I looked in the mirror for the 5th time that day. This was a rare occurrence; the only day of the year where I cared about how I looked, how I smelled, and how I felt. I wore a white button down and black slacks- nothing too crazy. I'd fixed my hair with pomade and it made me look like a fish out of water. My button down was a few sizes too big, and my slacks were way too long. Nevertheless, it was the best that I could do.
It was my birthday, but that really didn't matter.
I grabbed my keys from the front mantle and picked up the red Dahlia on the console table. When I opened the door, my eyes squinted at the sight of the beaming sun, but I kept on. It was a sunny Tuesday morning, and I was supposed to be in 3rd period at that point. But instead, I was walking down a brick road and walked for about 2 miles before I reached my destination. I did not stop to breathe or wipe my sweat off. I was a man with far too much conviction to stop because of a heatstroke.
The black gates loomed ahead as lush green vines cascaded the entrance. I had to maneuver my way through flora before my eyes fell before the thousands of stones in front of me. My heart sank, but I was still determined.
I walked at a much slower pace now, and the Dahlia was half dead. Sweat was dripping down my spine as the 90-degree weather penetrated my skin. But still, I was determined
As I got closer to my destination, my heart beat faster, my palms began to sweat, and air no longer existed in my world. I'd stopped breathing and my vision became so blurry that I could barely distinguish the headstones. Still, my legs moved on their own. Even without sight, I still knew where I was going-I'd been doing this for 6 years.
I'd done this for 6 years, but it never got easier.
I'd finally reached my destination and stared at the two pieces of stone in front of me.
-Mary Van- -Frank Van-
-October 1, 1978- -January 14, 1975-
-August 25, 2015- - August 25, 2015-
The Dahlia was dead and drenched in sweat, but I still placed it on my mother's grave. I stared at it for a few minutes, but it had felt like my life was enclosing in on me. I was always nervous in front of them. Where did it all go wrong? Was it worth it? The millions of questions that filled my head in every waking moment were so much louder when I visited my parents. They saw me, or so I'd hoped.
I was never religious. We were never religious. But on July 25th of every year, I would mutter a prayer. A Spanish prayer that my mother would recite every time we'd visit her mother, it was the only Spanish that I knew.
Que Dios te acompañe en el infierno.
May the lord be with you in hell. |
Mary and Frank, Frank and Mary. I would walk to their graves every year, and I would face my demons, and I would give my mother her Dahlia, and I would pray. Would I cry? No. But I would stand there for minutes-Hours even.
Mary and Frank, Frank and Mary.
Francis.
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