Disclaimer: Yoshihiro Togashi owns YuYu Hakusho.
Making Amends
The house is small, and does not look as if it is cleaned very often. A neighbor probably hastily swept the yard and prepared the room for the wake. Certainly, the grieving family could not have done it.
She looks a mess, dazed and not knowing what to do with herself. This afternoon they told her he died, her only son. The neighbor must have stayed with her the rest of the day… washing her face, dressing her in what must have been the nicest clothes she owns, jeans and a button-down shirt, and setting up the funeral.
No one expected the death. After all, who would assume that a child will die? No one believes a tough punk is so vulnerable, and not a single one of them ever imagined he would throw himself in front of a car to save a little boy.
Crowded in the yard, the attendants have hardly gathered here to pay their respects. It is only another obligation to most of them. Classmates, still in uniform, migrate in small groups and laugh at the irony that befell the terror of their school. Two teachers share theories about how their student's attempts to chase the child onto the busy street failed horribly. Those at least acting respectful have never cared to know the boy beyond his reputation.
Only one girl is sobbing hysterically, a friend at each arm leading her gently out of the house, trying to console her.
I am just as misplaced as the rest of them as I drift through the background of the wake. He was a year younger than I, but I never met him face-to-face. The city, and the humans in it, are my acquisition. In my own way I have protected them, like a thief with his prized hoard. So this is just another way of keeping a watchful eye over my home.
I do not believe he was a bad person, though.
The rumors are growing more legendary than ever without his presence to control them. They are glad for the death of a good-for-nothing son of a good-for-nothing mother. There is no remorse for a delinquent, a punk who skips class, has no regard for rules, smokes, shoplifts, fights, and so on down the disrespectful list. He thrived off that life.
I wonder if he was ever secretly unsatisfied.
Then, when he made a decision he truly knew was right, he was hurt because of it.
Sentimental, I know. But for some reason, I feel that even as much as I do not belong here, I am in the right place at the right moment. This poignant scene is the consequence of one boy's actions. And it reminds me, as much as I have avoided thinking about it, of how careless it is to take a blow for someone else, even with the best of intentions.
Judging from the crowd, he did not have many good friends. But in a pinch, a good enemy is just as loyal. Tall and intimidating, he is shouting loudly, cursing Urameshi for dying. Two other boys are trying to drag him off, out of respect. Despite appearances, those three at least appreciated him.
The day is mild for early December, so no one seems to mind standing outside and gossiping all evening. But the teachers are leaving, and a few of the more diligent students are remembering homework to be done. Soon, all that will be left is a grieving mother and a casket.
A young woman solemnly approaches the house, looking truly touched. She has a young son of her own, not yet old enough to know what funerals are for. He is still smiling, even as they leave, but somehow, it seems more fitting than the traditional formality.
By now, nearly everyone else has gone home. My turn to pay my respects, instead of being a misplaced shadow.
The chiming of prayer bells is a sound I thought I would hear next at Mother's funeral.
His mother has fallen asleep against the wall, her hair tangled and damp with tears. Urameshi's portrait is not exactly flattering, but most likely appropriate. Kneeling before it, I know I should not murmur condolences.
Funerals are not really for sending the dead on their way. The living benefit more, pretending that the deceased will hear their final goodbyes. But even more than that, it is a chance to, when faced with the reality of death, make amends with oneself.
Urameshi Yuusuke… I never did meet you, so Minamino Shuuichi is a stranger at your wake. I do not think you would mind, though. I was a thief, a mischief lover, and enjoyed the excitement of my life every bit as much as I am sure you did.
Your deed was noble, and by that I mean exceedingly stupid. That girl was heartbroken… I hated reliving that; it struck far too close to home.
But I really cannot blame you.
Mother is ill. It is not very noticeable, but I can tell—she will die. With the help of a friend, I can save her life.
But then Mother will be the one crying in the empty house, and I will take your place. In the casket.
I did not want to see, did not want to think about it. Your wake reminded me of the consequences. Throwing away my life for my mother would be so careless, and I personally know the pain of being on the other end. This funeral is not for you, it is not for a goodbye when I never said hello. It is a last chance… but I cannot make peace with myself, cannot just let her go when I know of a cure.
I wish I had met you. Somehow, I feel you would have understood.
It is getting late. I do not want to miss Hiei—I have a favor to ask of him. If all goes well, I will be following you soon. And despite all appearances, our wakes will be strangely alike.
Wherever you are, Urameshi Yuusuke, wish me luck. I believe we will meet face-to-face soon.
…
Owari
…
-Windswift