Amend

Chapter 1

  Silence fell on the crowd inside the church. A priest appeared. Jesus Christ hung above an open coffin, awaiting the mourning mass.

Penelope's white shirt's sleeve wriggled out from under her black dress, made wet from her tears. Throughout her twenty-six years she had been to some funerals, but it was always of elders and she never cried during those times. Great-grandfathers, great-grandmothers, their wrinkly siblings, the father of three of her second cousins, and maybe that was it. Now, her opalesque brown eyes reflected the candles of the church.

Little brown heads watched a priest taking his position. The wooden benches creaked and the silence suffered the echo.

Penelope heard words coming out of the priest's mouth but his voice sounded too limp for the space and for a funeral.

The ceiling reached towards the heavens. If the architecture brought no peace of mind, there was enough room for deep thought and feeling, and that was hard to cut through for any man, even for a priest.

A woman in her thirties sat next to Penelope. It was her sister, Ginevra. Her hands clasping one another in her lap, she waited out the gathering in a soldierlike manner. Her gaze, though, was tracing other people, from the corner of her eye looking for clues on what exactly to feel. She felt confused, wrong and a bit jealous, for not having wiped a single tear with her handkerchief like other women did.

On Penelope's other side was a man, her father. Vincenzo sat quietly, his lips pressed together. He liked the poems of the priest. It took good care of his mourning. He was a brown, bald man with a soft voice, who understood little of his dead sister's ways but had done what he could to support her.

Penelope's mother, Martina, was not present. She had called and said she was very sorry for the family's loss but her estate under renovation needs her vigorous attention. They all knew, though did not say, there was never a moment she considered coming.

The parents divorced years ago and it was best like this.

Sensing Ginevra's tension, Penelope wanted to make her feel comfortable but didn't know how. Afterall, she was older and all Ginevra wanted was to be acknowledged as such - beautiful, successful and good. To break that fragile shell with an innocent pat on her hand would result in more anger and more distance between the sisters. And for the matter, Penelope had her share of frustration and grief, as the deceased one was as important to her as one's sight and hearing is.

The priest finished his prayers and asked the Di Perna family to say a few respectful words. Vincenzo came last.

"My sister..." he began but he swallowed the rest of what he had to say. He did not expect it to be so hard. "We will all miss her."

He took a seat.

Penelope woke up late the next morning. She hastily ran to the bathroom, her puffy eyes squinting from the bright white tiles. It was a sunny day outside.

She checked herself in the mirror, and like a lightning bolt, an image struck her. A bird flying from one tree to the other. A child holding onto her mother's hand. Black boots and patent shoes squashing stale tufts of grass, and by the edge of that little grass island, soil crumbling into a hole. The rectangle shape had been dug with heavy spades, and into the ground a coffin descended. The priest stood closest to the grave, throwing dirt each time a verse ended. At every beat, Pepe's body winced.

She raised her arms now, in spite of them shaking, to twist her brown locks into a bun. As she always does it, comb, pull, twist around the finger, secure with a hairtie.