The Northern Lights

Chapter 22. Final Farewell, I.

France, 2007

In the absence of Eden's presence, the world keeps spinning, the summer remains calm. The cemetery stretches far and wide, birds chirp and flutter. Shimmers of light pierce through the gaps left by clouds and shine off the beautifully kept grass. The weather does not suit the day's occasion, an irony between the sky and the ground begins to settle. Eden's childhood friends, previous co-workers and distant family begins to crowd around a six-foot-deep hole in the ground.

In his black suit and tie, Arlo holds his mother's soft hand as she leads him to his father's casket. As the voices get louder, Arlo's hand is tightened even further by his mother. He wants to scream quietly in pain, but his mouth remains shut. Azra's other hand is used to wipe the days' worth of tears that flow from her eyes. Both of her slim legs can barely function. Arlo's eyes gaze upon each cold gravestone that surrounds him, he wonders if they are walking on top of buried corpses. Arlo doesn't fully understand where his father is, just knows that he isn't walking among the crowd dressed in black. It has been four days since his father went out to buy Arlo his favourite beverage. Four days of not being able to sleep at night, haunted by short nightmares and the traumatizing sound of his mother sobbing in her room.

In the middle of the previous night, Arlo was unable to keep his eyes shut. He stood out from his bed, pacing backwards and forwards, trying to talk to his father with his thoughts. Papa, where have you gone? When will you be back? Mama is crying, what do I do? but no voice echoed back to him through the halls, no warm presence of his father's soul, just the shivering winds of the night and the cold echoing cries of his mother's muffled prayers. His eyes are unable to lift from the ground, from the gravestones, he can't work up the courage to look up at Azra's face.

Eventually, a familiar voice reaches his ears, "Arlo," the elderly voice begins to convert to a sob, "Azra, come here."

Finally, Arlo lifts his eyes from the ground, the bright blue sky almost blinds him. His Grand-mère has bundles of tissues in her winkled hands, hugs Azra tightly before picking him up and kissing him on the cheek, "how are you feeling my darling? It's okay, your father is in heaven now."

Arlo shrugs, smells a hint petrichor on the side of her cheek. Arlo has a sensation inside him he that he cannot describe, because the feeling in his chest is alien, unearthly to a child. His voice hasn't seemed to have been carried by the air since that unforgettable Saturday morning. In his mind, Arlo replays the situation in his head, how he dug into his food with that flimsy knife, the way he said please when asking for a glass of pure sweetness. But now he wonders, if I didn't ask for it, would he still be alive? And as the thought crosses his mind, Arlo instantly buries his head into Edith's shoulder, tears soak her dress. His mother and Grandmother join him in the act.

The sound of feet crushing onto crinkled leaves is as loud as the breaking of brittle bones. Arlo wipes the tears from his eyes onto his sleeve, in front of him, an unfamiliar looking elderly man stands tall and slender. He has the same stares with the same piercing eyes as Arlo's papa, "Edith," Ivre says, a sense of anger in his voice, and the scent of heavy liquor on his tongue "Let's go."

Edith nods, and as Arlo's feet touch the ground again, she whispers, "I'm sorry." Arlo is uncertain on whether that was aimed for his mother, or him.

The man gives his crying mother a sullen, fear inducing stare. As the old couple walk away towards the crowd, Azra turns to Arlo, crouches down and places both of her stern hands onto his arms, "We have to be strong, okay my mountain?"

Arlo wants to ask why, but he thinks his questions have already caused enough damage. He nods, "Okay mama."

The passage of time becomes a blur. Arlo doesn't understand what the priest says, wonders why a priest is even there, mama doesn't believe in God, does she? Did papa? With every sentence that the man with the cross wrapped around his neck finishes, more groans of grief come crashing out of people in the crowd. Arlo hears the distinct cry of his Grandmother. Like a flinching reflex, he hugs his mother tighter, begins to sob as quietly as he can. This is my doing. I'm sorry papa. Please come fix my mistake. I love you.