Page 108 of Back in the Saddle

The paint on the iron gate was mostly peeled off. Hunter tried to remember if it looked like this before.

It was eerily quiet. His black truck was the only car in the parking lot. He switched the engine off and pulled the key out from the ignition. Feeling a bit queasy, he realised he was gripping the steering wheel like it was a lifeline.

The sun was starting to travel up, lazily peeking over theeastern horizon. Even though it was rather chilly, his black leather jacket suddenly felt too heavy. He tried to take a deep breath, but his throat was too dry. Coughing, he realised his heart was pounding.

Another twenty minutes or so passed. He didn’t put the radio on. He didn’t take his phone from his pocket. He didn’t loosen his chalk-white knuckles’ grip on the steering wheel.

It’s OK. You’re OK. You can do this. But you don’t have to. It’s up to you, Hunter.

A small, soft voice he heard inside his head wasn’t his. His heart ached, but its rhythm slowed down a bit.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

He closed his eyes and put his right hand on his chest, pressing to the left, over his heart. Focusing on breathing in and out, he tried not to think. There would be time for that later. For now, he just needed to get out of the car. He needed to close the door and walk. Which he did, clutching the ornate box close like it was his most precious possession.

Even though he had been here only once before, he knew where he was going.

Neatly cut grass shimmered in the faint morning light. It felt soft beneath his heavy boots. The rows of marble and stone headstones looked as if they were aligned perfectly. Etched on their surfaces the letters composing names and dates followed him as he passed. Some were new. Some were old. Some had flowers next to them.

Hunter noticed one brown teddy bear, dressed as a pirate, leaning against a small cross at the end of the row.

Tightening his grip on the box, he continued. Four long steps forward, two steps across …

And then he stopped.

The sight of the white marble headstone crushed him anew. He fell to his knees, dew soaking through his denims.

Of course there was a grave. It had been five years. Hal and Pauline Clark wouldn’t have let their only daughter be buried under anything less than the best they could afford.

Yet, seeing it for the first time made him feel ashamed.

He hadn’t come here after the funeral. He couldn’t bring himself to even drive past the cemetery for months.

It felt easier to try to patch up the open wound without being reminded about the finality of it. It didn’t matter that it felt like trying to put a tiny Band-Aid on a deep penetrative cut to his very core. Maybe if he put enough Band-Aids over it, it’d finally stop haemorrhaging. A temporary fix. A short respite. A chance to forget …

Although he could never do that.

He didn’t even come here after his father’s funeral. It was on the opposite side of the cemetery. He’d thought about it but decided he couldn’t.

‘Hi, Tammy. It’s me. I know I didn’t come here. I’m sorry.’ He paused, shifting his weight to settle more comfortably on the ground. ‘I can’t believe it’s been five years. Some days it doesn’t feel like long enough. But most days, it feels even longer—’ His voice hitched. ‘I … I can’t remember the sound of your laugh anymore. I tried to the other day, and I realised I couldn’t.’

Another deep breath. He looked away from the surface of the headstone. ‘Damn, I miss you so much. You might meet my dad there now, wherever you are. He always liked you.’

He didn’t care that he must’ve looked like an idiot talking to himself. It felt good to put his thoughts and feelings into words and say them aloud.

‘Even though I can’t remember your laugh, I’ll never forgetyour smile. It could warm up the worst cold.’ He felt a genuine, shy smile in the corners of his mouth.

With a metallic click, his fingers twisted the lock on the box he’d brought.

They’d met in high school. It was one of these teenage love stories people wrote love songs about. They’d stayed together when they went off to college, Hunter to Texas A&M University, Tamara to Tulsa. They did long distance and saw each other as often as they could, driving back and forth. Before they headed off for their senior year, Hunter had proposed, and Tamara said yes.

He lifted the lid, revealing a stack of photos in polaroid style. The one on the top had a bent corner and looked like it had got crumpled sometime in the past.

Hunter smoothed it with his hand and took it out.

He remembered how they’d taken it within an hour of getting engaged. She had wanted to have a keepsake that’d remind her of the immeasurable joy. Her black, curly hair filled up most of the photo. Her face was turned away from the camera. She was resting her chin on Hunter’s shoulder and her nose was pressed against his neck. Her left hand, lifted in the front, showed off a thin gold band with a perfectly red ruby. Her cheeks were flushed.

Hunter looked at the photo closer, even though he could draw it from memory. Only a third of his face was visible, but he knew how happy he was in that exact moment.

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