Silent

It's silent, Jess thinks. Unlike movies where heart-wrenching sobs erupt from a mother, her husband whispers comfort to her ear, and her child clings to her leg. Where rain pummels black umbrellas and forms puddles at the congregation's feet. No priest says prayers, and no darling grandmother mumbles blessings in another language. No, none of Hollywood's version of grief dares to show. It's just silent. Suffocatingly silent. Cold and silent. Dead and silent.

Jess stands to the left of the family–that heartless family. On the other side of the family is a pale, red-headed woman who Jess later figured out was the school therapist. A lot of help she did, Jess sighs. Across from Jess stands a blond boy and a darker-toned girl, Jesse-Jackson or JJ and Chrissy. Their trio was unmistakably an outspoken loud bunch of theatre and comic book nerds. However, the now duo mourned silently. Jess felt terrible, they were not approved by the family, and the presence of the only friends he had prompted the mother to glare as if the blame could be put on them. Her eyes were cold, Jess could feel the anger buzzing off the father. She almost laughed; Jess only heard the father a few times during this poor ceremony yet she could practically hear past bitterly angry arguments– "I don't want you near these people!" "You stay away from those corrupt people, you hear me?" "You disgust me!".

In short, his father was a pastor, prideful and boastful, and his mother was a perfect little woman full of contempt and greed. The youngest, who looked six, already looked preppy enough to be a professor. No preacher was there, according to the mother, his death was sinful and unholy. It hadn't surprised Jess, but it felt odd; to watch a casket being placed on the earth with no praises for the soul, no talk of rising to rest in the arms of God. Jess was sure she heard Chrissy mutter under her breath, keeping her eyes down. JJ was hugged close to her, Jess found his eyes as they looked down; they were red and bloodshot. They were crying for hours, Jess bowed her head slightly to them. JJ didn't nod back.

Jess looked over to the family. No tears. No signs of pain. No grief. Even the six-year-old didn't twitch, granted the concept of death was bizarre to a young mind. Chrissy and JJ kneeled on the grown, respectfully tossing flowers into the grave before dropping their shares of dirt over the casket. Jess reached to drop hers but then the six-year-old did his. The parents didn't move.

Chrissy had turned to leave with JJ on her arm, yet she spun around to look at his parents. Jess watched anger simmer in her eyes; it brewed in her soul and suddenly burst out of her mouth. "You don't even place your flowers over him?!" JJ immediately grabbed her arm and moved to pull her away yet she shouted again, "No-!", Chrissy fought JJ, "He was your son! And you sit there and do not shed a tear!"

The mother rose almost with graceful dignity, a practiced gracefulness. "Child, stop your crude outbursts." Jess watched Chrissy slowly still against Jesse-Jackson. "That boy-" the mother pointed to the grave, "that boy died the day he left home. The day he met you two. The day you filled his head with pretend and glory of the stage. The day you showed him that love", her eyes narrowed to JJ, "our son died years ago. We grieved that day, but today? No. Oh no... that boy finally learned what happens when you don't listen to your parents. He went and died because he was lost. Well, who got him lost?", It was accusatory and vile. Jess stood in shock.

Chrissy's eyes pooled till they flowed over, but she kept her head high. She spoke with as much confidence as she could muster. "One day, you will realize you lost him. We found him when you threw him out. And he's not some boy! His name is Tibbet! We lost him today but you lost him first." With that, she turned and left. JJ looked at the grave than at the mother, "He still loved you. I never saw why but he did", he sighed, "Though he loved a mother who helped him draw flowers from a garden, the father who told him he was proud of him when he did well in school-," his eyes dropped, "a brother who flew kites with him."

The young child stood, "I'm not going to cry, it isn't worth it."

Jess couldn't believe her ears, jaw slack, and eyes wide.

JJ sighed again, "You mean he isn't worth it?"

The boy was silent. He couldn't say his brother wasn't worth crying over. But he could reduce his brother to an 'it.' JJ sighed one last time before leaving, most likely to find Chrissy. The mother and boy sat down again. The school therapist tossed her dirt, wrote something in a notebook, and said goodbyes. The father stood, "Alright, let's head home. We have things to attend to". They left.

... There was a soft sniffle, followed by a laugh behind Jess. She slowly smiled.

"Rough family, eh?", Jess grinned. Footsteps came close, "Oh y'know...", he sighed, "they have always been a pain."

Jess turned around. There he stands, bubbles by his mouth, blood on his wrists. It reminds Jess of the rope burn on her neck.

"Hey"

"Hey, Tibbet... c'mon let me show you around".