Page 89 of Crown of Thorns
25
NOAH
The coffee in my hands is lukewarm, but I grip it anyway. It’s something solid, something to keep me grounded. Melody sits beside me on the stone bench, a quiet presence in the drizzle.
“I’m glad you called this morning. I didn’t know if you'd want to visit them,” she says softly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want company.”
The graveyard stretches out around us, slick with drizzle, heavy with cloud. It's the kind of spring day that feels more like November, raw, grey, and bone-deep miserable. Wet gravel clings to our shoes. Cold wind sneaks under my coat collar. Melody wraps her arms tighter around herself, her curls damp with mist, and sips from the takeout cup in her hands.
“Thanks for the girlfriend, by the way,” she adds with a crooked smile. “Charlotte’s a lot.”
“You’re welcome. She’ll keep you from setting your whole studio on fire.”
“I’m serious, Noah. I thought I’d sworn off love.”
“You hadn’t. You’d just forgotten what it looked like.”
Her hand bumps against mine on the bench. For a second, neither of us speaks.
“What was it like living on the streets?” Her voice sounds softer than usual, more vulnerable than usual. And I know she’s holding on for dear life, just like me.
“It was cold,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “Not just the weather. Everything. People. Pavements. Even the sky felt colder. Once, someone poured beer on me while I was half-asleep. Just laughed and walked away. It was tough. I didn’t think it would be. I thought Mom would come looking for me.”
“Noah…”
“No, please. Just, don’t. A lot of years have passed since Melo. I got out, enrolled in university, found a place to stay. I’m no longer that broken boy.”
“I know that. I just…it’s hard, sometimes. To know that you were there and we were here. That I was here. But you’re right, I get it. Anyway… Let’s go?” She grabs my hand.
The cemetery is abandoned from any other living soul when we get there. But I can feel them, the dead, when we slowly make our way past the gravestones. All around us, names are carved into eternity. Even the air is thick here, filled with regret and heartbreak.
I have moved on. My brain has, that’s not a lie. But my heart is slow to pick up.
Pride.
I wish I’d called home, beg Mom to come for me.
Conditional love.
I wish Dad could have loved me unconditionally.
“There they are.”
Rest in peace, dear parents and grandparents. Bernard, Paula, Georges, and Marie Martin. Two generations resting side by side, loved and remembered.
Until we meet again.
Melody places the white roses on their grave. For a dragging moment we just stand there, lost in our own thoughts.
The rain drips gently on the petals. A breeze rattles the leaves in the trees. I stare at the names carved into the stone, tracing them with my eyes as if memorizing every letter might bring them back. My hand finds Melody's, and she squeezes it once. No words.
“They would’ve been proud of you,” she says quietly. “Of us.”
I nod, throat too tight to answer.
We stand there until the ache becomes too heavy. Until the cold begins to bite again. Until memory loosens its grip, just enough to breathe.
“Are you good to go?” she whispers into the stifled air. I reply by pulling her with me, and together we leave the dead behind us.
