The Arrangement Anthology 1(51)

My hair hangs limp around my face. I shove open the door and walk swiftly toward them. There’s a knot in my throat that I can’t swallow no matter how hard I try. Tears prick my eyes, but they won’t fall. My parent’s plot is behind a massive oak tree. Its ancient base hides me from onlookers. I fall to my knees at the foot of my parent’s grave and double over to stop the pain. My forehead rests against the cold hard ground. My teeth catch my lips and I bite and hold them between my teeth. Sucking in a rush of cold air, I sit up suddenly. My hair flies back, tossing some twigs with it. My heart hammers inside of me. It’s the only thing that tells me that this hell is real. Everything else seems too wrong. I stare straight ahead, seeing their names chiseled in stone, but seeing nothing at all.

The wind lifts the ends of my hair off my shoulders. I have no idea how long I kneel here, but my legs have pins and needles. I shift my weight and sit on the ground and pull my knees into my chest. I breathe, because that’s all I can do. My anger has faded over the months. I no longer come here to yell at them for abandoning me. This time I don’t know why I’m here. I got in my car and this is where I ended up.

I reach for something I stashed in my pocket before running out of my dorm room. The metal feels cold against my skin. It’s a little silver cross. My mother gave it to me when I turned sixteen. She said it was to remind me of what’s important when things get rough. Things are worse than rough. I clutch the cross so tightly that the ends bite into my palm. Still, it doesn’t stop me. Pain is something I understand. The rest of this, the senselessness of it all, eludes me.

I speak into the air. Somehow it feels normal. “What do I do, now? I didn’t think my heart could break any more than it already has. The pieces still inside of me feel like broken glass. Every time I take a breath, they stab into me. It never ends...” I press my lips together and breathe.

I look down at the cross in my hand. That cross meant something to her. I wish it meant something to me, but it doesn’t. All I see is a necklace. I have no faith. It died along with my parents. I string the cross around my neck and fasten the clasp. It lies against my heart. This is the closest thing I’ll ever have to the comfort of hearing my Mom’s voice and feeling her arms around me again. My fingers press the cross closer. I sit there, looking at nothing, barely thinking, and slowly rock myself.

Time passes. I have no idea how much, but my body has become still and cold. When a sharp breeze cuts past my cheek, I lift my face. The vacant gaze that I’ve had since I passed the iron gates comes into focus as I see a man in a long black coat. He stands with his shoulders hunched, looking at the roses in his hand. He stands there frozen for a long time. When he moves, he bends over and places the flowers on the ground on the grave in front of him. When he stands, he throws his head back and looks up at the sky.

I see his face. It’s Sean. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I want from him. I just see his pain and react. Weaving my way around countless graves, I come up behind him. My fingers clutch the cross around my neck like it can save me. My entire body has gone numb from the cold. I have no jacket. I want to feel the sting of the wind. I desperately need something to make sense.

Sean must feel my eyes on his back. He turns slowly. At first I think he’s going to be mad, but his gaze sinks to the ground and he turns back to the tombstone at his feet. I walk up next to him and he asks, “What are you doing here?”

My voice comes out gravely when I speak, “Same reason as you, I suppose.”

“Your parents?” he asks. His voice sounds deep and strained.

I nod, but Sean doesn’t see me. I’m not sure if he sees anything. He stares straight ahead at the grave with such intensity that I can’t look. “Yeah, I needed to talk to them. I have no idea if they can hear me, but I just needed to be here. I can’t explain it.” I’m quiet for a second and then add, “But talking to the dead seems to be a one-sided conversation. I ask them for help, but they can’t help me anymore. I’m on my own.”

Sean turns his grief-stricken face toward me. Our eyes lock and I see my own pain mirrored in his eyes, but there’s something else there too—something more. The wind rustles his dark hair. Sean looks so lost, so vulnerable. After a moment, my eyes fall on the tombstone. I see the name. I stare at it like I don’t understand. I expected this to be his parents, but it’s not.

The name carved into the headstone is Amanda Ferro.

Sean turns back to the grave. I stare at the roses he’s placed on the ground. “Amanda was my wife,” he says. His voice sticks to the back of his throat, barely audible. Sean doesn’t say anything else.