Addendum: The Funeral

"So, what do you think I remembered most, there, in my last hour? The fact that I died in pain ... or that I was with you?" Amy said, smiling, the sun touched her rosy cheeks, and her olive-colored skin. Her arms crossed, and she leaned to the side a bit with an all too skeptical expression upon her face. "You know I love you, right?" Amy said, smiling, the hint of dimples in her cheeks. They were standing by the grave, the hole gone, the acres vacant of a single tree or neighboring tombstone. It was them, the grave, the grass, the sky ... and the birds.

He blinked repeatedly the minute his eyes had fully opened, glancing downward when he saw her frail, taught frame, both angelic and twisted like his worst nightmare. He was taken back at first but drew in quickly. It was the tone of her voice that lured him in at which he did not resist. It was her voice even though tainted; it was her, wasn't it? He removed his gloves and pocketed them before he saw himself reach into his wool raincoat and pull out the jade, carnelian and lapis lazuli amulet, in the shape of a dove (strewn on a black leather cord) from his heart pocket, and he let it dangle in between the fingers of his right hand. His left, cupped her cheek, as present as it was. "Amy," he whispered, and looked longingly into her chestnut hues, “I was wondering when you would come.” His hand brought her cheek alongside his, he whispered into her ear, "I promised you..." a slight pause, "......I am here." 

"Yes," she whispered back into his ear, and he could feel her frame tighten and soften within her stifle. Her breath fell onto his earlobe, "and I'm glad you came back ... I am ... because I need to say this, and I needed you to know it," said Amy, allowing her arm strong grip around his shoulders, permitting herself against him and then, pulling away, but for a moment. She walked a little backwards and watched him. Her eyes fell to the amulet, and she grinned, "is ... that for me?" She asked, deterred from what she knew must be said, and it will, she had known it would. She only needed him to lay flat against his plateau and submit to its definition.

He drifted slightly back when he felt her breath across his earlobe, it was almost haunting. It was Amy's caress that kept him close. Tristan denied anything else that was alarming. His lids closed ever so softly, to know she remained, caught in between the realms, only to relay some message to him? It had to be important, he thought and stilled, like a stone statue, sighing. His eyes opened to the angelic face that asked if the necklace in his hand belonged to her. His stern lips broke into a warm smile, he softly spoke. "Why yes, it will protect your soul in the afterlife." He wasn't at all drawn back by his words; they strangely seemed to suit their purpose. His body was lured by what his soul longingly ached to feel: her presence once again, capturing his. Be it, if it were spiritual, he didn't mind; he ravished in the thought of having the gift he always despised. Suddenly, he saw it as just that, for he and his true love were granted, their final good-byes. She would meet him in this realm, and soon, she would depart. And slowly, would he.... silently, fall.... 

… Remedy for the Soul …  

Finally, Amy was able to witness his true nature; his capabilities of speaking to the spirits of the departed, whether she recognized it or not. He could converse with her; her to him, and feel one another, as if both were still breathing upon this plane of mortality. He faintly smiled, watching her in all her grace as she moved closer. Tristan’s voice was a mere whisper, “you see my gift now, don’t you?” He awaited her reaction, for he knew she did. How else could they convey as if she was still alive. “Yes,” she answered him, though pondering onward. “I’m so sorry I never understood it before...” He smiled faintly, whispering, “it’s okay Amy, how could you know.” Another question lingered in her mind just then, softly she asked, watching him, “all those times you were distracted?” Tristan merely nodded, whispering, “yes.” It was just then, Amy recalled the last time they had made love, “my mothers house in England?” She knew they knew him, which allowed her to question such, recognizing it now in this incorporeal realm. Tristan’s lips broke into a gentle smile, with a single nod, “yes.” He took another step towards her, cupping her cheeks, his thumbs caressing her olive skin, “some are persistent to be heard, impatient or persuasive, depending on how long they’ve been lingering in between." He kissed her cheek delicately just then, drawing back, bangs fell across his face, he whispered into her ear, “they’ve known me, ever since I was a child; that I can converse with them, touch and feel them, remind them of what they’ve lost, aid them, listen, do their biddings, you name it …” he almost chuckled, but muted it somewhat into a sigh. Amy was enchanted by his answer, realizing another mystery to his all alluring aura that she never understood until just now. “Oh Tristan,” she spoke ever so softly, cupping his cheeks, kissing his moist lips. She finally understood all those times he seemed to be elsewhere; it was because he had been obtained by the very presence she now prevailed. It was, in fact, his gift that allowed them her unfinished business that held her here in this very eminence of him…. 

