My mom was furiously yelling at me the moment I stepped into the door. I could barely react before she let loose a stream of angry words that, even in person, didn't make sense to me. Still, I understood.
My mother knew absolutely nothing about the crash. Once I managed to tell her, she immediately calmed down. Then I told her that I didn't want to be alone after that, so I went to a friend's house (leaving out the details of our kissing).
She apologized and gave me a huge hug before going back to her room--probably to sleep.
In less than an hour, I got a call from a random number.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Caleb?" a partly familiar male voice asked.
"Yes," I responded reluctantly. Who was calling me?
The man answered my question when he said, "Hi, this is George! We met last night at the gallery."
I took an internal breath of relief. "Hey, how are you?"
"I'm pulling through. . . trying to, anyway," he said slowly,"I have to stay strong for Nathaniel."
I assumed that Nathaniel was the son he had mentioned, and since both of his parents were gone, George most likely had custody.
"I understand," I said softly, offering as much comfort as I could over the phone.
"It's just. . . hard. But we'll make it."
I could tell his big smile wasn't there at that moment, and I understood why.
"Anyway, I called to invite you to the funeral on Saturday, I'm sure he'd want you there."
"Thanks, I would love to be there," I said while I grabbed a pen and paper from my desk, "Where is it?"
*****
I sat there, waiting anxiously for Bobby. Why was I nervous?
It wasn't like it was a blind date. We knew each other. For three years.
Yet I couldn't help but tap my foot and look around anxiously.
He had called me the previous night and offered to get some coffee with me, and I was so excited at the time.
Now it just felt weird.
I waited, looking around the Grove for him, but within the crowd, I didn't see him. I continued to tap my foot and took a deep breath. I didn't understand why I was so nervous.
Will it be weird? We know each other. What's the point of a date?
I stared off into the distance, lost in my internal soliloquy.
I can't believe he actually asked me on a date. This is all really freaky. Dating Bobby was really freaky. How much change can I handle?
"Waiting for someone?" a familiar voice spoke from the seat across from me. Sure enough, it was Bobby, with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
I sighed and smiled at him. "No, just sitting here contemplating the meaning of life."
"Ah," he nodded, "and what have you discovered?"
"The meaning of life is. . . shredded cheese."
He laughed rather loud and said, "Good to know."
I chuckled awkwardly, just looking at him. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.
And neither did he.
We both stayed silent.
And so the awkwardness grows.
"You wanna go somewhere?" Bobby asked after what seemed like an eternity.
"Yes," I eagerly groaned, already getting up.
It wouldn't be too bad, dating him.
*****
The familiar sound of the ball barreling through the pins left me feeling satisfied in a way. Eight pins. I was getting better.
"Okay, so that leaves you with 32 and me with. . ."
I turned to look at Bobby, who was sitting by the automated scoreboard, staring at me as he stopped his sentence.
"With what?"
"You'll get mad," he said, suppressing a chuckle.
"And that's stopped you before?"
The chuckle made its appearance, and Bobby paused to take a breath.
"You have 32 and I have 108."
"I know," I laughed, practically skipping back over to him, taking a seat across from him.
"Oh," he smirked and lengthened his vowel in a way that made it seem as though he was impressed, "so we're not angry, are we?"
"Bobby, you act like I haven't been paying attention to the screen or my own turns. I've had time to compose myself and keep myself from throwing a tantrum."
He quickly moved next to me and smiled, his face inches from mine.
"But I like your tantrums."
"So you told me this information, knowing I'd get mad, expecting me to be upset and throw a fit?"
He just smiled, obviously trying to be funny.
I whacked him on the arm and nudged him away from me as I said, "You're horrible."
His firm body wasn't adhering to my wishes and instead he pulled me into his arms and buried his still smiling face into my neck.
"But you love me," he said with a childish tone that would either make someone coo or make someone want to smack his pretty face.
"Debatable," I joked, still leaning into his embrace. It obviously was not up for debate.
He chuckled and shifted himself so that he could pull me even closer, if it were at all possible. I couldn't stand how warm and inviting he was, and how his scent practically latched itself into my memory. He was simply intoxicating, and I was loving every minute of it.
We just sat there, enjoying each other's warmth. I listened to his deep breathing and tried to match it with my own, and I contained the shivers that threatened to move across my body as he shifted and started breathing directly on my neck.
"So the funeral is on Saturday."
He sat up, looking directly at me.
I continued, "They aren't having a service, but they want a proper burial."
"Why aren't they giving him a service?" he asked with concerned eyes.
"They think it'll be too hard on people, especially his son. Plus, they can't have an open casket for obvious reasons."
My sight drifted to the ground, my feet suddenly very interesting.
"Well, I already told you that I'm there. So, all that's left is you telling me when I should come get you."
I smiled. Him being there for me made everything so much easier. "My mom's taking me, Bobby. But I still want you there."
He moved swiftly to kneel in front of me and face me, his eyes shining with kindness and affection.
"I'll freaking walk to your house," he said rather forcefully, "I'm there. No matter what."
I smiled warmly, pulling him into my arms for a hug.
