Snowstorm

Snowstorm

The funeral was held on a Thursday and, as I stood between my parents, with their hands linked upon my shoulders and friends and family all around I never felt so alone. I gazed down at the hole in the ground as they were lowering my sister's body and felt...numb. Tom was buried yesterday. In the plot next to Katie's. I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun. The snow on the ground was thick and crusty, ugly with people's footmarks and yellow dog urine.

It seemed unfair that the sky should look so azure it hurt to gaze at it for too long. It was unfair that I was standing here, able to breath the crisp air, feel the wind biting at my cheeks and nose and look at the beauty of the wintry afternoon sky and neither Katie nor Thomas would again.

I remembered how well Katie loved the winter. She would stand outside with her head tilted back and her mouth ajar, tongue lolling to catch the first few snowflakes on the tip of her little pink tongue. We used to laugh and run through the drifts, falling onto our backs in our snowsuits to make sneaker-marked angels in the snow.

"On this day, we lay to rest a child of God," The minister's voice was droning and his words blurred in my head like the tears blurred my vision, "And pray that you keep her safe within your loving, paternal embrace, Oh, Lord..." I felt my mother's shudder and her hand tightened upon my shoulder.

My father remained stiff behind me but I could tell that this was as hard for him as it was for my mother and myself. My mother was suppose to step forward to throw the first handful of cold, hard dirt upon the top of the coffin, but she let out a great sob and turned away before she could. I saw the dirt fall from her fingers and scatter upon the snow.

As if in a trance I took a step towards the lowered casket, stooped to dig out the frozen dirt, mingled with snow, near the edge of the hole, and stood. I looked down through the wetness across my vision at the beautiful cherry wood box that had cost my parents nearly half of their life saving's to purchase.

"I'm sorry, sis..." I said, in a whisper, the lump in my throat making it hard, so hard to talk, "I love you." I tossed the dirt upon the coffin and heard it hit the wood with a soft clatter.

"Beth?" my mother called through a strangled voice, it sounded like she were speaking through a thick fog, "Beth...come on. The funeral's over...let's go on home now, Beth...come..."

I stumbled through handshakes and shoulder pats, concerned expressions and sorrowful pitying looks towards my parents and my father's blue pickup. It wasn't out of the ordinary to see a pickup at a funeral where I lived in Oregon. In fact, the majority of transportation seemed to be some version of a truck.

I slipped into the backseat, taking care not to catch my knee-length black skirt in the door when my father closed it on me. I snuggled down further in my coat, the coat I still had from Alan. I thought about him as I inhaled the collar. It smelled vaguely of him. I thought about him a lot. It had been a week since my father met us in St. Marie's, Idaho and I left him.

I knew in my heart of hearts that staying with him would have been out of the question. I'd found myself watching the television just for a chance at hearing some news, or watching his old movies just to see his face, hear his voice. I missed him like crazy. Oh, god, how I miss him.

~*~*~

A Year After Katherine and Thomas Jameson's Funeral

I saw him once more. A year later. I had come to the decision that it was time for me to move away from my parents. I gained employment at a bookstore in St. Marie's, where I'd moved to, ironically enough. I suppose I felt that I needed to be close to the only place that's ever made me feel...well...a mixture of things.

The town would always be a part of me now, imprinted upon my soul with everything sweet and bitter I'd been through over the past year.

I was busy stacking a new shipment of books when he walked into my line of sight and took my breath away. Instantly it all came back to me, like flashes upon a movie-screen.

I smiled and tried to still the shaking of my hands as I placed the book I'd been holding upon the shelf. I wondered if he'd seen me. Then, I had my answer. He turned away and held out his arm. I recognized the short, plump mousy-haired woman with the kind smile and bright eyes from photographs I'd seen of her. Rima Horton.

I watched as he wrapped his arm about her waist and drew her near and whispered in her ear. They shared a private joke and laughed the laugh of the truly in love. I had been wanting to run to him, to embrace him and cover his face with kisses.

But, as I stood, peering through the books, a shelf between us, watching them, I began to realize. I loved him. I did. I know I did and I would have given everything up for him in a heartbeat.

At the same time, even though it was hard to breath and I felt as if the world were crashing to an end, I realized that, for a few days, hours even, he'd loved me as well...in his way...and that was enough for me.

I stopped myself from following them, as they left the store, laden with a few books from various authors, as I would have instantly done...before, and, though it hurt like hell, I'd seen how happy he was with her and I wanted that. Wanted him to be happy. I turned away from the sound of the bells jingling upon the closing door to greet a customer asking about a particular author. He pretended not to see the tears in my eyes.

~*~*~

Six Years Later

I wrote one letter to Alan. Only one. I wrote the letter the year after we had said our goodbyes to each other. Right after I’d seen him in the bookstore. I've never been much of letter-writer. I always find myself becoming too long-winded and having to start over after realizing I was onto the tenth or eleventh page.

My letter consisted of mundane things such as the weather, how I had been doing and questions regarding the movie he'd been set to begin work on when we'd parted. I didn't tell him about the cold I'd acquired that had refused to depart.

The constant cough that kept me up at night and racked my body with spasms. I wouldn't reveal anything negative. I suppose I didn't want to worry him. I received a response a few weeks later. It was typed though he'd signed the bottom in his somewhat loopy scrawl of handwriting.

Dear Beth, I read, and had reread until the words and paper were marred by the creases created when I'd folded the letter over.

I knew you would write. Though, it took you quite awhile, didn't it? The day we said goodbye is still clear in my mind, I fear I could not allow myself to express to you how much our time together had come to mean to me.

How much that you, in so short a space of time, had come to mean to me.

I find myself thinking about you often. I'm distracted by the image of your face behind my eyes and I wonder how you are. I wonder if you are doing well. Are you happy, Beth?

I saw enough of your pain while you were at the cabin with me last year to hope that you'll find enough happiness to make up for the tears you shed.

I sighed and folded the letter, his last words upon the page memorized within my mind; 'You'll be in my heart, Beth, always...', before the signature. I kept the letter in my beside table drawer. Tomorrow I was to have more tests done. I hated the damn tests.

I pulled the blankets over my head and heard the bathroom door opening, the light switching off. My husband crawled into bed beside me and drew me against him.

"Scared?" he asked, even though he knew me well enough to know not to ask such a question. Of course I was scared. I was terrified. Every time I went in for more tests I was fucking paralyzed with fear.

"Not a chance." I turned over, kissed his cheek and fell asleep against him. I love him. I really do.

I'd met him four years ago. He'd been a customer in the bookstore. Though, it took a long time before I stopped seeing Alan's face whenever I closed my eyes when we made love. I'll always love Alan. That will never be in doubt. Until the day I die, I'll love him. But, I also know that tragedy brought us together and fate kept us apart.

When I decided to say yes to my husband's offer of marriage I realized that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life alone and pining after a man that destiny had seen fit to tear away from me.

I would make my own happiness. And the love that Alan and I had shared I would keep safe within my heart and memory, a treasure that only I, and Alan would ever know of.

The End