She doesn’t walk away. She doesn’t move.
She stays for all of it.
Someone speaks as we lower him into the ground. The words wash over me, blurred and mumbling, mixing with memories until I can barely think straight.
Tell me a story, Jar.
Pwease.
I back away as soon as the rope is free of my hands. Away from Ben.
He’s not there.
I hope he’s not there.
And away from her.
From Emilia, with her empty, sad eyes.
I can’t do it.
Ican’t.
But… I can’t leave, either.
Instead, I stay back. I watch from a distance as my brother is buried in the dark. When they’re done, Emilia steps forward.
She kneels in the dirt, picking up the flowers and placing them carefully over the mound. Covering him in bright, vivid color.
When my legs refuse to hold me up any longer, I sit. I dig the whisky from my pocket, swigging from it.
But I don’t leave.
I’m not sure she even knows I’m still here, as the day moves on around us. When she’s finished, she sits back on her heels, her hands covered in mud.
And we wait.
Hours pass, and Emilia doesn’t move. She sits beside my brother, her lips occasionally moving, as the bottle in my hand slowly empties and the world becomes fuzzier.
Easier to bear.
It’s dark when she looks up.
It’s not raining.
I lean forward as she reaches for the umbrella next to her. When she opens it, it illuminates with dozens of small lights woven around the metal shaft and ribs beneath the clear canopy.
She says something else, and I watch as she pushes the open umbrella into the top of Ben’s grave until it stands up by itself, illuminating the closest flowers in soft golden light.
And then she turns, walking away.
In the dark. A soft light illuminates the space in front of her as she uses her phone torch to pick her way through the cemetery.
I get to my feet, unsteadily weaving my way toward Ben and stopping at the edge of the flowers.
“What do I do?” I ask. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
I don’t know who I’m asking. Ben’s not fuckinghereanymore.