As that moment passed, Amy stepped back holding the necklace he gave her, asking, "two doves?" Looking up at him, her eyes were eager – they resembled a child’s glare of ambition, as if she was being rewarded with candy or a dollar for a good deed. She walked forward, her steps almost seemed tentative, too real almost. Wasn't it somewhat real though? The feeling? The warmth of the sun and the sounds of the birds, the sparrows and cardinals. The buildings and their archways for vehicles that would drive in and out of the entrance gates leeched the very light from the sky. "Or ... is it just one, for me to wear?" Amy asked, glancing sideways at it, hair falling slowly over her shoulder. She smiled, her eyes looking from his ocean blues to his hand, wondering.

     His brows scrunched at her mention of 'two' doves, his body resisted in a shift upwards and stunned in his stance. “No,” his head shook slowly, his thoughts thinking she meant him, and broke his dried lips to whisper, "I cannot go where you are going, Amy." His palms raised within his brute arms that caught her forwardness and longing for something that could no longer be. His resistance instantly brought tears streaming down his face, his jaw gridded tight, for all he wanted was to be with her; but it was against the rules of existence. Everything and again. The poor boy with ice blue eyes was cursed. "Damnit!!" Tristan screamed aloud, rebelling. If this was to be the hardest test, he couldn't recognize if he was failing or passing. They stood apart now and he had no idea what emotion to feel but was weary of the environment, so he went with his gut instinct. "It's for you. Two, I don't understand." He looked up to her and longingly did he gaze into her chestnut orbs before one hand shifted his bangs back for a better view. He sighed, and asked further, his voice rather drained. "What did you need to tell me?"

AMY HELD THE necklace against her chest, she smiled politely, her eyes looking down at her sheltering hands as a mother would her newborn child. "Thank you," she said, and too did Tristan see that in her eyes the onset of tears that were surfacing, and her bright brown hues almost seemed highlighted by the wetness in them. Her hair shined though it was flat against her face, spilling past her shoulders. He could see it; it was a memory becoming emblazoned inside his mind – and she walked closer to him. "I love you. It's what I wanted to say ... It's what I need you to know. And because I love you, I ask you ... I beg you, Tristan, please don't die with me," she reached with her free hand, the other still pressed the necklace against her chest, "please don't fall from the light ... because someone else needs to find you ... someone else needs to see you, and you need to be seen," she whispered, she pressed herself against him, and her lips seemed so direly close to his ears. His eyes shot wide open briefly, hearing that same revelation from his own Mother in a waking dream; he knew it was true just then, sighing heavily, and gulped deeply. Why was he so blind to it, he wondered. "You saw me, didn't you? And I saw you," she said, her eyes closed, they closed so delicately, he could feel her tremble. "It’s all I ask ... is that you try," the necklace became entwined within her fingers, her other hand pulled his face to hers. "Tell me you'll try," she said, staring into his icy blues once again. "Amy," his lips allowed it a mere whisper, "my soul," he choked but continued and refused the tears that wanted release. He kissed her lips ever so delicately before he continued. "My soul may go with you, but I will live, don't worry." He smiled faintly, kissing her brow and slowly he stepped back. His bangs drifted down her face for the last time. "I love you, and always will..."

Amy, even in this incorporeal yet touchable state, could almost not stand to look up into his eyes. When she did, she always thought she saw forever in him, the tint of his blue blending with yellow, and a white like a silver hazing; it was as if the sky stared back at you, as if its clouds were unveiling an ethereal light. Amy paused when she looked up at him, and she saw eternity again, but it was not welcoming, not to her at least, though he had promised to give her his soul, it was not his to bargain. He bought Life with it, not Amy, not her, and she knew it. It's something you begin to realize in your transition from Life to Death, somewhere in the middle passage, you listen to the voices, and you obey what they tell you, and that she did; she did it very much. "I love you too ... and I always will," she sighed and leaned into his embrace, into his kiss, into his passion. Amy closed her eyes, cutting the rivulets from continuing. He cherished the last time he would hold her in all of his love. Now, only her face was wet, and her forehead was kissed by him. "There was ... something else, but it's only because ... we so rarely get to say it. I mean," she chewed on the corner of her lip and smiled, "we live our whole lives knowing people, and in a moment they're gone and no words may transpire; no subtle gesture ... not even a kiss," said Amy, and she leaned forward, kissing Tristan, having needed to just then, and while remaining close she said, "we never get to say good-bye . . . for tomorrow is not promised, and barely today, only yesterday if you've lived it," she smiled, "so ... I am saying that. I refuse not to be able to. I refuse for you not to ... say goodbye," said Amy, her voice teetering into something so soft you wouldn't hear it if even if the slightest leaf flipped. She lifted a hand to touch his face, his wonderful angelic expression; and stared into his eyes, not seeing forever, but promise.

