Salt

The Water Nymph

In a black dress I hadn't worn for years since the death of my grandfather, I listened acutely to Father Matthew read off his little brown book. He talked about Heaven, a justified God, and angels that carried this weight on their backs as they brought Ciara Ford to their maker.

        But I knew I couldn't be the only one that wished he'd shut up.

        Most people, if not crying, were facing the ground and the coffin and the rain that beat down on it like a booming drum. She might have been a teenager, but she was nearly six foot tall, and she fit so securely and comfortably in its case. The copper-brown was the perfect color and at the wake she had almost appeared normal, beautiful even. Her deep chocolate locks were curled, her nails had been covered with nude pink press-ons, and her make-up was simplistic but respectful. And as I'd paid mine, I noted that although her eyes were closed, and she wasn't dreaming, it was peaceful.

        Alright, I didn't know where she was, or what she was doing... but it had to be.

        The worms in the earth, the grass that would grow above her rectangle of dirt, they knew quiet. I trusted they'd keep her safe.

        They were her protectors, not some omnipresent entity that allowed this to happen in the first place.

        I bit my lip, as I turned to face the Fords. Bryce clasped his umbrella above them, free hand sunken into his pocket, as he avoided the haunted ground and the cries of his mourning wife. She poured it out for the world to witness, unapologetic for how she chose to deal. The tissue she clutched was sodden, it had been all morning.

        Blinking a raindrop out from my lash, I focused on their son.

        He'd rejected to carrying an umbrella, and his whole being was soaked. He hadn't moved to clean his glasses, either. In fact, all he did was address the dirt.

        From beside me, Lu was unreadable too. When we met at the wake, he'd asked a million questions and refused to notice that his non-stop chatter was disturbing a handful of the guests. So, this was a change of pace.

        He just tended to ramble when he was nervous, there was no cause to be upset.

        I shifted from my position, I'm sure my leaning on him was annoying, he just would never say. On my other side, my sister was the same as she'd been since the news spread to the rest of the town.

        Impassive, almost uncaring. I mean, I refused to believe it somehow. Yes, Ciara was a bitch to people, her especially, but at the end of the day, she was still a person.

        And she definitely never deserved to die.

        Reminding myself to speak with her later, I steadied my concentration. This moment wasn't about her, or us, after all.

        Not long after each family member threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground, people began to disperse. Back to their vehicles, hopefully ready to resume their day and recall better times. There was no need to linger in this forever.

        Zoey and my folks retreated just as quickly, and I knew I should've left with them, but my legs were fastened, rooted into the ground. They quaked lightly but found their bearings once again when a figure moved to stand beside me, black leather jacket splattered with crystal rain.

        "Do you need a ride home?" Jett's crisp tone tried to grab me, like it tended to do. This time, it failed, and I didn't stop to wonder why.

        "Someone has to stay."

        As Mrs Ford practically crawled into her limo, I saw my mom and dad outside, paying their respects once again. Dad clapped Bryce's shoulder softly before heading out to wait in his own car. Not even a second after his back was turned, Mom reached out a gloved hand.