Vixen

The Funeral

The Funeral

Scarlett Darling sat silently in the pew furthest from the front of the church, despite the fact that she was meant to sit with the family. Pretending he was still alive was impossible and at this point Scarlett had given up, but with her pain still fresh she didn’t want to be surrounded by crying people. She’d rather sit with those distant cousins Patrick wouldn’t remember even before the gaping holes in his memory.

She felt that she’d cried enough, but knew that until she could enter her own room she was still in danger of doing so. Tears, which she hated so much before Patrick’s passing, now felt like her only companion.

Beside Scarlett was a boy, with jade eyes and light brown hair. The boy was small in stature and no older than Joe. She didn’t know why he was significant, but she felt she should remember him.

When the prayers ended, the little boy beside her looked up with sorrow-filled eyes and spoke, “He doesn’t want you to cry anymore,” he paused staring over her head, as if listening to something she couldn’t hear, “He still loves you, even if this is all your fault.” My fault, Scarlett thought, how? She wanted to ask the small child, desperate for answers even science couldn’t answer, what killed Patrick? But before she could open her mouth to do so, His mother was dragging him away.

Scarlett sat in the back of her parent’s car, twiddling her thumbs trying to keep her brain a blank, on the drive to the graveyard where Patrick would lie forever silent. Her mother and father took turns looking back at her, both of their faces showed deep concern and they had a reason to be worried. It wasn’t like Scarlett not to say everything that popped into her head, and she hadn’t spoken not to them, not to anyone, in any more than one word sentences for 12 days.

When they arrived at the cemetery, it seemed as if everyone was there, everyone except the little boy that is. Despite her efforts she didn’t spot him, or for that matter anyone who had sat with her.

The mahogany casket that must have held the remains of Patrick was being lowered when she finally quit her search. She wished she had had the courage to attend his wake, but she feared the sight of his ice cold hollowed out corpse lying in a casket with closed eyes that would stay that way until he flesh rotted away, leaving only bones. She wondered if he would wear the obsidian pendent that matched hers for all eternity. But of course she would never know.

Classical music played low and soothing as Patrick’s corpse descended. Patrick hated classical music, just like he would have hated the carnations placed everywhere.

In the background, there were two guys waiting for everyone to leave so they could contain Patrick in that box with six feet of dirt keeping him from the world. Scarlett realized that by now that was no longer her Patrick, but still she wasn’t used to the idea of him being dead, and she wasn’t willing to succumb to the idea.

The casket touched ground, the music stopped, and someone spoke Scarlett was unsure of who or what about. For some reason she had serious trouble focusing for the past week.

Everyone stepped forward to throw white roses on the casket. Scarlett was the last one and as she looked down to say goodbye; she prayed for strength, the strength to live a happy life without him. She stood there in there in that same spot as the two men from earlier placed shovel full after shovel full of Earth; back where it belonged, around Patrick’s mahogany encasement. She’d said goodbye but she still couldn’t bring herself to leave him.