A/N: This chappie reminds me of the song 'Gravedigger' by Dave Matthews.
Listen to it while you're reading, you'll see what I mean.
Disclaimer: I thought we'd established this by now?
~*~
Where did all the air go, all of a sudden? Looking at her anxious like that made my heart stop. My feet refused to move. My mind refused to think. Papers tumbled from my shaking fingers like change at a fixed game. She ran towards me (I wondered how she could move, when the world had obviously stopped) and grabbed my hand, pulling me into Nonna's bedroom. I didn't know what was wrong, but I didn't want to see. She was strong, though. Shit, oh Nonna...
Her eyes were barley open, and she looked in pain, and I couldn't stand it. Nonna had always been so strong. Minna gripped my hand tight; I was losing feeling in my fingers. Not that that mattered.
"Nonna?" I choked out, kneeling down at her bedside. She turned her wrinkled face towards me and managed a smile. "Anthony" she said in a small voice. Then she sighed and looked at the ceiling, murmuring in Italian, so fast that my inexperienced ears couldn't translate. I glanced at Minna worriedly, she was crying silently. Swallowing hard, I looked back at my grandmother.
I was totally in the dark. Nonna had been sick before, right? She'd rambled in Italian when she thought I needed divine intervention, when she was worried about me. I couldn't make out what she was saying now, though. Something about the saints. Nonna was big on saints. She'd dragged me off to St. Stephens (A/N: We're pretending again) every Sunday since I was five until I stopped living with her. I kicked myself mentally for not visiting more often. She couldn't go now, she just couldn't...
Her fluent stream of Italian prayer stopped along with my heart. I looked anxiously into her careworn face, begging God to let her stay. She raised her shaking hand to Minna's, which was still gripping mine, resting on the bed. She stroked the fair skin, murmuring in Italian again, smiling at the two of us. Minna blushed slightly through her tears, but I didn't understand why. Nonna squeezed her hand against mine, and whispered, "Take care"
Then she lifted the familiar hand to my cheek and stroked it, a smile alight in her old brown eyes. "Anthony" she whispered, "How I love you." Her trembling fingers found the silver chain around my neck, and squeezed the medal it supported. "Hold this and remember me, Poco Fedele," she said quietly, looking at the two of us.
A small smile played across her lips, and she sighed, closing her eyes. I looked at her expectantly. She was going to open her eyes, stand up, try to get us to eat. She was going to gasp at the 'untidy state' of the apartment and start cleaning. She was going to straighten the front of my vest and try to comb my hair. She was going to lecture me on gambling, swearing, and smoking. She was going to whisper words of encouragement in Italian. She was going to wake up.
A gasp-like sob from Minna made me look away from Nonna. She was kneeling next to me, with her head resting on the white coverlet near Nonna's still hand. Her curls were on her face, in her red eyes, but she didn't lift a hand to brush them aside. "Wh-what happened?" I asked, not wanting to hear an answer, but needing more than anything to know.
"Racetrack' she whispered, and suddenly I knew. I rubbed my hand over my mouth, a deadweight forming in the back of my throat. I swallowed again, my heart aching horribly, I felt old and worn out. Older than I've ever felt in my life. So that was all she got, eh? No words of wisdom or miraculous visions. Then it hit me like a smack from Nonna's wooden spoon. She died like her life had been, simple and loving. Her last words weren't to the angels, but to us, 'pilgrims' as she called the living souls. 'Remember me, Poco Fedele.' Always worried about me. Tears swam over my face before I could stop them. I stood up and walked over to the window, rain washing over my image. The world was crying for Nonna.
I leaned my head against the cool pane of glass. Minna was crying quietly into the bedspread behind me. The world was deathly silent. I felt a rush of anger towards her for disturbing Nonna's peace, but then realized it wasn't her fault. I composed myself the best I could and walked over to the bed, putting my hand on Minna's shoulder as I passed. It made her cry harder, but she squeezed my hand in her own. Like Nonna had done. Tears filled my eyes and my knees gave way. I was kneeling beside her, hiding my eyes in the sheets. Her arms slipped around me and she cried into my shaking shoulders.
