Six Feet Under The Stars

The rain was coming down thick and fast. I could hear as it thrummed against the large stained glass windows of the church. Inside it was silent, a moment of respect the vicar had said before he closed his eyes and placed his palms together in a praying motion. Everyone followed suit and I took the opportunity to glance at each member of the funeral procession. Everyone was wearing black apart from me and my brother. We were really the only children who had attended, most parents didn’t think their children should be exposed to death quite so readily but mine wanted me to be prepared.

One day I would have to bury the both of them and they had always insisted that I go to funerals to see how they were, so that I would know how to behave and I guess to get the shock out of my system. My parents were older than most, they had been nearly forty before I was born after trying to conceive for almost thirteen years. My father had almost given up hope when thanks to a new IVF treatment my mother fell pregnant with twins.

My brother and I were non-identical though we did look rather alike for children of the opposite sex. We were both fairly tall, my brother was almost six foot by the time he hit fifteen and I stood at five foot seven, which for a girl with my family history was impressive. We both had thick blonde hair and were far too slim for the amount of food we ate. The only thing different between our appearances (apart from our genitalia) were our eyes, my brother had my father’s; a bright sea blue and I had my mother’s; a deep dark brown that could have been mistaken for black.

I was ushered to my father’s side by my grandmother and I found myself glaring at her slightly. I didn’t need to see this, I had been to four funerals already in the last five years, I understood perfectly what went on. She was persistent and only stopped nudging me when I was stood right beside my brother and in front of father. He placed a hand on both of our shoulders and I shrugged him off quickly shaking my head at him.

I was fine, he didn’t need to comfort me, I wasn’t the one about to be lowered six feet into the ground. I wasn’t about to become part of the earth, worms and lice weren’t about to start feasting on my flesh. I was absolutely fine. My brother didn’t look as well as I did but he had a weak stomach and never could deal with these things.

People around me had started to cry and I bit my lip to hold in any tears that threatened to spill. I looked at the gold plaque on the coffin intently, focusing on the sounds of the rain as it splashed onto umbrellas instead of the priest’s prayers. The words engraved onto the plaque mirrored those of which the vicar had said moments earlier exactly and I resented him for being unoriginal.

He did this everyday how could he not think of something nicer, more uplifting to say instead of repeating the same garbage each time. I sniffled quietly and turned to look at my brother when he clasped my hand in his gently. Born twelve minutes apart and he was the older twin, people always assumed I hated that but actually I loved it because he looked after me like a big brother ought to.

People were full on sobbing now and I grasped a hold of my brother’s hand a little tighter. Today he was my comfort blanket, today I would put aside any petty arguments or claims that he was a smelly boy and that touching him may give me a disease. Today I loved him more than ever.

The priests words picked up again, louder this time and I finally looked up from the light wood casket.

“Diane Westbrook, a loving mother, wife, daughter and friend.”

My father’s hand appeared on my shoulder again but I made no attempt to remove it. I was in shock now as I watched the coffin encasing my mother’s body being lowered into the ground.