I Wish I Were (boyxboy)

7

After we checked out, it was only a matter of minutes before we pulled up to the cemetery. The cemetery, as well as our church, St. Peter's, sat in a secluded section of town, behind all the houses, behind all the fast food restaurants. It was a part of town seldom sought out and often forgotten. Until Sunday rolled around and the parking lot filled with cars.

Half our town, including us, seemed to be Catholic and the church was almost always packed full. That was why I rarely ever went, but Dad and Alex, without fail, would be there every Sunday at 9 AM sharp. The Catholic way of life overflowed into our everyday being, stretched into Dad and Alex's beliefs, even though Alex used to be a party animal. But then he graduated and said goodbye to getting drunk every weekend and said hello to an actual job, if you could count delivering pizzas as an actual job.

Dad parked the car and we got out. I gave Dad the flowers and shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat as we walked beneath the rusted gate. St. Peter's Cemetery, it read.

The cemetery was divided in half. To my left were graves whose engravings had worn away so much you couldn't make out what they once said. The headstones over there varied greatly, some small and indiscreet, others large enough to cast shadows over the lesser ones.

To my right were the newer stones. As you moved further into that section, the graves got newer and newer. The heartache got fresher and fresher. All the headstones over there were small and nearly identical.

And in the middle of it all was a statue of Jesus on the cross. He was surrounded by angels and Mary and everyone else you would expect. Although I wouldn't know. It had been ages since I'd been to church. And right now, I knew my excuse about it being too crowded was only half the truth.

Even here, I felt judged. I could almost feel the statue's eyes boring into me, telling me that I was unnatural, that how I felt was wrong. That I needed to control my "sinful" desires. But I shook it off and followed Dad down the familiar path toward Mom's grave.

Many of the graves I passed on the way had fake flowers beside them. Some had little knick-knacks, statuettes that had meaning only to the family. And others had wilted poinsettias even though Christmas was nearly a month ago. But worst of all, were the graves that didn't have anything on them at all. It would've made sense if we were on the older side of the cemetery, but here, when the deceased had been buried not too long ago, there was no excuse for the lack of decorations. Every time I saw that, my heart cracked just a little.

I shivered against the bitter cold as we reached Mom. Dad squatted down and took the bouquet from last week out, replacing it with the red roses, bright against the gray headstone.

When he stood back up, he glanced at me, lips barely twitching upwards. He reached out to me and I pulled my hand out of my pocket to grasp his. Then he looked down, closed his eyes, and started praying.

This was how it always went, except it was Alex holding both me and Dad's hand, the unofficial mediator between us. So it was almost weird to be holding Dad's rough hand, even for the simple act of praying.

"Amen," Dad said, dropping my hand.

I snapped out of my thoughts. "Amen."

As Dad started recounting the week's events to Mom, I slipped my hands back into my pockets. I barely heard any of Dad's words as I looked at Mom's headstone. Jill Rodriguez, Loving Wife and Caring Mother, it read. I pressed my lips together as I felt the tears begin to well in my eyes. This happened every time we came here. I would cry even though I kept telling myself I was over it. But I would never be over it.

I wanted her back. I wanted her warm hugs and her kind smile. I wanted her here, because I knew she would be proud of me. She wouldn't be aloof like Dad. She would go to every basketball game, every award ceremony. She would tell me I was making her proud. She would've accepted me. And it was that last sentiment that hurt the most.

I was planning on coming out to them before she died, because I knew Mom would've calmed Dad down, told him it was okay, told me it was okay.

I was a mama's boy, plain and simple. It had always been that way. I had Mom and Alex had Dad. It was like that until it wasn't. Until the world got pulled out from under me and everything crumbled beneath my feet. Until Dad sat broken on the couch, screaming at me that it was my fault, all my fault while Alex stared at me with sorry eyes.

By the time Dad was done talking, tears were running down my cheeks and my throat felt itchy and raw.

He glanced at me, his own eyes wet. "Did you want to say anything?" His voice shook.

Nodding, I took a step closer. I squatted down, my hand brushing against the freezing headstone.

"Hey, Mom," I whispered. My throat ached and I coughed. "We won the game yesterday. We weren't supposed to, but we did. I scored a lot too. I wish you could've seen it." I laughed a little as I remembered the events from yesterday. "Everyone was booing us, but we pulled it off. We pulled it off. You would've been so proud." With the back of my hand, I wiped at my wet cheeks and sniffed hard.

I stood and turned to face Dad. "I'm ready."

He nodded and we left the cemetery.

When we got back home, I went right to my room. I told myself it was to check my phone, but the heaviness of my eyes and the weariness of my muscles told me otherwise.

I shut the door and collapsed onto the bed and grabbed my phone. There was a text from Georgia from after I replied to her, but it was just a smiling emoji. I rolled my eyes. If she wanted to talk to me, she should've sent something that actually required a response.

Then there was the text from Wes that I didn't want to open, but I clicked on it anyway.

Wes: Dude, what happened last night? I woke up next to Ashley but I don't remember a thing.

My heart dropped at Wes's typical behavior. 

Charlie: You were high and drunk, but that's all I know.

I dropped the phone on the floor and laid down, pulling my blanket over my legs, trying to ignore the pang in my chest as I drifted off.