The Ballad of a Buried Beast

Chapter 23.

Chloe died in the Spring of my senior year. Twenty-seven attended her funeral, roughly half being the friends she'd longed to visit while she was in recovery. I know because I was there; I know because they weren't.

She was placed in a closed black casket, something she had me write for her to her family along with the rest of her funeral plans. Per her request, there was a fondue fountain and donuts as well. Music she'd recorded in her garage was playing on repeat, which mostly consisted of just drum solos and the occasional barely rhythmic yelling. Midway through the service the music had to be lowered, many of the people murmuring about "hearing damage" and "not being able to hear the priest" when he spoke.

In front of her casket layed a bouquet of white daisies, in two pictures displayed on the left and right stood portraits of herself. The two pictures depicted separate sides of her, one being from her childhood years in heavy rain boots too big for her stubby legs, and the other being of her in her near-adult years, now smiling and fitting in the same rain boots with perfect ease. In both, her open-lipped smile gleaned happily. She never showed a hint of worry; sometimes, stressing about the future seemed to be outside of her nature.

The bathrooms were as nice as the decorated chapel. They were white, near spotless; the floors were waxed, the mirror was clearer than the water of a stilled spring lake. Even the sinks were remarkable, each having small diamond-patterned etchings engraved atop their cold, smooth metal knobs. When the water spat out of the faucet, it did so in a way that was smooth and delicate. The stream looked almost solid, frozen--stagnant in its descent and ultimate splatter against the geometric base. There were seven sinks in total, tallying down a straight row beneath the mirrors.

I turned them all on. Each of them. I spun their perfect knobs until the room screamed with their smothering breath, and when I was sure no one else could hear I opened my lungs and threw my own watery voice into the mix with them. Together, we birthed an ensemble, one so beautifully abhorrent I turned the door into a barricade with a click to ensure it couldn't leak out.

My performance closed when the walls rang with contested quire-song. Outside, the true service had begun. The priest was assuming his position before the closed casket, sprinkling his holy tears across its suiting until the surface twinkled like a midnight sea. Chloe had told me something similar to that once. A midnight sea. Sometimes, I thought she wanted to be a fisherman.

But, no, she hated worms too much for that to work. She couldn't stand the sight of them, how they moved and itched their way across the soil and through the dirt. Yes, maybe I grinned at the thought, she'd never be able to hook one herself. I'd have to do it for her, teasing her until she either jabbed my ribs or stomped on my feet. Yes, what a beautiful thought. I'd hook it for her, and she'd cast the struggling thing into the ocean just to get it out of her sight. What a beautiful thought, and maybe they'd be there too. Jason, Sam, Gabriel. What a

"We are gathered here today, to celebrate the life of-"

I was in the back when he began, our scripture-made man. His lips stood as still as a bird's broken wing, flinching between a frown and a twitched mournful expression between words. His hands were old, too--too old to hold that heavy book he carried without a shaky struggle. I yearned to return to the bathroom as he went on, but I knew I couldn't leave her. Chloe wasn't one for standing alone next to old people.

"Deus qui contristant benedicit. Ipsi consolabuntur! ...So may they find comfort!"

I searched the room as he continued his Latin babbles. Sure enough, in the front row there they sat. Jason, Sam, Gabriel. We went to the same classes together, didn't we? We sat and ate together. We studied, we laughed. Weren't we all planning to go camping this Summer?

"God, we pray to you!..."

Everyone looked to the floor, but I was already there. Prayer and thought, together pacing around the same room for different means. She was going to go to the same college as Sam, wasn't she? Sound design, musical engineering. He helped her with her scholarships. Jason suggested a band.

"Let this blessed lamb find her peace... per agros et vallem..."

Gabriel always bothered her about womanly advice, asking for dating tips and pointers. Half the time she didn't know how to respond, and the other half I could tell she just made up on the spot. But, still, Gabriel took it like prophecy. And he always got the second date.

"...Amen."

Amen.

The room shifted with their raised heads, the front row the first to stand as the coffin was picked up and led down the room's spine. I joined the man at the double-door entrance and held it open alongside him. He was an expressionless man drawn up with a somber black suit, well fitted for his smaller stature and physique. Our eyes met a few moments as the rows flowed out the chapel and passed. Somehow, I felt like he understood me. For a moment, I even thought he had seen my thoughts during the service. Faceless, expressionless. Unnoticeable and now unmoving as you open the way for those towering above you to pass. My lost brother, where have you been?

Oh, but he'd sooner be forgotten than I. My father was here, my friends. Jason, Sam, Gabriel. They stood behind, didn't they? Yes, sure enough they had waited for me, bleeding into the back of the crowd as the rest marched forward. Where had they been this whole time? Jason. Sam. Gabriel. They were all there, but they'd just barely missed her; she was already gone. Couldn't they have been faster? Couldn't they have ran?

Car doors opened and closed in the distance, a police escort waiting for the go up front. Wordlessly, we all poured into my father's work truck. It was cramped, tight, but no one was brave enough to complain. Eventually, the rubber started rolling. The beat-down leather wheel began to turn. Before we knew it we were on the road, and before I realized just exactly who was still staring at me through the murky window we were there. The flower garden.

We exit as quickly as we entered, each of us staining the holy grounds with our stainless shoes as we followed Chloe up front with her four-man escort. She was leading us to the most beautiful spot in the garden, one where she'd no longer want to leave once we got there. I was preparing myself to say goodbye when the silence broke, a solemn bell chiming in the distance at our arrival. We were here; Chloe was waiting.

Her four-man escort lowered her to the earth, and I felt my eyes blurring at the sight. How could the loveliest flower in this field be the one made of stone? I was almost furious, but it was with that anger I came to my realization; that was Chloe. Oh, yes. That was Chloe herself, wasn't it? Standing amidst the flowers, kicking up the leaves and brushing through the grass--wetting her palms against the morning dew and shaking her luscious amber hair through the threaded sun. It wasn't anger I'd felt, not rage.

The sight of her vanished, and the final bell tolled. I wiped away flickers of water that would have been tears and the priest gathered everyone near. As he began to speak, I again I felt no anger. As he hoisted his hands to Heaven and rejoiced, I felt no rage.

My revelation came to me as heads began to bow and eyes began to close. Prayer befell the quieted audience, and as I watched the first bemoaned frown fade a terrible understanding came to me.

What I felt was envy.