Page 76 of Poetry By Dead Men
Trying to thaw this cold I feel
Oh God, I'm tired
—An excerpt from "Prayer of the Lost" by Robert Beckett
The leaves outside have begun to turn brilliant oranges and yellows and reds almost overnight. It’s breathtaking, and it pisses me off. The dying leaves are nothing more than hundreds of thousands of reminders that everything ends, and Ihateit.
I draw every single shade in Big Blue. I can’t bear to look.
Not today.
We have less than twenty minutes until we need to leave for Michael’s funeral, and I can’t find my bracelet anywhere.
I search the kitchen, coming up empty-handed, but I know I took it off here yesterday, so I move to the back and rummage through the bathroom cabinets.
Leaning over the bed, I open Bobby’s nightstand, freezing as I push aside his notebook. I suck in a sharp breath, my heart thundering. In the back left corner, tucked away so far back I almost miss it, is a red, velvet ring box.
I shouldn’t open it. Ignoring it completely would be the right thing to do. But it doesn’t change the fact that my hand keeps moving closer, and I'm powerless to stop it. The velvet is soft against my fingers, and the box is sturdy. I hesitate for a moment, but before I can talk myself out of it, I lift open the top.
My body kicks into overdrive, and my hand comes up to cover the gasp that escapes my lips. Inside the box is a ring.
Not a promise ring, anengagementring. It’s simple—a cushion cut stone set into a thin gold band that gets thinner as it gets closer to the diamond. It’s understated and elegant, and my fingers shake as I pull it out of the box. As much as I want to, I don’t put it on my hand.
It already feels wrong enough that I’m looking at the ring, but sliding it on my finger feels like crossing a line.
Slowly, I turn it over, watching the way it sparkles in the light, but something else catches my eye. Etched into the inside of the band is an infinity symbol, an exact replica of the ones that make up my bracelet.
The hiss of the bus doors opening makes me jump, and my stomach drops. As quickly as possible, I put the ring back in the box and shove it into the corner of the drawer, dropping the notebook on top and rushing into the bathroom. The bedroom opens mere seconds later, Bobby appearing in a black suit.
"Hey, you okay?" Bobby asks. He glances at his nightstand for a brief second, then comes to stand next to me.
“As okay as I can be,” I say, leaning into him. "Do you know where my bracelet is?" I ask, and he nods, pulling it out of his pocket.
“I found it by the sink. Thought you’d want to wear it to the service,” he says, fastening it around my wrist. His fingers are warm on my skin, and I anchor myself to his steadiness.
I’ve always known beyond a doubt Bobby loves me. But seeing the ring makes our love feel like a tangible thing. A soft blanket to soothe me and a crutch to lean on, and I wonder if maybe I was meant to see the ring today. If maybe it was fate’s way of making sure I know that even on my worst day, I’m not alone.
Not when I have Bobby.
We don’t speak on the way to the service. Nor when we walk into the church with Johnny, the cloyingly sweet scent of the funeral arrangements making me feel like I might choke.
Bobby stays by my side as we find our seats in the front row, right by Molly and her family.
He squeezes my hand when the tears fall, his thumb writing words along my skin.
He doesn’t leave my side until the tiny coffin is covered in roses, when, with a squeeze of my hand, he walks to the front along with Johnny to where their guitars wait.
Wordlessly, they begin to pick out a melody, slowing the rhythm of Michael’s favorite song. Johnny keeps his eyes on Molly's face, but Bobby squeezes his shut, unable to watch as the pallbearers begin their solemn walk up the church aisle.
Anchor me down in the cold dark dirt. Where my roots are tethered deep.
His voice is raw as they carry Michael to where he will rest. I try to focus on Molly, to comfort her. I put my arm around her shoulders, hold her hand as she weeps, but I know it's useless.
There is no sort of comfort that can ease the agony of losing someone you love. The loss of Michael will leave an open wound in all of us. One so deep, I'm certain there will never be a day we don't feel its pain.
NOW
September 2024: Tampa, FL
