Something Called Fate

Chapter o1: The Funeral

                Where... am I?  Stifling a yawn, I stretch my arms and sit up, still groggy from an apparently uncomfortable sleep.

                The grass underneath my hands tickles my palms.

                Wait.  Grass?

                This time, I wake up - really wake up - and assess my surroundings.  I slap myself a couple times, making sure this isn't a dream.  And it's not.  I smile to myself.  I can't believe I slept in the park.

                Oh, shoot.  "What time is it?" I mumble aloud, scrambling up.  Where's my phone?  I really need to get a watch...  Where are my keys, anyway?

                I pull up a bunch of grass in hopes of finding either item, but I don't find anything.  Great.  Suddenly, I hear a buzzing noise and immediately recognize the "silent" vibration of my phone.  Where is it?  Where is it?  I hear it...

                Is it in my jeans?  I check the back, the front.  Nothing.  I then realize my jacket is shaking.  I try my chest pocket and sure enough, there it is.  Thank God.

                It's Katelynn.

                "Morning babe," I say.

                I make out a slightly frantic, "Are you ok, Leo?" through my still foggy mind.  "You Finland bun homes last mites."

                "What?"

                "I said, you didn't come home last night.  I was worried.  I am worried, actually.  Where are you?"

                "Um..." I pause a moment to collect my thoughts, "I slept.  In... the park.  Near the park.  You know where.  The clearing."

                "You've been going out there a lot lately," she mumbles, almost more like a question than a statement.

                "Yeah, yeah I've just needed to... uh, clear my mind a lot.  Lots of things going on, you know?  And today, it's Grandpa's funeral... so..."

                "I got your suit dry-cleaned for you, by the way.  Just like you asked me to."  She seems tired.  "Just..." she takes a deep breath, "come by and get it.  I have to leave for work soon.  See you...?"

                "Maybe dinner time.  If not I'll text you.  Or call you.  Or something."

                "Ok... bye."

                She hangs up before I get the chance to say anything back to her.

                I finally get off my knees and start hunting for my keys.  As it turns out, it was underneath me the whole time.  How convenient.  I pick them up and start heading towards the car, sliding inside without much thought given.  The dark brown, worn leather seats always comforted me for some reason; it held no sentimental value.  It's just... soothing.

                I peel out of the parking lot and head back to the apartment, finally looking at the time.

                7:03 AM

                Great.  I only have 2 hours.  Guess I'm skipping breakfast.  Do funerals have food?  I haven't been to one since... well I haven't really been to a funeral for eight years.

                I barely catch the huge "Joe's Diner" sign in my hurry, and end up driving past the street I'm supposed to turn left onto.

                Soon, I'm back on the right street and everything screams closer to home, I relax a little more and slow down.  I'll shower, change into the suit, brush my teeth and comb my hair... I should be fine.

                I park my car where I always park it, an isolated corner where everyone's gotten used to the sight of my neighbor's old green car from the 1980's.  He didn't ask much for it, so of course I got it.  For me, I didn't really care as long as the engine was good and solid.

                I bound up the stone steps, unlocking the door.  I give it a small heave, but it doesn't budge.  I sigh.  I had to try anyway.  But it seems that this door is never going to change.  I kick it open, like I always have to, hitting the wall inside and shuddering from the impact.

                After a bit of effort trying to close my stubborn wood block of a door, I take one of the quickest showers and come out to find that Katelynn's done her job perfectly again.  And that's one of the things I love about her.  The fact that she never does anything half-assed.

                I dress in the black and gray attire, making sure I got all the buttons buttoned correctly.  Next, I brush my teeth, careful not to get any toothpaste on the suit, and comb my hair.

                I'm still making good time.

                Once I arrive at the church, I find I'm just in the nick of time.  Aunt Laney pulls me in closer to her, whispering in my ear.  "Don't do anything stupid," she says, probably more for her own benefit than mine.

                Aunt Laney.  She's almost in tears now; she's always been such an emotional person.  She could even cry for a fly I'd kill with my hands.  I can't imagine how much pain she's holding back now.  I can't help but feel for her.  She was the woman who raised me after Mom died, after all.  "Sisters!  Aren't you lucky?" she'd often tell me, "It's going to be as if your mother never really left at all, Gilleon."  She'd go bursting in tears afterwards, and then I'd have to be there letting her cry on my shoulder.

                With her light, commanding hand at my back, we seat ourselves on the benches and the ceremony starts as if on cue.

                At one point, my stomach starts to grumble incessantly from lack of food, and Aunt Laney glares at it evilly as if she could stop it with the sheer power of her mind.  I close my eyes after, listening only to the words of the priest.

                 When the eulogies start, I open them and look at the people around me.  Their faces range from gravely serious to broken down to cool and calculated.  Then there's a little girl that catches my eye.  She sits very close to the front on the other side of the aisle, no more than five or six years old.

                The girl doesn’t shed a single tear.  She isn’t jittery and bouncy, contained by her parents like the other children, but she isn’t completely untuned to what's going on.  She conveys a quiet, solemn confidence, with a tragic look in her sharp blue-gray eyes.  Her shoulders don’t have that sad slump about them, so how much pain she feels I can’t say.  She’s… unreadable.  That’s exactly how Grandpa was.

                She catches me staring, and puts a tuft of her dark coppery hair behind her ear.  That's the end of it.  We both snap our attentions back to the man at the podium, one of Grandpa's close friends.

                "Nolan was a talented man.  He was..." I kept trying to pay attention, but I could neer grasp anything long enough.  I caught bits and pieces of everything, my brain cutting and sorting heartfelt sentiments into easily forgettable speeches.  "... made me see life from a whole new way..."

                And on and on these went, until finally something shocks me into focus.

                All of Grandpa's children are called up to the stand.

                The small girl is one of them.