His brows lowered over icy blue eyes that closed briefly, to her painstaking words. His arms bridging around her delicacy and his feet standing, cemented to the earth's soil. But Amy broke that ground when she wished for a solid kiss upon his lips, and who would deny such sweetness. His arms fell to her hips, fingers encasing around the intricate formation of her thin waistline. Delicately held, he ravished in the caress of her lips, knowing the true emotion behind them. Their hearts never denied. He reverted to square his shoulders, looking her dead in the eye to question why she stated yesterday, if he had lived it. It was then, just then he realized why she stood back amidst the others. It crushed his heart, weighed like a thousand tons of steel, and pulled it to the ocean floor. But finally, he understood, and smiled, very faintly. He swallowed what remained, attempting to relinquish the dryness in his throat but it hardly did any good. He gulped dry with a single nod of his head, "ok, Amy..." he gulped again, wishing some sort of fluid would relieve the desert in his heart. His jaw gritted tight as he looked down, away from her eyes to witness, and when he raised his chin, ocean blues met her chestnut browns. He gritted and swallowed hard while a single tear aimlessly fell down his cheek, he softly spoke, "good-bye... Amy..." Both his eyes swelled with such a flow of salty tears; it was too overwhelming to hold back anymore. He had to allow their fall, along within his heart's flowing ache. He whispered, "I will never forget you," he continued more, spiritually, “my true love..." He then stepped back from her, even though it crushed him in doing so.. He wanted nothing but to hold her forever.

"Good-bye, Tristan," she whispered ever so softly, needing not to take any steps back for he had done enough for them both. She stared, she witnessed, watching him like someone does from the edge of a cliff down deep through a cavernous mile of empty space. She loved him, loved him with an affinity not one human ever truly should hold; and it was unconditional, but everything comes to an end, prematurely or rightly. It ends. Though it’s hard to accept, to understand the very riddle of life, the very definition of a word that seemingly has too many to actually give it one, there is a reason behind it all; we make it passed the page, we write another, and when we're done – leave one or two blank in the end for possibility, or just merely for the idea thereof. Their embrace was broken, by Tristan and then of Amy's words, that followed his. It was what she wanted, right? Her unfinished business that held her back? He questioned himself, as the agony tore through every aspect of his inner self. He resisted, knowing he would remain strong within her presence, spirit or not, he would; he promised. 

Amy was but a name; a moment in time where Tristan could look back and he'll see the importance of her, of this, and he'll know, twenty pages ahead, we're far from the end of the story. She stepped back, finally, and a droplet had come down, zipping past her face, and then another followed it. As if static was entering a screen, the droplets all began to fall upon them and the once clear sky had become dark again. The clouds from white to charcoal, a stone color, touched the vault of the world. The dozens of white roses fret and cockled in the wind. The pot of dirt thrown down, the slow movement of black suits and prettily ebony veiled dresses began to swarm toward the arched entrance of Montefiore cemetery. The muted sound of car doors slamming, some in unison, others consecutively. "You alright, bro?" The sound of Kyle's voice would have stirred him. Kyle lifted his umbrella above Tristan's head too, glancing towards the flower sealed open mouth of the grave; of the stone with her name: Amy Lynn Ducote 1985 - 2005. An undetected sigh fell from his lips. "You . . . wanna ride with me?"

The vision of the funeral slowly returned to Tristan's eyes, he blinked a couple of times, looking off into the distance. Just then, he witnessed a single dove flying off into the sky. He knew the resemblance in meaning, and faintly smiled. A blank stare it would have been towards Kyle and then suddenly his brows would rise with his voice, faintly murmuring. "Hmm?" It was just then Tristan caught Kyle's stare back to the gravestone, the one that marked the end of all his heart: his true love. He had to shut it out. Tristan reverted to Kyle again, lids blinking as if to wash the dust from his eyes, standing under the umbrella with his brother by his side. Kyle's question continued to linger, as if, in mind, he had to ask it again and again and after silence paid its due, Tristan answered, "no, ... I think I'll walk a while." His hands pulled from his wool coat pockets, his left holding a grey stone within his palm. He glanced down at it momentarily, rolling it within his fingers before looking up to her grave, he sighed. He took two broadened steps, and placed it upon her gravestone, knowing the spiritual Jewish symbolism of it. He smiled faintly, dipping his chin to his chest, he whispered, “love you forever,” and stepped back glancing over his shoulder at Kyle. Her brother merely watched Tristan in reverence, realizing he knew of the Jewish tradition, and what it meant...