The speaker stood up behind the microphone.
The girl sat down in one of the chapel pews. She tried to take a deep breath and open up to absorb the moment, which was difficult because her busy weekend had left her so ruffled. She then realized something was noticeably different about this Sunday. The atmosphere was not as wholesome and peaceful as she usually knew (and appreciated) it to be.
Things suddenly made sense as her eyes scanned the room and settled on a casket off to her right, neatly resting under the grace of a white angel statute with wings unfurled and open arms. Not what I was expecting when I came here today, but that’s okay, she thought to herself. Understanding the situation for what it was, her mind recalibrated and she sat attentively. These types of things were hard, but the man speaking was not only talented, he had a pure heart of gold. So she waited in anticipation, assured that between his honest expression and her thorough absorption, they’d find some sort of inner peace after a clearly trying week. These reunions of sorts (as unplanned as this one was), were meant to help people through their brokenness, and God knew they were both broken. Plus, she trusted the speaker. She knew of his gentleness. She offered an encouraging smile and leaned forward, ready for the healing process to begin.
He started and hesitated. He shifted a little but appeared no more at ease than before. This must be really hard for him. She had listened to many of his sermons before; his cadence and style had become familiar to her. Caught off-guard by his discomfort, she keyed in a little closer and racked her brain for details about the speaker – What was he going through, and was there a particular reason why this seemed so difficult for him? Lacking sufficient information, her mind ran, reaching for any sort of explanation.
The man started to force his way through some sort of preface or introduction. It didn’t really make sense. Poor guy, the girl thought. She looked into his eyes.
She was immediately taken aback by what she saw there – coldness, muddled darkness, confusion. Detachment. Leeriness crept on top of her concern. What was he saying, and why was he acting so strange? How uncharacteristic.
The detachment, that’s what seemed most strange to her. Why did he feel so cold? He spoke of the departed man, trying to say something that would bring closure, something to help them move on. He was clearly unsure of what he was doing. He stuttered, spoke in ambiguous generalizations, and started over only to talk in senseless circles.
Finally he took a deep breath and looked the girl in the eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked. It felt like a superficial courtesy. The question took her aback and the surprise showed on her face. She stumbled to reassure him that she was fine (in an over-the-top way). She didn’t even know the man in the casket! Her concern was for the speaker! What was he so torn up about? Where was his kind heart?
He nodded at her answer. He knew she was worried, but it was enough for him. His apathy stung. As if he had received her consent, he stepped away from the pulpit and walked toward the prominent place of separation no one wanted to look at. That moment would forever sear her as one of rash haste and untied ends, a moment of distress and almost delusion. She struggled to understand what was going on, her comprehension feeling like it was always one step behind his actions.
Nothing more was done in an effort to soothe her. He had pulled out the needle and injected himself before she could even get out of her seat. He staggered one quick step, awkwardly lifted himself into the wooden box, and laid down.
Realization and shock stole all the composure she had worked to maintain. The lid quietly closed and clicked, locked from the inside. In one horrific moment, she understood. everything.
NO! She screamed. No, no, no! You can’t! That’s not you! She ran to the casket, grasping for some sort of ledge, clawing at the clasp, screaming, screaming. She turned for help, spinning on her heels, wide-eyed and frantic. But besides the stone angel, she was the only one in room.
The raging flame of fear and hurt and confusion consumed her heart. Heated from the center, tears flowed as natural as a spring, unfiltered. Nothing was as it should be, but it was what it was. It was over and he was gone and none of the right words were said. None of the right words were said.
Her defeated hands reached to the casket as her forehead sank to the surface of her sealed fate. The stone angel stood with arms open while she sobbed.
