tethered /mourn & esther [69th]

Vern's body has barely even cooled before my father sits us around the table and reads out the fine print.

"I'm sure Mourn is just as lovely." My mother says, reaching over to pat my hand.

It's funny how quickly a person stops being a person. I wonder if my parents ever saw Vern as more than a scammer's target - if they'd seen the way he lived and breathed and laughed, the way the glow of the streetlights made him look like he was on fire.

I wonder if he'd ever been a person to them at all.

They make the arrangements to meet my new fiancé at my old one's funeral. My mother drops a black gauze shawl over my shoulders before we leave and tries not to look too pleased.

The funeral is nice. I pretend to know who everyone is when they offer their condolences, act like I recognize all the aunts and the uncles and the friends, it just seems like something the deceased fiancé's should know. It's not like I could've told them that we were a business transaction. A fraudulent one at that.

The whole affair seems to last all day. There's an endless flurry of people and then there's no one. I find the first little bit of peace in the garden at the reception because everyone else is too busy inside telling stories about Vern.

I've only got one, and it isn't very long. There's a yellow rose bush across the path. I stare at the tear in the lace of my dress instead.

I'd be nice to run, I think. To leave everyone here and climb a tree and never look back down. But I guess I belong in a lie like this one. I should feel sad, but I think all that's in me is disappointment.

The gravel crunches and I look up, expecting to see my mother standing there, demanding that I go back inside and play nice.

But it's not her.

I ball my fists in my skirt and go over the script again. Yes, Vern and I were supposed to be married, yes I loved him very much, and yes I'm doing alright now thank you for asking. Because that's all anyone ever seems to ask.

The boy steps up to the flowers and I watch him carefully out of the corner of my eye.

I made the embarrassing mistake earlier of telling one of Vern's family members how sorry I was about his death, how awful it must be for them, but it turned out the man I was talking to was just an employee who had barely known him.

He corrected me gently, but it still stung.

I was more careful with the next one, waited for one of the cousins to introduce themselves before I made a fool of myself again.

It's been a day of careful words and even more careful movements. It feels like the elite always speak in double tongues and the rest of us have to play catch-up. My mother had to remind me to dab at my eyes with the new handkerchief she'd gotten for the occasion.

I watch the boy beside me watch the roses sway and then slowly turn back.

"They must be special." I reach out to brush my thumb across one of the flowers and a petal falls down to the ground. "You don't see this colour very often."

I tried out being sentimental and kept one from the bouquet Vern sent during the week with the park and the tree and the yellow dress. I tucked the rose into an etiquette book, closed the pages down on the petals and slid the spine back into place, but I haven't opened it up since.

I'm not sure if that's the sort of thing that you take out and look at often, or if it's something you just keep on the shelf and just think about.

"Sunshine." I echo, and see Vern with his face up to the light again. All the memories seemed to be steeped in it - maybe it was just the golden hour I was falling in love with.

But the sky is blue, and the clouds are white and clear and the birds are still out. I always thought that funerals were supposed to be sad things, full of rain, but I've heard laughter and cheering from inside the house and the only sombre part of the day was when they first lowered the casket down.

"No one else seemed to get the memo." I say, and there's something a little bitter to it.

The world's supposed to have gone grey, but Vern's replacement is already waiting upstairs and I'm supposed to meet him and pretend like it was supposed to be that way from the start.

The world's supposed to have gone grey, but it's still bright and I don't understand why. I should be grieving but when I reach for the feeling, it disappears. I've just been having to make it up; an actress in the starring role.

"It'd be easier if the day was grey." I give him this sad little smile that I practiced in the mirror, "Make the inside match the outside."