Akumal

Life Goes On

Past

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I lived right on the beach my entire life, with a small town only a few miles away, a boardwalk closer by, and very fews hotels.  It was mostly beach houses where I lived, and even those were few and far between.  If you drove to the nearest town, or walked if you were fit, you would find regular old houses, nothing special.  In the center of the town was something like a banquet hall, used to celebrate weddings that weren’t held in the church on the outskirts of town.  The church was set on a small hill, overlooking part of the beach.  The white paint from the siding was chipping, peeled all the way off in some places.  The old bell in the top of tower sounded on Sundays, calling people in for mass.  Sometimes it tolled on a Saturday, like today.

When there was a funeral.  

My mother and I drove to the Church that Saturday morning, dressed in our only black dresses and whatever shoes went well enough with it.  I had a box of tissues set on my lap, and every few minutes I would take one up to my face and blow my nose or dab under my eyes.  Other than that, I stared out the window at the passing view.  Was this life?  Did it really have to happen like this?

When I had woken up this morning, I had to pinch myself at least a dozen times, just in case it was a dream.  I really wanted to believe it was.

On my right wrist was small rope bracelet that Iokua had gotten me for my birthday last year, maybe the year before that.  I tried to remember what I had given him on his birthday.  What had it been?

The car pulled into an empty parking spot in a lot that couldn’t have been paved any less than a decade ago.  It was a sad lot, with weeds about as tall as me tangling in the wooden fence.  Grass sprung from cracks which littered the pavement.  It made it look like the glass of a shattered window.

Why am I noticing all of these things? I thought to myself.  Maybe it’s true that when you are sad, you notice things you never did before.

We had always gone to Church on Sundays, ever since I was little.  I could even remember going with Iokua before our parents split apart.  He used to fiddle with his hands the entire mass, which distracted me as I tried to listen to the sermon.  He would make funny faces, which I could see out of the corner of my eye.  I would start giggling and then we both would be shushed.  

My mother opened the door for me, yanking it pretty hard.  Either it was really heavy or she was just letting her emotions out on it.  I would too if I opened the door to my brother’s funeral.  So I opened the next one and did just that.

It was a small gathering.  My dad had come to the funeral too, but he didn’t sit next to us.  That was fine by me.  I think that seeing him for the first time in years would only bring back memories.  Memories I kinda didn’t want to remember just now.  

It was my turn to speak.  I had prepared a speech, which I shakily took from my pocket and unfolded slowly.  Placing it on the wooden podium, I smoothed it out.  My hands dropped down in front of me, clenching and unclenching, folding and unfolding.  I cleared my throat.  It sounded like a pack of wolves crying out to the moon.  I finally settled my hands on the podium.  

“Iokua was my brother,” I started out.  Then I stopped.  I stared at the sheet in front of me.  I realized now that I had written it all wrong.  I picked up the paper, folded it, and put it back in my pocket.  There was no way I could read what I had written.  There was a small murmur that went through the three rows of people as I tucked it away. I adjusted the microphone and began again.  

“Iokua is my brother,” I said shakily.  “And because of this, I have to believe that what happened at the beach is my fault and my fault alone.  And I’m sorry.”  I waited.  Everyone’s eyes were fixated on me.  Some were filled with tears, like my mothers’.  There were people sitting before me that I had never even met, but somehow my brother had been affiliated with.

“I loved Iokua.  He was and still is my best friend.  Nothing can change that, not even the ocean.”  I blinked away tears.  “I remember one time... he and I were walking along the beach.  He was visiting me for the week and we were just walking... walking.  As if we had all the time in the world.  Then he asked me something, something I’ll never forget, especially now.  He said, ‘What happens when you die?’ And I answered him ‘You go to Heaven,’ because it was the obvious answer.  And up until now I thought that answer was good enough.  But now understand that that wasn’t what he was asking.  He was really asking me something I could only answer with ‘life goes on.’  And I don’t want it to, believe me, I don’t.  I want to go back and undo it all.  But we can’t, because we’re stuck in this one big circle, on a train that just goes around and around in circles.  And even when you hop off, the train keeps going. So I have to believe that I’m going to see him again someday, because of Heaven, and because I know he’ll be waiting for me at the station.”  I was actually crying now as I finished the sentence.  I took a deep breath to continue.  “This isn’t what I thought I was going to say, but I needed to say it.  Iokua was an amazing person who was kind to everyone and who didn’t deserve what happened to him.  But life goes on.”