemetery, her best friend had also lowered his eyes to the girl beside him who was about to break down. and then, gently, had brought his hand behind her back to invite her to move slowly towards her father's coffin so that she could pay her respects one last time. she was the first to touch the cold wood, followed by her mother with arun in her arms, then the bellingham family, who had been friends with the toones for as long as they could remember. the parents of michael, the deceased, closed the march.
