River of Dreams

River of Dreams: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

“Take care of yourself. I'll miss you.”—Teddy Thompson, “Take Care of Yourself”

*

The words from T.S Eliot’s poem, The Hollow Men, rang through my head as I stared up at the cloud-choked sky through the gray-tinted windows of Charlie’s car: This is the way the world ends; not with a bang but a whimper. That’s how Matt’s world ended, wasn’t it? Not with an explosive bang but with a tiny whimper that had vanished the instant it had entered existence. His hopes and dreams, his past, present, and future, snuffed out like a flame starved of oxygen. Everything that constituted the big, bright personality that was Matthew Teddy Linkley was gone. Forever.

I hated how cruel life was. He was only seventeen. He probably thought he had a good sixty, seventy years left before he kicked the bucket; we all did. How were we supposed to anticipate death when we barely had a taste of life? Youth equaled invincibility—or so we thought. Life played mean jokes, and this, unfortunately, was its punch line.

Today, the day of his funeral, was marred by heavy, gray clouds and a strong wind that howled against the stained-glass windows of the cathedral we were all supposed to be congregated in. I gaped up at the swirling spires that punctured the sky and the ancient gargoyles perched on the high ledges, growls frozen on their stone faces. I watched as the flakes that had ultimately caused his death fell from the sky, the final “ha ha” of nature. It was funny how such a gorgeous scene, so full of serenity and peace, could make me feel even more miserable than I already was. I pulled my face away from the window and pressed my forehead against the cool vinyl headrest of the seat in front of me, trying to calm myself. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but my mouth was bone dry.

I didn't want to be here.

I didn't want to have to admit that I was never seeing him again.

I didn’t want to face his friends, his family, knowing it was my fault he had crawled out to that hole, knowing I could have stopped him.

I wasn’t ready.

“Hey, kiddo . . .?” Charlie’s voice floated back from the driver’s seat, and I looked up to see him watching me in the rear-view mirror. “Are you okay?”

“As good as anyone going to a funeral can be.” My voice came out harsh and raspy, creaking like the rusted spokes of a bike.

A part of me still wished that that gold embroidered invitation had never found its way to our mailbox—then I could live the rest of my life in sweet, ignorant bliss, believing that Matt was still out there somewhere, wandering back with the diligence of a curious child. But he wasn’t coming back. Instead, he was lost somewhere on the bottom of the lake. The thought brought fresh tears to my eyes—big, hot ones that threatened to ruin the carefully constructed mask Mom had smeared onto my face earlier this morning—and I turned my head back towards the window, hiding like a coward from Charlie and his imploring gaze. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Thank you for taking us. I’m sure you would rather be doing something else and I just want to say that I really appreciate it.”

His lips lifted, creating a lackadaisical smile that unleashed a myriad of emotions within me. Why did he have to pretend that he was comfortable with the situation when it was so obvious that he wasn’t? This morning, when Mom had called him, sobbing as she whispered her request into the phone, I had expected him not to show. But an hour later, there he stood; dressed in a classy black suit and tie and looking down at me with the saddest expression I’ve ever seen on a man.

“I’m glad I could help.”

*

The car was parked in the furthest possible spot from the church, and it was below freezing outside. I balked at the mere thought of trekking through the snow in nothing more than a “flirty yet modest” little black dress (Mom’s words, not mine), black flats, and a wimpy cardigan. But the funeral was scheduled to start soon—thirteen minutes, to be exact—so I swallowed my pride and opened the car door. The cold was a shock and my heart gave a painful thump as I unfurled my umbrella and placed my foot on the snow-packed ground. Throwing an anxious glance over my shoulder, my eyes caught my mother's, hidden behind a cluster of golden locks and the black bird-cage that veiled her face. Her hands were quivering. Tears, mixed with black mascara, streaked down her face. I climbed back into the car and asked Charlie if he could drop us off closer.