In the sky, clouds appear from one side; they speak of rain, and yet they are depressed. The light blue sky, a cloak veils it, the house dissipates melancholy, blues into greys. It would be odd if the sky shone brightly anew. An older man in his sixties, his shoulder plastered against one side of the window, watches as vehicles are parked along the street of the house, comforted by the chagrin, his heart sinks witnessing the heavens' disguise, in that he is not alone in the mourning. There is a knock, and a person walks in. Slowly, he looks at the window; the man is standing there for hours, coffee that was brought aflamed, sits cold at his side.
"Father, I have been looking for you. Everyone asked for you."
James steps away from the window and looks towards Henry. He utters, but we do not hear, and then he tries again: "Oh, Henry, sweetheart, you go and rest. Don't stress about the guests at all. Your uncle is handling them."
Henry, who feels the need to uplift his father, rather gets distressed by eyeing the frame of his mother. "I know, but I am not able to."
Henry leaves the room, his eyes full of water, reddish from being rubbed multiple times, his skin dry as though salt blooms upon the surface. All the water has left, forced away. Eyes feel the departure. Sometimes they shed not because sadness surrounds them, but rather from an emptiness that does not seem to fill. For the wake, the eyes bleed not. They do it by themselves, for what they are not able to see.
James, who does not feel the need to, but still goes downstairs. The guests are delighted to see him; one by one, the relatives come to console. They would be helpful if they could do anything. In every interaction, he looks around as if she will flash from an unknown direction and relieve him from this awkwardness. Every so often, he hears about his wife, that she was excellent, a pure soul departed. His mind, selfish, thinks not straight. "You all did not know her," he wants them to shut up about her. He feels though he betrayed her; he promised her to stay with her the whole time.
A promise kept from the start, when they met each other in their teens, memories he is not able to grasp fully. There had been this sentiment of the veils that surrounded,
Even though we longed to be together after, that this would not be the end, sweetheart, I know you would be able to mark this as not the final departure. You would say that we are together not only in this world but whatever there is after, until heavens do us apart,
I want to believe that there is something out there, larger than me, not for sanity, but for the space that exists because you are no longer here. I have to, because this reverie will take me apart.
James looks at Henry sitting silently with his uncle. Maybe a father he needs now more than his mother.
The Image is mine.
The Inkwell Combined Writing Prompt #31 ~ Fiction or Creative Nonfiction