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The day Judi buries Daniel the sun is shining, mocking her grief. She’s wearing his favourite black dress. The one he loved to see her in because of the way it cupped her breasts. She’s also wearing the diamond necklace and earrings he’d bought her.
She remembers clearly how he’d watched her put in the earrings and then fastened the necklace himself. They’d both watched the diamond as it settled snugly onto her cleavage. And then, hands still warm and gentle against her skin, he had leaned down and whispered. “Every time you wear it, it’ll be like I’m kissing you there.”
Judi grits her teeth against the wail fighting to get out. She will not give them the satisfaction of seeing her crumble no matter how much she wants to fling herself onto Daniel’s casket. It’s why she’s here after all. It’s why she’s dressed like this.
She’d stood in their bedroom – her bedroom now and oh how that hurts – and looked at herself in the full length mirror. At eighty seven, things were a little further south but Daniel had never cared. She’d stood there for ages, wishing she could just wrap herself in a sheet.
Everything in her closet reminded her of Daniel. Either he’d bought it, or raved about how great it looked. Her memory was full of him teasing her, telling her she should flaunt her tits. It was unbearable. It had taken Finty knocking on her bedroom door and the brusque reminder that they would be late to get her moving.
And now here she stands, a widow twice over, clad in her finery, head held high, when all she wants is to be clothed in sack cloth and weep and rage at the world. Why? Why? Why? Reverberates in her mind.
Was she such a horrible person that she’s being made to suffer this loss again? She barely survived the first time and only by working until she forgot. That avenue is closed to her now. There are no more roles for elderly half blind actresses.
Finty stands beside her but Judi knows she neither accepts nor understands the relationship she had with Daniel. None of her other friends are here. She’d asked them not to come. She realizes none of them would expect anything from her but she’s self-aware enough to recognize that she would expect things from herself. And she’s just feeling too brittle for that.
A few of Daniel’s friends are crowded together in a group. They keep shooting her damning glances. As though it’s her fault he’s dead. And maybe it is. He was coming home to her after all. He was coming home to her when a filthy drunk driver caused a massive pileup. She’s glad the bastard is dead. Dead like her Daniel.
“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”
Ashes and dust and pain and tears dripping down her cheeks and into her mouth. She’d cried and cried and cried until she was dry and hollow and never to be filled again. Would this bloody thing never end?
As though prompted by her thoughts, the casket is lowered and the priest throws a handful of dirt on the top. She wants to flee as they begin to fill in the hole – a hole that isn’t half as big as the one in her chest – but she stands firm. She won’t let them add coward to the list of names they call her.
Finally, it’s time to leave and she lets Finty drive her home, the silence a physical presence between them. She lets herself into her flat, the one that she no longer shares with Daniel. She’ll have to get used to being singular again.
As she closes the door, she remembers the times Daniel had taken her right here; her back pressed hard against its solid surface. For a minute she struggles and then she gives in and embraces him. She wanders through the flat, touching things.
The sofa where they snuggled while watching old movies: laughter and popcorn and Daniel licking her butter coated fingers clean. The kitchen table where they had dinner because it was cozier than that monstrosity they only ever used for gatherings. The bed. Oh, the glorious bed. There aren’t enough words to describe what went on here.
She lies down, stares at the ceiling and revels in the kaleidoscope of images instead of locking them away. She can almost feel Daniel with her. It’s sharp and biting. The memories have no weight, no substance and she’s so empty she thinks she might just float up and drift away. Ashes on the wind.
But strangely, it’s peaceful too. He’s gone but still here, locked inside her head. And if she should spend the rest of her days living with her memories, it matters little. They’re more pleasant company anyway.