Ashes

The Burial

At first it's a tad frustrating. Why is it so hard to get out of a church? I don't say anything in worry that I might swear in front of my parents... I mean parent. Still have to get used to that one. Eventually we descend into the graveyard itself and I shiver, the cold rain battering my skin with stinging pinches. My Dad's grave has been dug and the crowd of people here huddle around it. I should be at the front with my family, but I don't think I could stand it so I step away from the crowd and lean against an unstable looking tree that was planted a while ago. I hear sobs rack from my Mother's body and I can't help but think that it is about time she grieves for her dead husband. I close my eyes and allow the rain to soak through my dress harshly. I want to go home. That sounds terrible, but being here just reminds me of our loss and I was getting better I think. The ceremony proceeds though. I can see my Dad being lowered through spaces in between guests and I hold my hand to my mouth to keep myself from crying out. He didn't deserve this. Any of it. I look around the graveyard in hope that my eyes might find something a little less depressing. I let out a silent gasp when I see a boy my age sitting in the tree eating an apple. Of all things an apple. I can't see his facial features, but I'm sure I've never seen him before. Yet, strangely he seems to be observing my Dad's funeral. He's even in formal attire.
"Excuse me?" I cry upwards. His head swivels until it settles on me. He almost falls from the tree. I'd laugh, but I lost that privilege a few weeks ago.
"What are you doing up there?" I ask. He looks dazed as he begins to climb down to meet me. I know I haven't seen him. His blond hair is in perfect condition even though the rains splashes it and his pale skin seems to shimmer next to his mesmerising blue eyes.
He stands before me, still looking confused.
"Oh, I'm Monica" I introduce offering him a hand shake. He doesn't take it.
"I'm Jethro." He sounds like he's from Ireland. Not his name, his accent. "I was called, I mean people call me Jet." It's not easy to make that mistake.
"Are you here for my Dad?" I question, turning away for a fraction of a second to scan the newly dug grave. But, as if my day wasn't strange enough, when I turn around again he's gone.
***
My Mum's eyes look sore when I go to meet her at the entrance of the cemetery. I looked for Jethro for a bit, then joined my Mum at the grave. I cried again, and my makeup is probably on my cheeks. I made an excuse to go to the tree one more time, but no one was there. I wonder why he was here if he never met my Dad.
"Come on sweetie, let's just go home" she sniffles, blowing her nose with a used tissue. George looks miles away. He hasn't cried, but for three hours he also hasn't spoke one word. I'm worried what will happen now. Is this it? Are we now expected to simply get on with our lives? I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do that. I think something is wrong with me. I'm imagining up fake boys. The drive home is silent, nobody speaks as my Mum drives along, tapping the staring wheels with her fingers. I can tell that she's remembering. George plays with the ring on his finger, avoiding making eye contact. I watch the Welsh views zoom by. Anglesey is a lovely little town, but there is never anything to do ever and the dreary weather makes the green miserable. I blink several times. My eyes are aching from all the crying I've been doing. I almost scream. I swear to God, Jet was just standing on the side of the road watching our car zoom past. I suck in a deep breath which my Mum notices.
"Sweetie, are you okay?" she inquires. I don't know how to reply to that.
"Ummm, yeah I'm fine, I just can't believe it." It's true in a way. She reaches over and pats my thigh. She's trying to replace my Dad in the best way she can. I smile sadly and hold her hand on my lap. No matter how much my Mum thinks I'm okay though, I still can't get over the fact that my brain can create boys that don't exist.