Page 94 of What It Means To Be Found

We had time to discuss these things later.

“That’s alright,” Mr. Bane agreed after shutting the trunk, and walking over to where we stood. Eloise and her mother were helping themselves to their seats in the car, Mrs. Bane taking the passenger seat and Eloise sliding across the back to make room for me to follow, but Mr. Bane halted my progress with a firm grip on my shoulder. I was taller than this man, but even though I was looking down at him, I knew how important he was to Eloise. And how I desperately wanted to make her happy.

He gave me a once over as he held me still with his grip on my shoulder, before taking a very distinct look at the scarring that everyone who first met me noticed, and met my eyes again.

“Thank you,” Mr. Bane said with a firm nod. “Until Eloise says otherwise, you always have a place in our family.”

I blinked in surprise at his words, before managing a very stiff nod in acknowledgement. That was that. Mr. Bane released my shoulder and made his way to the driver’s seat as I folded myself into the backseat next to my girlfriend.

My girlfriend.

Eloise Bane was my girlfriend. And we loved each other.

A few days later, while lying in Eloise’s bed and changing my phone’s wallpaper image to one of the two of us, Eloise mentioned visiting my sister.

I shrugged, informing her that Anna’s birthday was coming up.

Eloise didn’t need to be told anything else. She then announced to me that since she was occupying mine and my phone’s attention, that the least we could do was visit Anna on her birthday.

I had a feeling that she meant it as the start of a new tradition, and I didn’t hate the fact that my girlfriend was so considerate of my family. The family that I cared about, that is.

Which is how we ended up at Anaheim Cemetery, walking through the graves and finally, finally approaching the two that stirred unresolved feelings of grief in my chest.

The two gravestones weren’t large, or gaudy. The fact that my father scraped enough money together to find these two slabs of stone was a miracle. They were the ones that laid flat on the ground, and the groundskeeper needed to constantly trim the grass around, so that they didn’t accidentally become obscured by landscaping.

On the left was my mother, her name in bold lettering:

FRANCESCA ST. JAMES

On the right was my sister:

ANNA MARIA ST. JAMES

Their lifespans are underneath. No unique imagery, no sentences saying who they were to anyone, or who would miss them.

My father was a real piece of shit, wherever he was.

Without a word, Eloise released her grip on my hand to reach out for the two bouquets I was supporting with my other, placing each beside my mother and sister. She then tugged my hand down as she started to sit, crisscrossing her legs in front of the stones, and I followed suit.

I had visited their graves before, mostly standing awkwardly and staring at them and feeling a mixture of emotions like rage and sadness at the circumstances. But I hadn’t ever sat down, as if I was settling in for a friendly visit.

“Was your mother Italian?” Eloise asked after we settled on the grass, nodding towards my mother’s name.

I nodded.

“But your last name is your father’s I’m assuming?” I nodded at her words again. “Do you take after your mother?”

I smiled, Yes. My father was the epitome of Irish, with blonde hair and blue eyes. It was where Anna got her blonde hair from. I, however, inherited my mother’s dark curly hair and brown eyes. Something I was grateful for every day.

“Your son is like a steel vault of information, Francesca,” Eloise had turned and rested a reverent hand on my mother’s grave, immediately making an annoying burning start in my eyes as my vision suddenly became blurry, “It’s truly a miracle we were able to form a relationship at all.” Eloise smiled, tracing her finger over my mother’s name before pulling her hand back to wrap mine in hers, still chatting with my mother’s grave as if my heart wasn’t being beaten open with a hammer at the sight, “…But he’s worth it. Oh, and happy birthday, Anna.”

I didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that leaked from my traitorous eyes, I just allowed myself to sit in this moment. Something my therapist had prepared me for the last session we had, after filling them in on my girlfriend and this trip we had planned. I knew it would make me feel things I didn’t want to, things that are inescapable when it comes to grief.

But I wasn’t expecting just how shattered I would feel, how raw and exposed I would be, sitting here silently crying while Eloise acquainted herself with my mother. My sister. And how it was okay that I was feeling this way. I was safe here with Eloise, feeling practically cut open by sharing this first with her. Chatting with them as if they were sitting here with us. Taking time to stay and honor their lives with our presence, instead of the quick and thoughtless visits I had made in the past.

I knew what I had with Eloise was real. I had known in the past, of course, but I was being blatantly reminded of that fact as we filled my family in on our lives. Telling them about our friends, our jokes. Nothing got left out, not even how Eloise and I chased each other through the townhome and I successfully coated her hair with chocolate syrup.

I knew my sister would have appreciated that story.

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