*
I don't know how long we were there, hours passed like minutes, I lost track of time completely. My mind was one overweighed blur. I vaguely remember Mr. Jacobs finding us and moving us away from her body. Then I'm not sure where we went, but I somehow wound up on the fire escape in the rain. Wet. Very wet. And cold, colder than I've ever been in my life. A thousand unanswered questions echoed in my head, ringing over and over and over like the iron clang of church bells...
*
There are some things in life that will haunt you forever. The smell of my burning house was one of them. The sound of the choir as they rolled Nonna's coffin up the aisle of the St. Stephens gave me chills. So many faces framed in black. Wet, wet faces. The words they called out were "you are mine" as the songs seeped inside my head. Nonna was mine. Not theirs. Not whosever wanted to take her. The priest spoke of legions of angels welcoming us, he didn't understand that Nonna brought the angels. The windows were open, high above the heads of the mourners. A cold breeze blew around hollowly in the inside of the old church. There was no warmth left. Cold bells tolled high up in the sky.
*
Old, faded headstones, names long forgotten. This was what awaited Nonna. They were going to leave her in the ground, too. Tall iron spikes framed the pale, gray graveyard. The city of the dead. Rain poured unmercifully on the soggy grass. Tall, gothic angels peered at us through expressionless, cold stone eyes as we followed the coffin. The priest was talking, but I couldn't hear him. I only knew that I was alone. Tears mixed with the rain, falling to the ground and swirling in with the mud. Tears of mud.
My vision blurred. Black shapes shifted in and out of the clouds. The coffin slid under the Earth. Wet flowers followed, never knowing that they would be buried. I guess we all will be. One day I'd lie silently under the dirt. Ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies, ashes to ashes, we all fall down. Some things haunt you forever.
~*~
A/N: Really short, depressing chapter - don't worry, Race will recover ( anywayz, I hope his thoughts on the funeral made sense, they're all kind of jumbled for the mood. One chapter left! *Sniff* my little ficcy's all growed up!!
Disclaimer: I thought we'd established this by now?
~*~
Where did all the air go, all of a sudden? Looking at her anxious like that made my heart stop. My feet refused to move. My mind refused to think. Papers tumbled from my shaking fingers like change at a fixed game. She ran towards me (I wondered how she could move, when the world had obviously stopped) and grabbed my hand, pulling me into Nonna's bedroom. I didn't know what was wrong, but I didn't want to see. She was strong, though. Shit, oh Nonna...
Her eyes were barley open, and she looked in pain, and I couldn't stand it. Nonna had always been so strong. Minna gripped my hand tight; I was losing feeling in my fingers. Not that that mattered.
"Nonna?" I choked out, kneeling down at her bedside. She turned her wrinkled face towards me and managed a smile. "Anthony" she said in a small voice. Then she sighed and looked at the ceiling, murmuring in Italian, so fast that my inexperienced ears couldn't translate. I glanced at Minna worriedly, she was crying silently. Swallowing hard, I looked back at my grandmother.
I was totally in the dark. Nonna had been sick before, right? She'd rambled in Italian when she thought I needed divine intervention, when she was worried about me. I couldn't make out what she was saying now, though. Something about the saints. Nonna was big on saints. She'd dragged me off to St. Stephens (A/N: We're pretending again) every Sunday since I was five until I stopped living with her. I kicked myself mentally for not visiting more often. She couldn't go now, she just couldn't...
Her fluent stream of Italian prayer stopped along with my heart. I looked anxiously into her careworn face, begging God to let her stay. She raised her shaking hand to Minna's, which was still gripping mine, resting on the bed. She stroked the fair skin, murmuring in Italian again, smiling at the two of us. Minna blushed slightly through her tears, but I didn't understand why. Nonna squeezed her hand against mine, and whispered, "Take care"
Then she lifted the familiar hand to my cheek and stroked it, a smile alight in her old brown eyes. "Anthony" she whispered, "How I love you." Her trembling fingers found the silver chain around my neck, and squeezed the medal it supported. "Hold this and remember me, Poco Fedele," she said quietly, looking at the two of us.
