the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 90: Easter, 1978

Well maybe it is just the time of year,
Or maybe it's the time of man;
I don't know who I am,
But you know life is for learning;

We are stardust,
We are golden,
And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden...

- "Woodstock" Joni Mitchell, 1970

"I want to see her," he whined in his squeaky voice, as he clung to the back of his father's dark suit. He tried pulling him back, but it was impossible; Lyall was huge, and Remus was small. He reached down to pry his son's skinny fingers from his belt and there was nothing Remus could do to stop it.

"No, just stay in your room. Giles will come get you after the ceremony."

"She's my mum!" He screeched, his clinging fingers turning into tiny fists as he began pummelling his father's back. "She's my mum! She's my mum! SHE'S MY MUM!"

This is why he wasn't allowed at the funeral, he knew. Because he couldn't be trusted not to throw a fit. Giles had tried to explain it to him, about the open casket. Would it be strange to see her with a red flush to her cheeks? She'd been grey for so long.

"You won't like it. She's already gone, Remus."

"No! You're a bastard, you give her back! She's my mum!"

"Remus—"

"It's your fault! Your fault, your fault, your fault!"

"Enough!" Lyall roared. "Don't you understand, your mother is gone!"

The shouting had been enough to startle him into letting go. He staggered back, losing his footing and landing on his bum on his bedroom floor. He gaped up at his father, whose shoulders were heaving with his own grief. 

"I hate you! I hate you and I hope I never see you again! I hope someone comes and takes me away!" 

"You do, do you? And what a sad thing you would be, all alone."

"I don't need you!"

"Then tell me, who is it that's coming for you, Remus?"

His eyes burned. He didn't like crying, but he couldn't help it. He was eleven and heartbroken. And he wanted his mother. 

Lyall knelt down, until he was nearly at his son's level. "You and me, we're all the other has left. I suggest you learn to live with it."

"It should've been you."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by their breathing. Finally Lyall stood again. 

"Stay in your room."

* * *

Wednesday 22nd March 1978

Remus' friends watched him nervously all through breakfast the next day, as though he were a bomb just waiting to go off. He didn't have the energy to tell them that he didn't feel all that much like exploding, but rather felt more hollow, like he'd been cracked open and scooped out from the inside. He pushed his food around his plate with such little enthusiasm that even the girls began to catch on, though none of them attempted to pry. They'd all heard the whispers already anyway. Not about him, but about Sheila.

"Did you hear? Her husband died."

"Oh fuck."

"I heard he was terminally ill or something. A genetic thing, like a mutant. It's probably why Mrs. Buchanan never had any kids of her own."