Flashcards On The Wall

Chapter 45: Funeral (Continued)

I remember Tash's words "You seriously have to be a masochist Millie. Why would you go to your attacker's funeral? You have more problems than I thought if this is what you actually want to do."

The crowd at the cemetery starts dispersing. Friends of the family are the first to move in the direction of their parked cars. Gabriel takes that as a cue.

"Do you mind if...Matt isn't far from here," Gabriel says.

"Go ahead," I say.

Gabriel hand me his car keys, "I won't take long."

"Take as long as you want," I reply.

Jackie sees him walking away and comes over to me.

"There he goes. Always by himself. You know, I've never seen that kind of loyalty in anyone else," Jackie watches as Gabriel gets further and further away, likely wondering about him.

"That's the man you raised," I say.

Her eyes open wide.

"You're allowed to take at least some credit for that Jackie. He had to pick it up somewhere. You never considered he learned it from you?" I ask.

"I hadn't thought of it like that. Gabriel doesn't express himself like you or I would, but he'll show you're important when he feels he needs to," Jackie explains.

"I believe that," I say.

"Did you want to ride with us? I'm sure he'll be staying a while," Jackie tells me.

"I think I'll wait for him," I respond.

"Then we'll see you at my sister's house," she says.

"I will tell Gabriel you guys are expecting him," I tell her.

I wait by the car, but the more time passes the more I want to go to Gabriel. So I do.

"Is everyone gone?" he asks.

"Pretty much," I answer, "Your mom said they'll be at your aunt's."

"We won't be," he states.

I didn't think we would be.

I kneel on the grass. He follows.

"When were you here last?" I ask.

"February 27th," answers Gabriel almost immediately.

"You remember the date?" I question.

Then I see the headstone. It reads Matthew Rietman, beloved son and brother. My eyes zero in on first date below.

"February 27th. His birthday," I say.

"Our birthday," Gabriel corrects.

"Did you say 'our'?" I ask, "As in your and Matthew's?"

Oh my God. They weren't just brothers.

"Gabriel, you never said-"

"What? That Matt and I were twins?" he asks.

"Yes, exactly that," I say.

"I don't talk about Matt," he responds.

As if that should be reason enough.

I start doing the math in my head.

"The visit your cousin mentioned that night from a month before, was for your birthday? You were celebrating your birthday?"

"No. I visit Matt and eat at our favorite place. Then I'd usually get drunk with Charlie. It isn't a day I celebrate. It hasn't been for years," he explains.

I remember when I asked Gabriel about his birthday and his whole demeaner changed. The times when I asked Gabriel to tell me about himself. The conversations when he didn't even want to be in the same room with me. How out of the blue he wanted to work more. Started lying. Avoiding me. How we grew apart. My patience wearing thin. The fight we had because I thought I couldn't trust him.

"I thought-" I start.

"I know what you thought," he says.

"I was wrong. If it was a difficult time for you, you needed space, you could have told me why. I would have backed off instead of imaging things in my head and thinking you were interested in someone else. I doubted you up to the point where I wanted to walk away," I say.

"Amelia you've never been the problem here."

"Why does it feel like I am? Why is it that when you can't talk to me, I blame myself?"

"You take it personally," he answers.

"It is personal," I say.

"I don't tell anyone about him," he responds.

"Why not?"

"When you're the spinning image of someone that's gone, there's very few things people can think of saying besides the fact. He's gone, what's it like to not have your other half?" he explains.

"So you went somewhere no one knew you and you don't tell anyone so you don't get the questions and constant reminding," I say.

"The plan had always been to leave. Considering that my last couple years here were as bad as you can imagine, I rarely visit. I have nothing against the people, it's just not for me," Gabriel explains.

"That's why you don't like visiting your parents," I conclude.

"There wasn't one place in this town where people didn't feel sorry me. Or that didn't remind me of him. I left because I didn't need more reminding of what I lost," he says.

He sounds bitter. What else can I expect? I can't begin to picture what that kind of loss feels like. Yet I try. I think of the people I love most. I consider the idea of losing one of them. My mom. Oliver. Connor. Tash. Logan. Gabriel. That's where I stop, because the thought alone is too much to bear. Living in world where one of them was missing, wouldn't make sense. I would hate the world for not seizing to exist. I would hate the time for not stopping. I consider all the things he still hasn't said. Then I think, what's the point? He will only ever tell you what he wants you to know. Nothing more. My heart hurts when I think of all the what ifs. Then I realize, in many ways Gabriel and I are strangers. What does any of it even matter now?

"So this is Matt," I say, "Do you ever talk to him?"

"Yes," he answers.

"Has he heard of me?" I ask.

"I have mentioned you before," he replies.

"Your mom said you like to visit him by yourself," I state.

"It felt a lot harder coming here with them," he explains, "when it's just me, it almost feels..."

"Like you can breathe," I finish his sentence.

"Exactly," he agrees.

"Is it weird if I ask you what was he like? You don't have to tell me, but it seems like there's really no point in keeping him a secret anymore," I say.

"He was the smart one, always had straight A's. Told everyone he met he was going to be a doctor. That was the only thing he ever said he wanted to be. He was always thinking of ways to better himself."

"Sounds like he was ambitious," I conclude.

"Very social. Made friends everywhere he went. Everywhere. That is not an exaggeration," he continues.

"You say it like you two were total opposites," I conclude.

"He was better," he tells me.

"Why does one have to be better?" I ask.

"That's just how it was," he responds.

"Is that how he would describe himself, as 'better'?" I question.

"I don't know."

"Then why do you?" I wonder.

He doesn't answer.

"You know, I wish you could see what I see when I look at you. Maybe then you'd understand half the things I do," I say.