The young man stood before the tombstone, clutching in his hand a bouquet of roses. A thin droplet of blood slipped over his fingers as the thorns pierced his skin. One singular drop fell on the dirt a bare inch from the cool stone. It was a grey, overcast morning, a day when most people would be resigned to their homes or offices, waiting out the threat of rain.
The young man was stock still, if anyone had seen him at that moment, they would have thought he was some sort of statue, inadvertently placed on the cemetery path. The only signs of life that came from him were the occasional drifts of steam that were emitted from his mouth, indicating breath.
The young man blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the tears. How could he live without her? It seemed impossible that she was gone, she'd always seemed to be a fixture in the lab, always there with her gracious smile and infectious laugh. Their playful flirtations had always been so harmless, so charming; why couldn't he have taken it further? She was the one who'd believed in him, listened to him. After the explosion, she'd been so patient, just sitting there, listening as he described his nightmares. His fears, his hopes and dreams, she was the only one who knew the real him.
The young man knelt and set the roses on the brown earth, still dripping with his blood. They lay there, shockingly red against the drab backdrop of the stone. He sniffed, rising back up, still staring at the headstone. A roll of thunder rumbled overhead, promising rain. How fitting.
During the funeral, everyone had been so sympathetic to her older friends, comforting them, embracing them. He'd sat in the back, watching, mourning privately as the eulogy went on, everyone saying wonderful things about the woman he loved. He could still see her in the casket, her hair perfect and straight, her skin pale and cool like a doll. The men of her life had been silent, still, stoic. The guilt and grief that hung in the air during the wake was heavy and smothering.
The young man felt like screaming into the sky, cursing the world. But he just stood there, watching the grave as if magically her hand would pop through followed by her head and her marvelous eyes, twinkling mischievously as if to say 'Gotcha!'. But no, nothing happened. And nothing would ever happen. The woman he loved rested under the cool earth forever.
Gregory Dylan Sanders turned and walked slowly down the path, turning his back on the cool grey tombstone and the only woman he ever loved.
The tombstone that read...
CATHERINE WILSON WILLOWS
1963-2005
She will be missed by many, loved by all.
Rest in Peace.