TAMPONS | PHAN

twelve; october

o c t o b e r;

Dan pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders as he walked up the path to the church. It was a crisp autumn day, and the wind blew the dried husks of the leaves around in tiny tornados, swirling them around Dan's feet. The church bells clanged overhead as he pushed open the gate to the church, walking along to the back where the plot of graves lay. He could see his Dad on the top of the hill with the oak tree, a lone figure in the midst of the bleak setting.

The grass squished underneath his shoes as he walked towards his Dad, the mud lodging in the crevices on the bottom. His fringe was blown haphazardly across his forehead, but he brushed it aside as he approached the rectangular stone that was set firmly in the ground.

'Here lies Cynthia Mary Howell,

May she forever be in our hearts.

September 22, 1970 –October 6, 2008'

"Dad." Dan spoke softly, soothing his father from the spot he had been rooted to for the past hour. Dan had gone to wait in the car over half an hour ago, expecting his Dad to come along slightly afterwards.

"Dad, you need to move on." Dan added, conveying several intentions into his words. His Dad needed to move on from the graveyard, as well as from his wife's death. Dan watched as his Dad's lips twitched as though he was going to say something or was holding back his tears.

"Did I ever tell you how we met?" asked his Dad. Dan bit his lip – his Dad had told this story on numerous occasions – but Dan knew his Dad needed to let it all out. "We were in university, taking a meteorology course. It had nothing to do with either of our degrees but we were both in it because that was the only elective that was still available," he continued.

"Anyways, your Mum sat beside me and I was so nervous I could hardly speak. I guess she found it endearing because the next thing I knew she was agreeing to go for coffee with me," said his Dad with a small laugh. His hand reached out and grabbed the headstone, his other snaking around Dan's shoulders – as though he wanted to hold onto his family for support.

"I miss Mum too," said Dan softly, his vision blurring as he stared at the headstone. It symbolized the end of his childhood, the moment he realized the world was a harsh place.

"Love isn't fair, life isn't fair. But the time we get to spend falling in love— no matter how brief – makes it all worthwhile. Never let go of the ones you love Dan," said his Dad, his shoulders shuddering with small sobs. "I keep thinking... that if I had seen – if I had noticed she wasn't happy. I could have saved her"

Dan swallowed the tears burning the back of his throat. "It wasn't your fault Dad," he said fiercely, his voice slightly hoarse. His Dad remained silent, the only sound was the wind against the sharp corners of the church.

"I know," answered his Dad quietly and slid his hand from the tombstone. He pulled Dan closely to his side and they walked down the hill together, not once looking back.

--

"This is all so fucked up," sighed Mitch, leaning back against the wall. Dan sighed in agreement, reaching for a cookie off the plate that Jesmyn had provided. "My Mother is a psycho. She hasn't talked to me in eight fucking years and now she wants me to leave my life behind and join her in Paris? Fuck no!" continued Mitch.

"It's seriously messed up," commented Dan. He had been over at Mitch's for most of the afternoon, catching up on one another's summers. He had told Mitch about visiting his Mum's grave the other day, as well as his worries about his Dad's new job— which left him exhausted each evening.