To The Grave

Chapter 2. Randall. Day 32.

I could hear the toilet flushing. I took another drag of the cigarette, waiting for Marty to return and demand it back. Instead the house remained quiet. I pushed the cherry into a shingle of the roof, tip-toeing through the house to the bathroom. I pushed the door open, peeking inside. Marty was asleep on the floor, his back against the ground.

I kicked my foot into his side, rolling him over. He let out a soft groan. "Better not die, poser." I whispered in the dark silence. I left him alone, retreating to the room he and I shared. I pushed the window open, grabbing the cigarette off the edge of the keyboard. I climbed back out onto the roof, looking for the small group of rotters. I sparked the lighter, lighting the cigarette. I took a few drags, spotting the bottle Marty had been drinking on the ledge of the window. I grabbed it looking it over. Fireball, maybe a gulp left.

"Gross." I whispered, finishing off the last sip, throwing the empty bottle far into the street.

"What's gross?" A small voice asked from behind me. I turned to face Marty's little sister, Winona. Her dark black hair was pulled into a ponytail. Her thin arms were lost in the over-sized jacket belonging to one of her older brothers.

I looked back into the bedroom, thinking about Marty drunk on the bathroom floor. "That- uh -water was gross." I looked down to the burning cigarette in my hand.

"Water bottles don't shatter. Is Marty drunk again?" She asked. I looked over at the younger girl. I nodded, taking a drag. "Don't treat me like a little kid, Randall."

I laughed, blowing smoke through my nose. "You are a kid, and in case you haven't noticed, I am too." The cigarette was beginning to feel warm against my fingers. I flicked it out into the street, watching it fly across the backyard.

"Some childhood." She stood up, walking back to her bedroom window.

I sighed, turning to look at the younger girl. "I'm sorry."

She turned back, the moonlight hitting her bright blue eyes perfectly. "You didn't make Marty messed up in the head." She spun back, pushing a window open and crawling back inside.

I remained on the roof alone. Alone. I always ended up alone. I took a deep breath, smelling the faint scent of decay in the air. I turned back, crawling into the house. I sat down on the futon, looking over at the empty bed. I crawled into Marty's bed. I kicked the covers up, curling under their warmth. I laid still, thinking about Winona's words.

I sat in the uncomfortable suit on the uncomfortable wooden pew listening to the uncomfortable words of the pastor. None of these things were designed for a four-and- a half-year-old. My mom sat beside me, crying into her brothers arms.

"Let's have a moment of silence to honor the life of Officer Julian Sanchez." A large picture of my dad displayed behind the large flower arrangement on the stage.

"Mommy," I tugged on the long black sleeve of my mom's dress, "Why can't dad come back?" I whispered.

She looked down at me, wiping her cheeks with her hands. She moved her arm to pull me close to her. Her soft lips pressed against the top of my head, moving my neatly combed hair. "I'm sorry baby." She whispered into my brown hair.

"The family would now like others to come up and share some memories and words about Julian." I watched the pastor stepped aside, sitting in a chair to the right of a podium.

People walked slowly to the stage, placing flowers of their own among the fancy bouquets. They told old stories, stopping to wipe tears from their eyes, and collect their words.

My mom, pulled her legs close to her chest, her arms wrapped around to keep her inside together. "Don't touch me, Nick." She whispered loudly to her brother, her legs moving down.

"Rachel, Randall, you two will always be a part of the PAPD's family. Julian was an important officer to us." Another police officer stood on stage.

"Mommy, I don't feel good. I have to throw up." I whispered, pulling on her sleeve again. She nodded, picking me up in her thin arms. She quietly walked out of the large room, taking me to the restrooms.