Undone, Undress (Larry Stylinson)

fifty-two

At the cemetery, they stand in the cold as the priest says a prayer. A few family members speak as well and then they're all setting their roses on the casket, saying their goodbyes.

Harry is silent and unresponsive to anyone who speaks to him, crying all the while. Louis sticks by his side, clinging to his coat with a small hand on his sleeve, as if he's afraid he'll float away or simply disappear. As if he thinks a few fingers grasping black wool will ever do anything to keep him safe.

The funeral ends and people scatter, crossing the grounds to their cars which are lined up on the road like ants in a procession. All extended family is invited back to Harry's parents' house for refreshments and stilted conversation. Harry's parents are still speaking with one of the groundskeepers, giving Harry and Louis a bit of time to themselves.

They don't say a word as Harry leads them away from the uncovered grave, the casket resting deep in the ground and marred with dirt from when the men of the family passed a shovel around to ceremoniously scatter earth over the grave. Someone who works at the cemetery will finish the job.

Harry walks with purpose through the aisles of graves as Louis hurries to match his pace, clinging to his sleeve. They walk for a long while, tracing an invisible path until they get to the top of a hill in an area secluded by beautifully old trees.

Louis reads the tombstones but finds no meaning in them, nothing out of the ordinary.

"What is it?" He asks uneasily, watching Harry's face to gauge his expression.

"I used to come here all the time," Harry says, staring out at the rolling hills covered in graves, each marked by a tombstone, some new but most of them old, especially the ones they're standing near now. "I don't know why. It was always just a place to escape to."

"The cemetery?" Louis asks, thinking of a younger Harry coming here to spend time away from home, always running from something. It's a chilling thought. Haunting.

"It's morbid, I know."

Louis nods in acknowledgment and holds his sleeve a little tighter.

"Come here, I want to show you something."

Following blindly as always, Louis trails after him, their steps quiet and muffled by the snow. Harry leads them to a gated garden, the rusty metal door hidden by vines and overgrowth. He brushes them away and fiddles with the broken lock, pulling the gate open as the metal creaks and groans like a ghost, upsetting the otherwise silent ambiance.

The garden belongs to a single family, each member with their own memorial to mark their grave. Harry pulls him deep into the garden to a lone tombstone estranged from the rest with an inscription that nearly makes Louis' heart stop.

ALL MY LIFE AND SADLY THE DAYS HAVE GONE BY

I WHO DREAMED WILDLY AND MADLY

AM HAPPY TO DIE

"Shit, Harry."

"I know."

"That's so fucked up." Who even decided to put that on a tombstone? Usually the inscriptions said nice sentiments like dearly beloved andmay her memory be eternal or something lengthier like safe in the hallowed quiets of the past.

But this is... different. This is dark. And Harry is running his hand along the top to brush the snow away, touching it reverently like he relates.

He doesn't know what to do. Why does he never know what to do?

Sometimes there are no words of comfort to speak. Sometimes there are only hushed breaths in the cold, Louis' arms winding around Harry's back and holding him tightly.

They don't say anything and they don't let go until a while later when they hear his mother calling for them, her cold voice carrying over the graves of the dead.