Movement

Epilogue

I only hear a piano, now. It's always sliding through my mind, comforting and assuring.

Noah put it there. He composed the melody. He doesn't know it, he doesn't have to ever know. But I feel like I should tell him anyway.

I'm okay. I tell myself this every day. Noah tells me every day. I will be okay.

I will.

I pull my head up high. It's a struggle to keep it there, but I manage. I need to be able to do this.

He's standing behind me, I can feel him. They're all standing behind me. If they weren't…

I don't know.

It seems to take forever. Getting there. The white rose weighs heavily in my hand and I finger a thorn, toying with the idea of letting it puncture my finger.

My aunt is in front of me. My cousins are in front of me. Even my Grandma and Papaw are in front of me. We're a death march.

The dirt kicks up from under my shoes as I walk. My new, five hundred dollar Boss shoes. They've lost meaning.

I still feel him, even though I'm far away now. I still feel my sanity. But I've left it behind. Now, I have nothing but that piano song. I force it to burry my thoughts. I force it to hide my emotions. It does a pretty good job.

It's my turn, now. I'm here. My heart rate increases, giving my ribs a dull ache. I can't do it. I turn my head.

Where is it? My salvation? My eyes scan the dark crowd. There. He nods reassuringly. It helps. Tina is next to him. And Finn. Artie. Mercedes. Quinn. Rachel. My eyes travel over my own group of life. They replenish me.

I turn to back face him.

My hand is shaking. I want so bad to not have to do this. I want time to turn back. I want this to never have happened.

I want so, so bad to be able to abstain from crying.

But, as I force my hand over the side of the casket and let the rose fall to his chest, I cant make the tears stop.

I'm so sorry, dad.

My hand hangs limp over him, it itches to touch his face. Or maybe his shirt or eyebrows. It itches to be able to shake his again.

I'm okay.

I have to be okay.

I can't bring myself to leave him. I know I'm holding up the line of mourners, but I don't care. They mean nothing.

I breathe in, memorizing his features and applying them to my piano sonata. It trickles through the recesses of my mind, filling the gaps by intertwining with the picture of his face.

I hope it stays that way.

I hope I'll be okay.

This is the final insert to this small fiction. Thank you for taking the journey with me. Check out my page for more Glee stories and, also, thank you for reviewing!

Happy reading,

-Simplybofa