Don't Fear The Reaper

{xi. something that i can't reach}

"Are you excited to go to the maple place?"

I was going to answer him, but then my eyes strayed to something outside the window across the aisle. We were passing The Eternal Garden cemetery, its brick wall shining copper in the sunlight. A few truant teenagers were walking along the sidewalk next to it, running sticks against the wrought iron gate, which I could only imagine made a sort of lonesome melody.

Will turned his head to follow my gaze; when we met each other's eyes again, we were both frowning.

"That's where they were gonna put Papa," I mused sadly. "But his brother made him be buried back in Santiago de Cuba, with the rest of his family. Or at least, that's what my mom said."

"You're his family too, though. That's not fair."

Sighing, I looked back at the seat in front of me and frustratedly kicked the spot where Will was sitting before. The supple, cracked leather gave way underneath the downward fall of my foot. "I know it's not. That's literally what I told my mom. But I barely knew him, I guess. You and Veronica are more my family than he is. Or maybe just you, now."

"Huh." Will's frown deepened, and he glanced in the direction of Veronica and Macy, who were too busy trading Silly Bandz to see anything going on around them, before saying, "Well in that case, do you wanna be partners when we get to the museum?"

"What about Trevor? I thought, now with football and all, he's like, your best friend."

"Trevor's friends with literally everyone. He can find someone else." Will grinned toothily, which made me smile myself. "I wanna go with you. You're my best friend."

✕✕✕

It's been 4 months since my best friend in the world died.

As always, today serves as a sore reminder for a still-hurting wound, an anniversary I will never escape. Coming back from my memories, I stand in front of Will's grave, sorrow filling my heart, and gently set this month's roses on his plot before they can fall out of my quivering hands. The grass in front of his stone grew over by July, but now, with the coming juggernaut of October, it's finally fading to a scraggly brown.

Like a child, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, then stand. Today, I can actually read the epitaph carved into the granite - there's no endless, ever-flowing tears to block my vision. But my eyes have barely reached the end of "William" by the moment the flashbacks start again. This time, the scene before the crash plays in front of my eyes, except now, it's accompanied by the things I've experienced all September. The searing pity in my my sister's eyes, the dead and un-regretful words of Veronica, the way Mr. Summers looks at me like I'm a specimen to be studied, a profound example of what bereavement can do.

When my memories of days gone by fade back to visions of red and orange sugar maples and crumbling brick walls, just the smallest breeze of warmth blows through the cemetery. I want to believe it's Will sending happiness from heaven, but it's gone so quickly that I think I just imagined it.

I know that there's nothing left for me to do here, now that I've taken my monthly moment of silence and given the groundskeeper a new bouquet to clean up, but I don't want to leave, not yet. I can't bring myself to go so quickly, especially with the knowledge that I'll be going home to an empty house. Mama's always got the evening shift on Fridays, and Kat's spending the night with her soccer team on a bonding sleep-over. After I leave, I'll probably stop at the Fox, order out a single serving of chicken pot pie, proceed to scald my tongue on said chicken pot pie because I lack any sort of patience, and then spend the rest of the night pretending to watch a documentary about space while really thinking about how much better everything was with Will.