No matter what happened this past year, I never thought I'd be spending a Sunday morning at my best friend's funeral.

My heels sunk into the soil as I crossed through the cemetery. The sun was barely pushing through the clouds, the grass still damp with morning dew. A chill filled the air, nipping at my bones. I reminded myself to breathe. I reminded my feet to move forward when they so desperately wanted to run back.

A small group of people had gathered for Katie's funeral. Her casket sat closed beneath a willow tree. A priest stood behind, a figure of black, a looming reminder of death. The rows of seats were sparsely filled. I remembered her mom mentioning the funeral would be small, intimate. Not crowded with rowdy kids from school and the boys whose hearts she had once broke.

Truman and his parents sat in the front row. A weighted silence filled the air, like a dark cloud looming after a storm, one that would never lift. I watched Truman from across the grass. I haden't seen him since the brief moment in the hospital. We haven't spoken since the night of the wedding, when we said good-bye in his car and went our separate ways.

He looked hollow, all bones and sharp edges. His eyes were hooded, clouded with dark circles. His black hair was rumpled, blowing lifelessly in the wind. He was a shell of the boy I used to know. I knew if he looked at me, he would think the same.

Since the night Katie died, time ceased to exist. Minutes, hours and days all bled into one another. There was no sunrise and no sunset. Just the ticking of the clock, waiting for each day to end so I could close my eyes and pretend none of this was real. The sadness was bone deep. It was impossible to describe. I'd carry it in my chest for the rest of my life. It would always be there, gently weighing me down until the day it faded to an ache.

Minutes ticked by and the seats began to fill with aunts and uncles I had never met. Old family friends, grandparents, a few faces I remembered from hazy summer mornings and chilly nights. I watched Truman stand, shake their hands, hug a few of them. He was a corpse brought to life, a flame completely fizzled out. I could see he was trying—trying to hold it together, but I didn't think there were enough bandages in the world to put this boy back together again.

Eventually, nearly all the seats were filled. I kept telling myself to go, sit down, pay your respects. Hug Katie's mom and then her dad. Touch Truman's shoulder, let him know you're here. But I physically could not move. The thought of stepping one inch closer to her casket made me want to claw out of my skin.

I settled for standing beneath a nearby tree. The funeral began. The priest said a few words, rekindling the pasts and the highlights of Katie's life. I wanted to shove him away. Get out, I'd say before taking over and telling my own memories. The real memories of the real girl who lay there, moments from being gone forever, buried in the Earth, lost like all the other souls.

God, I wanted to run away and never look back. But I didn't. I stayed until the priest said his final words. Until the casket was placed in the ground. Until the soil was piled on top. Until her mom cried so loud it shook the trees and scared away the birds. My eyes were trained on Truman. I waited for him to break, waited for him to fray at the edges and disappear entirely. It never happened. He stood tall and firm, a steady oak. He held his mother as she cried and wiped the tears from her face. He was there, present. I saw it in his eyes, saw him snap back into himself for the briefest moment. I knew he was doing it for his family. I knew that when he was alone in bed tonight, he'd be stone once more.

And then the funeral was done. She was gone. I wiped the tears from my cheeks. I made myself remember Katie as the girl that was bright and bold and fearless. That's who she was and always would be.

I told myself I'd come back one day and sit by her grave. I'd finally say all the words that had been locked up in throat for months now. Once I knew the words to say, I would. I would make it okay. She would forgive me. Everything would be okay one day.

On the way back to my car, I stopped at a bench nestled along the sidewalk. I waited for my breathing to slow, for the haze to clear from my eyes, for my thoughts to feel weightless again.

I was sitting there, waiting, when Truman came out of nowhere and sat beside me. I didn't need to look to know it was him. It was like I could feel the life pulsing through him—my body knew when he was near, my heart knew to speed him the way it always did around him.

I waited for him to speak. What did he want? A shoulder to cry on? Company to sit with? Someone to tell him it would all be okay?

I kept my face forward, eyes locked on the cars parked along the street. I saw Truman stretch his long legs out before leaning back against the bench. His hands were clasped in his lap. His body was rigid, stone cold. His breaths were puffs of white in the chilly winter air.

Then, his eyes were on me. I felt them graze across my face. I could feel every glance, every blink. It shot through me like electricity sparking off a live wire. I kept my face forward, knowing the moment our eyes met, I would be a goner.

I loved him. I wanted him to be happy, but that happiness couldn't come from me. There would always be too much guilt, too much pain wedged between us. Every time I looked at him I saw Katie's face, heard her voice, felt her pinky intertwined with mine. And no matter how many years would pass or how much my heart would heal, it would never be enough for me to let my guard down and truly feel happy with him.

Truman and I had our moment. We were in love. And for the weeks it lasted, it was everything. It was nearly enough to calm the storm we had stirred up. I knew I would never love someone that way again, never feel that same familiar warmth I felt when his eyes found mine, and that would be okay because it had to be okay.

We were winter and summer, made to exist in the same world, but never together. Never at the same time. We both needed our own life, our own moments to grow and still have that love to look back on.

Now, sitting on the bench, Truman reached across the space between us and grabbed my hand. I felt myself still, like a single movement would scare him off. Tentatively and ever so slowly, he intertwined our fingers together and rested our hands against the cold wooden bench.

I took a long breath to calm my racing heart and then I looked at him. My eyes found their way to his easily. They were waiting, the palest blue in the winter air, like sea glass broken along a salty shore.

We held each other's gaze as the snow began to fall, dusting the ground and the barren tree branches. His eyes held every moment of our past: that first stolen kiss in the closet; the summer mornings laying on the grass in backyards; painting the sky in an old, creaky warehouse; taking his clothes off in the backseat of a beaten up car. It was all there, every last moment laid bare between us.

And then, the most incredible thing happened. Truman smiled. A real smile. The kind that split across his face. The kind that tore the world in two. The kind that was radiant sunlight after a cold winter; a fresh rainfall after a barren summer.

For that moment, that briefest of moments, the world settled into itself. The wind calmed. And for a faint second, everything felt okay. Everything would be okay.

I squeezed Truman's fingers. I smiled back. I wanted to say a million different things but every word would cut through the peaceful moment we had built around us.

Then, I stood up. I walked back to my car and moved a little easier, like gravity had loosened up the slightest bit. The heaviness had faded—barely, but it was still something.

As I drove home, the clouds cleared. The sun poured through the windows, warming my face. The sky turned a starling blue, the colour of his eyes.

And for the first time in an endless stretch of darkness, I felt an inkling of light.

____________________

they're going to be okay. 🤍

epilogue next. thank you

so so much for reading.