A small smile played across her lips, and she sighed, closing her eyes. I looked at her expectantly. She was going to open her eyes, stand up, try to get us to eat. She was going to gasp at the 'untidy state' of the apartment and start cleaning. She was going to straighten the front of my vest and try to comb my hair. She was going to lecture me on gambling, swearing, and smoking. She was going to whisper words of encouragement in Italian. She was going to wake up.
A gasp-like sob from Minna made me look away from Nonna. She was kneeling next to me, with her head resting on the white coverlet near Nonna's still hand. Her curls were on her face, in her red eyes, but she didn't lift a hand to brush them aside. "Wh-what happened?" I asked, not wanting to hear an answer, but needing more than anything to know.
"Racetrack' she whispered, and suddenly I knew. I rubbed my hand over my mouth, a deadweight forming in the back of my throat. I swallowed again, my heart aching horribly, I felt old and worn out. Older than I've ever felt in my life. So that was all she got, eh? No words of wisdom or miraculous visions. Then it hit me like a smack from Nonna's wooden spoon. She died like her life had been, simple and loving. Her last words weren't to the angels, but to us, 'pilgrims' as she called the living souls. 'Remember me, Poco Fedele.' Always worried about me. Tears swam over my face before I could stop them. I stood up and walked over to the window, rain washing over my image. The world was crying for Nonna.
I leaned my head against the cool pane of glass. Minna was crying quietly into the bedspread behind me. The world was deathly silent. I felt a rush of anger towards her for disturbing Nonna's peace, but then realized it wasn't her fault. I composed myself the best I could and walked over to the bed, putting my hand on Minna's shoulder as I passed. It made her cry harder, but she squeezed my hand in her own. Like Nonna had done. Tears filled my eyes and my knees gave way. I was kneeling beside her, hiding my eyes in the sheets. Her arms slipped around me and she cried into my shaking shoulders.
*
I don't know how long we were there, hours passed like minutes, I lost track of time completely. My mind was one overweighed blur. I vaguely remember Mr. Jacobs finding us and moving us away from her body. Then I'm not sure where we went, but I somehow wound up on the fire escape in the rain. Wet. Very wet. And cold, colder than I've ever been in my life. A thousand unanswered questions echoed in my head, ringing over and over and over like the iron clang of church bells...
*
There are some things in life that will haunt you forever. The smell of my burning house was one of them. The sound of the choir as they rolled Nonna's coffin up the aisle of the St. Stephens gave me chills. So many faces framed in black. Wet, wet faces. The words they called out were "you are mine" as the songs seeped inside my head. Nonna was mine. Not theirs. Not whosever wanted to take her. The priest spoke of legions of angels welcoming us, he didn't understand that Nonna brought the angels. The windows were open, high above the heads of the mourners. A cold breeze blew around hollowly in the inside of the old church. There was no warmth left. Cold bells tolled high up in the sky.
*
Old, faded headstones, names long forgotten. This was what awaited Nonna. They were going to leave her in the ground, too. Tall iron spikes framed the pale, gray graveyard. The city of the dead. Rain poured unmercifully on the soggy grass. Tall, gothic angels peered at us through expressionless, cold stone eyes as we followed the coffin. The priest was talking, but I couldn't hear him. I only knew that I was alone. Tears mixed with the rain, falling to the ground and swirling in with the mud. Tears of mud.
My vision blurred. Black shapes shifted in and out of the clouds. The coffin slid under the Earth. Wet flowers followed, never knowing that they would be buried. I guess we all will be. One day I'd lie silently under the dirt. Ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies, ashes to ashes, we all fall down. Some things haunt you forever.
~*~
A/N: Really short, depressing chapter - don't worry, Race will recover ( anywayz, I hope his thoughts on the funeral made sense, they're all kind of jumbled for the mood. One chapter left! *Sniff* my little ficcy's all growed up!!