The air brushed against his shaven face at a calm level. It dried his damp hair in a similar fashion. Each strand never seemed so tough to slide through. His muscles were nearly dead. The tight collar pressed against them, all forced by his red silk tie this didn't even bother him. His father hated that tie, but it was his favorite. His final slap that unfortunately he couldn't give when the bastard was still alive, or maybe a belt a belt to the back, a whip, a chain whip, and blood, lots of blood. He quickly forced his weak fingers through his tough hair; he had to rip all of his sick thoughts out of his brain, he had what he wanted. The man was dead. The enemy rested with his demons, the things he never faced.
The priest talks a load of bull. About how he changed lives to the people he got involved with. He changed them for sure, but it was never a good thing, never something to be proud of. He feels ill. He's not sure why. Maybe because the one he loved died first. She was dead. He wanted to cry. He couldn't. It's not strong. It's not as much of a stance. It's not an attack. The priest continues but he's stopped listening. It's not important to him anymore. He can't handle hearing any more lies. His father was a bad man. He always will be, even dead.
The coffin begins to be lowered into the six-foot ditch. This is too respectable. If it were up to him he'd throw the body to a bunch uneducated cannibals. His father deserved no such solidarity in his death. The most he deserved was a brutal scene. The only things he ever caused during his childhood. Her hand squeezes his right then. He can smell her hair as her head falls onto his shoulder. She has such a tight grip. He knows she can tell he's breaking down. He doesn't want to be. He intended to come here strong. Maybe he really is weak.
His uncle passes the shovel towards him once he has dumped a load of soil onto the coffin. He can do this. He can be the better one. Show him that he didn't win, that he can live on. That he wasn't going to fail. Not like him. He was better than him. She lets go of his hand and backs away a few steps. All he has to do is take it, take it right in his hand. It's not hard. It's human basics. The wood falls against his palm and he wraps his fingers around it, soon taking it in his other hand as well. He's ready.
He forces the spade into the dirt. It doesn't have to be much, a small amount of dirt. He can finally throw his dirt back in his face. Why is it so difficult? He attempts to pull the shovel back; all he needs is a hunk of dirt, one minuscule hunk. He thinks about the feeling of throwing dirt against his fathers face. He thinks of it vividly, and sickly wonders if it's too late to open the man's coffin. So he could fill it with dirt, as if he was still alive. He pulls against the shovel with all the force he as left, he's sure it doesn't look like much at all. He rests his head down. He's not strong enough.
"You won." He thinks to himself.
He leaves the shovel where it stands. He can't let him see him cry. He can't let it happen. He's dead but he knows the bastard is watching him from hell. He can't let him see him cry, he won't.
He charges away from the graveyard at a heavy speed. This isn't how he planned it. He's thinking on his feet. He's losing the plot. He doesn't care. It's stupid now. He's lost and he knows it. He's caring. He doesn't know why. He doesn't want to. He's far off and she starts after him. She's surprised but not at all dumbfounded. She knew he had feelings. She knew this would hurt him, somewhere.
He slips into the back seat of his Xterra, slamming the door as he does so. He figured there would be less chance of someone seeing him through the tinted windows. Not able to hold it any longer he lets it out. Screaming and saying God knows what to the air. His tears are hot and salty. He does what he can to wipe them but there always seems to be more. She has been standing at the window for a while. Not sure if she should do or say anything. As he looks up he spots her. He just stares at her.
A moment passes and he gets sick of the staring. He opens the door; she stands there for a second. He is slightly agitated that he has to gesture her in with his hand. Sometimes she can be so oblivious. He scoots over right as she sets her foot against the vehicle. She shuts the door once inside. Silence corrupts the moment for another short while. She can feel the tension in the space, all the heat that has been produced. She can't even imagine.
" I ... "
" Will you do something for me? "
" Okay. "
" Make me forget ... Just forget it all. "
" I- " She starts.
" Shut up. Just answer. "
" Okay. "
" How you going to do it? "
" However you want. "
" Do it however you want. "
She leans into him and takes hold of him firmly, just staring into his eyes. She touches his lips with hers and he doesn't react much, he looks at her with almost anger. She doesn't know what to do so she has to think on her feet, he's challenging her to be something lunatic right now. Something that will put such profound stress on him that he will be forced to drop anything else in his brain.
He messily puts his shirt and pants back on, leaving her naked, sweaty, and out of breath as he left the back of the car and into the drivers seat. She drapes herself in her coat as he starts the car. He drives out to the beach and comes to a dead stop, without uttering a word he exits the vehicle and starts walking off into the sands.
He walks on the beach barefoot, his hands tucked deep into his pockets, he can feel all of his possessions. He wonders what's really important anymore. They are gone, his mother and father, the only two constants in his life. Now he was just a lonely soul.
She walked up behind him, standing a few feet back. She was dressed equally messy, in bare feet as well. She felt angry and pushed aside but she couldn't voice her feelings. He was in another world at this point.
" You okay? " She asked.
" Yeah. " He replied.
" What are you doing? "
" Nothing. "
She approaches him more, once close enough she presses her head into his shoulder. She has done that about three times now. She is not sure why he has kept count.
" You're not just my friend anymore ... Are you? " He says suddenly.
" No. " She replies.
" You okay with that? "
" Completely. "