The Mistake

Buried Memories

~~
Nick

I tugged at the tie around my neck. It was too tight, and I shifted uncomfortably as the priest talked. My head still hurt, probably still from the hangover from Saturday.

Yesterday morning I'd woken up, regretfully remembering most of the night as it trickled into my mind. But the last part of the night was the part that replayed in my brain over and over like a broken record.

I couldn't remember when I'd started drinking, but I could pinpoint the exact moment I'd sobered up. The moment Sam spoke to me in the car had brought me crashing back down to reality, to the awareness of everything I'd been doing.

I remembered every word.

"... and we give thanks for the life of our brother and the many ways in which he touched the lives of his loved ones..." The priest continued, but I tuned him out, looking to my mother, holding my breath to see how she was taking this.

My mother stood next to me, wearing a long, flowing black dress and clutching a single white rose in her hand. Her gaze was distant as she looked to the priest, nodding along to his words as the bitter breeze tugged at her long clothes.

I swallowed hard, my jaw tightening. Why had she been so adamant on coming? The guy who beat her senseless, abused her for years was dead, and she wanted to be the one to give him a burial.

When she first called and told me the news with a shaky voice, I pretended like I didn't know. After she came back earlier today, she took me aside. "I want to give him a burial, today. I've already arranged it." She'd said.

At first, I thought she must have been joking. I just stared back at her blankly until her expression remained constant and serious. And then, after a few minutes trying to convince her otherwise, she simply held a hand in front of me and made it clear she was going. David had offered to go with her, but she refused and said this was something she had to do without him.

I wanted to scream at her to wake up, to realize he didn't deserve even that. He didn't deserve anything from us, but as I watched her tired, sad gaze, I stuffed the words back into my throat. But I couldn't let her face it, face the past alone. So although it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, I gulped and told her I'd go with her.

***

The burial had been a bleak affair. The cracked tombstones surrounded us, sprouting up from the ground every few feet. The cemetery was old, worn down and grey. Even the grass and sky were pale, devoid of all life and color as the sun set behind murky clouds. But I didn't focus on the sky, and I didn't focus on the grass. I didn't even focus on the words being spoken by the priest.

The only thing my attention was fixed on was the few words freshly engraved on the tombstone.

'John Carter, Beloved husband and father, 1976-2023'

I tuned out the voices, all I could hear was my heart beating, pulsing through my eardrums.

'Beloved husband and father.'

"Nicholas." My mother whispered into my ear, her familiar voice bringing me back to the present. I turned my gaze to her. "I said it's your turn, honey."

I walked towards the casket in the hole, a fistful of pale dirt in my hand. The priest stood in front, watching me with sympathy as he gestured me to come forward.

My mind was blank as my hand reached out and scattered the dirt onto the casket. "Don't despair, son. Your father may be gone," the priest said in a hushed whisper, his bushy grey brows knotted together as he faced me. "But he will continue to live in your memory for as long as you live."