BRIGHT ;; troyler

III

Tyler's POV

When I came back, my dad was occupied with clients who entered in the shop while I was away. Food in my hands, food in my belly, a big smile was written in the middle of my face. Everything could make me happy in few seconds; the smallest things, the better. A candle smelling good, a bed with cold sheets and my body warming it up, a cup of hot tea, some fresh air coming in my room in the morning.

Dad looked at me, eyes stressed. He used to do that all the time, since he couldn't look at his clients with sadness and anxiety, he used me for few seconds so he could free himself. When he drew his eyes to the three person standing in front of him, he was all fresh, looking absolutely great and reassuring.

I'm not mad at him for doing that, for using me as a stress reliever. I knew that his work was hard (since it was, well, mine too) and that dealing with death daily was exhausting. I had no idea how he did it for more than ten years, and not even for 35 years, which is the exact number of his years working in the shop. Even after my day, when I finished all the paperwork, I would sometimes cry in the afternoon or late nights. I was dealing with death constantly; dead people, physically and mentally. I had to dress up the body of the late person, often in suits or dresses, but I also had to cheer up the family.

Sometimes when I see the eyes of someone who just lost a beloved one, I see less life in them than in the corpses that I clean up. They're often red from crying all night and all day, the dark circles under them indicate that sleeping was a big must these days for them. And more, I don't see any spark in them, there's no hope, no fun, just sadness.

Tired eyes can never lie to me. Even if they smile to cheer up their kids, I still see what's under the lips. We say that the eyes are the window of the soul, and I do think it's true. The mouth is the big, fat liar while eyes always say the truth. You can see the prettiest things through them, but also the worst.

My dad can never lie to me. I know his eyes and emotions so well that I'm practically sure they are actually mine. I walk to be beside him, and I put my hand over his shoulder, to tell him by human contact that even if this work is hard, he will get through it, like he did with the others. When my eyes draw their way to the clients in front of us, I examine them.

An old person, with her long and grey hair out in an elegant bun. Her neck is covered with jewellery, a necklace with green and white pearls, it must cost more than my own house, I'm pretty sure of it. Her whole face is tired, but not because of the lack of sleep. She looks like she lived too much, and that she's just tired with life in general. Her eyes are annoyed and bored, but still strict and at the moment I'm really happy that she's not looking at me because I'm pretty sure they can throw lasers with the anger she seems to hold.

Her hand is placed with a firm grip on the shoulder of a man who seems to be in his early thirties. By his traits, I can tell that he's a relative, probably a son or something like that. His face is sad and more than everything else, scared. He looks like he doesn't understand what's happening to him and that he feels left out. Left out from what? I don't know. The two of them are talking with my dad.

"I think blue is better. I took all of her old dresses in my car, I can bring them in." Says the old lady, with a posh accent. My dads moves his head. "That's perfect. My lady, can you take them, but after we're done with the papers? I still have to fill a few things with you." She smiles, happy that things are getting done quickly and probably in her way. The man turns to her. " I want her to wear red, that's what she likes... I want her to be pretty like she used to. She hated blue."

"How could I know that she hated blue, darling? Plus, red doesn't go well with her skin colour. Blue is way better." She answers, strictly. His son places his hand over his face and massages his eyes. "You never took time to go outside and eat with her. I choose the colour." His voice is sure, and she doesn't say something more, a bit taken by surprise.