A/N: Something I wrote last year for English. I've been meaning to put it up, but I eventually lost track of time and where I put it. I'm giving it to my teacher so she can help with my recommendation letters. Wish me luck.
And because I know people are going to wonder, I got an A- on this. I would've gotten an A had I not made those few mistakes that I did. They're fixed now though.
Chapter 16: Epilogue
It was a bright summer day when the ceremony took place. The congregation was cast under the shade of a large tree and the August air threaded its way between the seats and people, their faces carrying a light sheen of sweat from the heat. The pastor at the front of the congregation began to speak.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"
"Tommy? Railroad Tommy?"
Railroad Tommy started at the whisper and looked up from the pastor. "Hospital Tommy?"
"I thought it was you! I haven't seen you since we all piled into that car a few years back." Hospital Tommy laughed heartily. It was around the time that Guitar followed Milkman that the police began to get suspicious about any congregation of blacks and it was decided that it would be best to lay low. After that, the Seven Days was soon forgotten, worn away and swallowed up by time, only living as distant memories. He clapped his friend on the back. "How've you been?"
"Good. You?"
"I've seen better days."
"True, but can you honestly say that on a day like this?" Railroad said, his smile glittering in the sun like grains of sand.
"Never thought I would see the day," Hospital admitted with a chuckle and a slight shake of his head.
"Never thought I would see the day for a lot of things," replied Railroad Tommy.
Hospital nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Lena movin' to Indiana for a job as a secretary—and before that was Pilate and Milkman." Tommy hadn't said what had happened, but Railroad knew what he was talking about. He sighed sadly.
"Never thought that crazy bitch could actually die," he said, almost wistfully, before turning to his partner. "You know her daughter is still all on her own now, right?"
"How is Reba? Is she getting enough food?"
"She's good. Lonely, but good, but she'll get better," Railroad said quietly.
"That's good," Hospital nodded with himself in agreement, "Miss that wine, though. Best bootleg liquor this side of town. Still can't believe Pilate's dead though. Think she's really dead?"
"Dunno. Authorities never found the body. Hers, or Milkman's."
"Guitar was there though. Saw everything if I remember those rumors correctly. Said he saw Milkman fly. Said he saw that nigger fly right before he shot him and he landed in a heap at his feet."
Railroad nodded to show he heard. He could imagine the surprise on Guitar's face after that. The Milkman he knew was a coward and for him—his best friend—to throw himself into the path of a gun was probably a shock, but flying? He smirked and chuckled to himself mysteriously. "Guitar was never the same after that."
Suddenly, there was a shift over the grass, the bending of the blades to the wind and to the feet of the congregation. Letting his eyes move around, Railroad Tommy studied the faces, mostly familiar ones he had seen in his shop or in the street. Not surprisingly, Macon wasn't here, but Ruth was. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her. She had tears in her eyes, and he was sure that if a breeze crossed the ceremony again, Ruth would be blown away with it. But just as he was about to turn away, he felt a tap on his shoulder and a harsh whisper in his ear.
"Hey."
"Yeah?" Railroad asked.
"You know that stuff about Milkman—about him flying and the gold and all—think any of it's real?"
"If it wasn't, would Macon Dead be absent to this?"
Hospital snorted. "I don't know. Wouldn't surprise me that he'd miss his own daughter's wedding. And what he did to his son…"
"Yeah," Railroad sighed sadly. Thinking back on what happened to Milkman…if what the stories said were true and it was Macon Dead's fault for making him go out to a nowhere town only to be shot by the only friend Milkman had ever known—Railroad pushed away the thoughts. Even if he was Macon's son, he didn't deserve that kind of death.
"So what do you think happened between him and Guitar? Do you think he.—if it's even remotely possible—do you think Milkman could've really flown?" Hospital questioned eagerly.
Railroad swallowed the lump in his throat and composing himself, looked at his friend skeptically. "Look, I only have that fruitcake Guitar's account to go by. He says there's gold. Okay. He says Milkman was nice. Hard to believe, but maybe; but what he said about the two of them facing off, all I know is that Milkman landed face-first in the ground, dead."
And suddenly, the congregation exploded into cheers and sound, swallowing whatever Hospital Tommy was about to say as the men shouted and whooped; the ladies adding their own bright laughter to the mix as Porter and First Corinthians ran down the aisle as husband and wife. At the sight, Railroad folded his hands behind him and watched as Corinthians' veil flew on the breeze behind her. Instantly, he was reminded of another Dead who flew. Maybe Milkman did fly, he asked himself, maybe Guitar did see him fly. Milkman had leapt into the air, so in the few seconds between the gun firing and Milkman landing, it could've looked like he flew.
That was probably it. That explained it. Guitar was just being crazy, like all the others before him. That was why he was in an insane asylum now. Because he wouldn't shut up about people flying. People didn't fly; it was impossible, but Railroad felt something inside him stir. It was a small bubbling feeling and it was telling him things, saying that he was wrong. It was like a part of him knew something he didn't, but just couldn't tell the rest of him. Maybe Milkman did fly. Guitar may be crazy, but that cracker Milkman was born crazy and with a name like Dead, anything was possible. Railroad smirked to himself.
"I wonder if he really did fly," he wondered before humming a small tune to himself, his head turned up to the sky.