A Tribute For Tia

Chapter 8

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Ashes to ashes. What does that mean? I asked my mother that once, to which she flicked me away with a flippant shake of her wrist, and I never asked again. They're a soft subject, funerals. Almost everybody's been to one, so we all know what they're like. Sombre, full of crying people and sniffling uncles nobody knew of. And always with the black. Of course, I had a lot of black clothing so I did not need to worry about attire for my sister's funeral. Just the 'casual' suit and tie. And just like my father.

My mother, on the other hand, had no black clothes whatsoever. So, in true 'rich mother' fashion, she went shopping and replaced her entire wardrobe. She ended up wearing just a simple back dress, the same one I swore I had seen her in for a show, on one of the rare nights my parents had gone for a 'date'. I thought it wasn't appropriate, because I knew Tia hated the colour black, but I had already decided that I wasn't going to speak to my parents ever again- in any case, saying something wasn't really an option. So, I shut my mouth and watched my parents in the front seat of the car as we drove behind the hearse. They were quiet, but I knew that as soon as we were home, the screaming matches would begin. They loved to scream at each other; especially in front of Tia and me.

Tia.

***

"Would somebody say something?" I said under my breath as I watched my sister being lowered to the ground. Her coffin was white with pink details, and unnervingly short. A child's coffin; it was a horrible thing to look at. I half expected for Tia to pat me on the shoulder and drag me away from the horrid event, asking me to buy her an ice cream or something childish. What I wouldn't give for her to ask me to buy her ice cream, just one more time.

But when I turned around, no one was standing there. I heard a soft grunt, like someone clearing their throat, so I turned to my mother and father who were standing together next to me, hands clutched tightly together.

"Say something. You're her parents."

"Like what, Alistair?" my father growled, and I could smell the gin on his breath like a toxic cloud following him. If the situation was different, I would have punched him; but my grandmother was standing there, across from me, so I didn't. I just swallowed the lump in my throat and began talking, hoping that nobody would interrupt me.

"We will all miss Tia," I began, and received a few hushed grunts. "But if I knew her at all, which I did, I know she wouldn't want us to be sad over her. She may have died alone, and she may have had nobody to talk to about this, but she knew she was loved. And by no one more than me."

"Amen." A chorus of voices said, and I nodded in agreement. In the next few minutes the crowd began to file away, but I stood there until they were all gone and the dirt began to fall on top of her coffin.

"Alistair, come away now." My father said in a low voice, reaching for my upper arm. I twisted away from him, kneeling beside my baby sister's grave.

"I love you, Tia. Don't ever forget that."

"Alistair!"

"Shut up, dad!" I cried behind my shoulder. Lowering my voice, I turned back. "And I'm sorry that I didn't get to you in time. I'll never forget you."

"Please, son." My mother tried, placing her hand on my shoulder. I stood, then reached into my jacket and pulled out the single pink rose I had bought. Without asking permission, I threw it into the hole and turned away, growling to my parents that I would walk home.

***

"Hey, Maya?" I said softly as I stepped inside the store, shutting the door softy behind me. Maya came from behind the desk, smiling wide.