Time seemed to freeze, long enough for me to appreciate just how beautiful this human being in front of me truly was.
Inside and out.
*****
Green hills rolled across my vision through the window I was staring through. In a sense, it was beautiful: the emerald hills catching the sun on the dewdrops that covered each blade of grass, making it glimmer in the early morning light.
The only thing that ruined it were the cold, gray protrusions that erupted every so often, signifying the death and mourning of a loved one.
Gravestones.
My mom tried her best to weave through the hills, following the black limo in front of us. I sat silently, with Bobby right next to me. He was holding my hand with careful fingers, not squeezing too hard, or letting his hand hang limp in mine.
I turned to look at him, and he stared through the window. The sight of him in his tux, with the sun catching his eyes and his neatly combed hair, far surpassed the view of the hills on my left. Bobby was mesmerizing, and I had no qualms about reveling in that fact.
The sadness I felt kept beating against my heart like a hammer. It was the atmosphere of the cemetery: all of the death, the sorrow, concentrated in one area. It was affecting me in a very negative way.
As the car slowly came to a stop, I could see the burial site, with chairs all lined around the closed casket.
Deep breath, Caleb.
I felt a tug on my fingers, and I turned to look at Bobby, who gave me silent reassurance. I could see it in his eyes, a deep sense of comfort being transferred through his gaze. And his touch. I simply nodded, giving a gentle squeeze back before he got out of the car.
He opened my door for me, letting me out into the crisp morning air. I reached for Bobby's hand, and he grasped it almost as fast as I offered it. We followed the sparse crowd of people towards the burial site, where chairs were set up.
Approaching the closed, cherry wood casket, I kept wondering why I was even there. I wasn't family, and compared to others, I wasn't particularly close to him.
"I'm sure he'd want you there."
George's words echoed in my head, and paced around in my thoughts, prompting a semblance of understanding. I had no idea he valued me as much as he did, and it was becoming harder to comprehend the events that were happening. Why didn't he ever say anything?
Why didn't I know?
The sound of our footsteps were muffled by the grass, but they seemed to echo throughout the hills. I felt myself gripping Bobby a little tighter with every step I took towards the casket.
He squeezed back gently, sending a clear message: I'm here.
We found a seat in the third row, leaving me with a very prominent view of the casket. All I could think was, My teacher's in there. Dead. Gone.
Forever.
That's when the tears started.
I didn't break down, but the tears escaped my eyes like silent thieves escaping the prison of my tear ducts. I wiped my eyes with the back of my free hand and sighed. Bobby turned to me, a worried look on his face.
I just nodded to him, telling him that I was okay.
I wasn't, but it was expected at a funeral.
The service began, and I was so upset, I checked out. Bits and pieces remain: the man presiding over the service gave a eulogy that I didn't hear, various relatives spoke about him and the love that they have for him in their heart, and his closest relatives left white roses on his casket.
I saw George, who looked like a sand castle minutes away from crumbling. He stepped aside after leaving the rose, making way for an unfamiliar face.
He had very neat, brown hair, with a very boyish face that made him look pure and innocent. The one thing that struck me, though, was his eyes.
They were the same chocolate brown as Mr. Patterson's.
It was his son, Nathaniel.
We all stood to watch them lower the coffin, and I couldn't help but watch the boy. His face was stoic, and I could tell he was trying not to cry. It surprised me when he looked up at me.
I simply offered a weak smile, the heavy air weighing down the usual happiness I carried. He just stared at me, the slightest of nods being made towards me.
Then he looked at Bobby.
And I saw that twinkle in his eye.
Whenever Bobby and I hung out in public, I could always tell if a girl was interested in him. Whenever they'd look at him, they'd have the slightest of twinkles in their eyes, like Bobby ignited a spark within them.
I'd know from experience.
Bobby was attractive, I'd known that for the longest time. But seeing the twinkle in a guy's eye, at his father's funeral, made me very. . . what?
What was I? Jealous?
I watched as Nathaniel bent over to grab a handful of dirt for the grave. But he was extending his lower back, placing his ass high in the air, and I could see that he was turning and looking at Bobby with seductive eyes.
He's hitting on my boyfriend. Right in front of me.
Yep, jealous.
I grabbed Bobby's hand faster than I thought, and he jumped a little from me startling him. I mouthed a silent, "Sorry."
He nodded and watched the relatives throw dirt into the grave. It was always a confusing tradition to me. To me, it seemed like a way to move on, but it all seemed intensified, like they were trying to get rid of the person. It felt wrong, but I didn't say anything.
Instead, I watched as Nathaniel walked back to his seat, winking at Bobby on the way.
I just stared, dumbfounded, at the level of conspicuousness he was doing it, knowing I was there holding Bobby's hand.
I looked at Bobby, who was entirely oblivious to it all, and just looked down at the ground.
The more I thought about it, the more hilarious it sounded.
My boyfriend doesn't realize he's being hit on at funeral of the guy's father.
I chuckled just a little, glad that I could have a light laugh in the dark sadness that blanketed the entire group.
And just like that, it was over. People stood, flocking to their cars.
And I could finally breathe.