Five Years Ago
LILA
The rattlingbugle calls from a family of sandhill cranes flying overhead steal my attention. Squinting in the sunlight, I scan the skies until I find them. With their powerful wings flapping fluidly, they sail over the graveyard, unaware of the sadness beneath them.
Beautiful, lucky birds.
I can’t think of another creature that’s as free as a bird. No school or work. No societal norms or boxes to force yourself into. No endless cycle of disappointing your parents. No pressure to be thin. No unrequited crushes. No bills. Well, except the ones on their heads.
Best of all, whenever you want to leave, you just flap your wings and go. Following the winds or the whims of your soul.
Even though they eat bugs, I’d gladly trade places with a bird if I could. Especially on a day like today, when every breath I take reminds me of when we buried Zara.
The coffin size is different.
Otherwise, it’s all too familiar.
It even smells like I remember—dirt, fresh-cut grass, and fragrant flowers. All wrapped up in a bouquet of grief.
Once the cranes have flown away, my eyes fall to the mourners who’ve come to pay their respects to Mr. Hayes. Everyone but me seems to be listening to the pastor. I couldn’t focus, so I tuned him out.
Some familiar faces. Some new. Most crying or dabbing their eyes. Some stone-faced. Judging by the turnout, he left a mark on the people around him.
In the years before he divorced Kenzie’s mother, I spent more time with him than I did with my own father. Richard Hayes was a decent man who deserved a better ending to his life. His family deserved better too.
Kenzie sniffles beside me. Like the dutiful best friend, I pass her another tissue. Once she takes it, I wrap my arm over her shoulders to offer my meager comfort.
Her mood has been up and down these last few days while processing her father’s death. I’m sure she regrets not seeing him more in his final days. I sure do. While she’s a mama’s girl, she loved her father. And he loved her. Even after the divorce, when he moved away, he made it a point to stop by our apartment for visits. Until he got too sick to drive. I gave him a ride a few times.
On the other side of Kenzie, her mother stands stiffly but poised. Her demure black dress highlights her trim frame. She isn’t crying, but it’s evident from her facial expression that she loved him despite the bitter divorce.
Wearing a crisp black suit that fits him perfectly, Reed stands on the other side of the coffin like a sentry guard. His arms are straight, and his hands are clasped in front of him, resting just below his waist. With his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses and face downcast, I can’t tell how he’s handling the loss.
However, his positioning is telling. Despite his mother attempting to pull him to her other side when we arrived at the burial site for the second half of the funeral, Reed elected tostand on his own. Stoic and stiff, he resembles a statue. No doubt he’s gutted on the inside, though. So why is he forcing himself to stand over there like he’s an island?
Does he feel like he needs to go through this loss on his own?
I hope not.
Because he isn’t alone. I’ll be there for him, even if nobody else will.
It’s no secret he and his mother aren’t close. And Kenzie and him have an oil-and-water thing going on.
Nobody deserves to suffer through the mourning process on their own like I did. It was a solid year after Zara’s death before I met Kenzie. She pulled me out of the darkness. I won’t let Reed or anyone else in this family grieve alone. They’ve all but taken me in since I was a child. It’s the least I can do.
Plus, Reed’s been so kind to me. Well, the adult version of him has been. The younger version was a bit of a turd. Then again, I was too. Probably a phase most young people go through. The turd stage or aturdening.
Another flock of birds flies over. These are a bit too high for me to identify, but their calls are solemn. Fitting.
This time, when I lower my gaze from the sky, I get the sense I’m being watched. By Reed.
He’s no longer looking down at the ground. Even through his sunglasses, I feel the weight of his stare on me.
Oh crud. He must think I’m rude for gazing at the sky like a daydreaming child. I’ll have to explain later. I can already picture how that will go.
Reed, I promise I wasn’t being disrespectful to the only father you’ve known. I was disassociating from my own grief by trying to identify bird species. No hard feelings. We good?
With a grimace, I shrug one shoulder innocently while returning his stare. If he is watching me behind those glasses, he’ll hopefully recognize it for an apologeticoopsiegesture.
