A game. Innocent.
A ball. Astray.
Two feet. Eager.
A screech. Deafening.
Two lights. Bright.
A push. Selfless.
A death. Remembered.
* * *
Charlie’s tie was put
on too tight that day, something his father tended to do when the occasion
arises. But at this moment, Charlie did not feel like reaching up and loosening
it. In fact, he doubted that he was feeling any emotion
at all. He was numb from the accident 5 days ago, which left him with a bruise
down his left shin and scratches all around both his arms.
It also left his neighbour, a girl of about
14, dead.
At the moment, Charlie was about 10: just
old enough to realise that she was pretty, with large purple eyes, a small nose
and waist-long hair. But the peculiar thing about her, and her mother’s side of
the family, was that that hair was the colour of platinum: pure shiny grey
without any hint of black, blonde or brown that you would’ve seen from someone
who tried to dye their hair in that beautiful colour. And it looked natural on
all of them.
Right now, at the girl’s funeral, an owner
of that platinum hair was looking at him. Charlie recognised her as the girl’s
mother. Filled with guilt on causing the girl’s death, Charlie wanted to look
away, afraid to be the blame in her eyes, afraid to say: “I don’t even know
her, I didn’t want to cause her death, I’m sorry….” And all the things that he
should’ve said.
But he could not. No matter how hard he
tried, he could not break eye contact with her. And in that span of a few
seconds, Charlie realised, with a jolt, that he could not find any sign of
blame in those purple eyes. Instead, in addition to the sadness of losing a
child, he saw the hints of another look, one that he could not recognise.
Years later, Charlie would recognise that
as the look of a mother giving her daughter’s hand in marriage to a man.
The wake ended at 4 in the evening. With
heavy hearts and heavier souls, the procession left the house, and headed west,
where the sun set. Charlie did not follow; he ran straight back in the opposite
direction, due east. Behind him, his parents were trying to keep up for a
while, then gave up, only able to guess the sorrow of his heart.
High up upon a single cloud hovering above
the wake, the spirit of a silver-haired girl looked between her body, heading
to where the sun set, and the boy, to where the moon was just rising.
As if reaching a decision, she leaped of
her cloud and floated eastwards.
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