Dances With Petals

Chapter 1: The end.

The misted windows were glowing creamy yellow through the darkness of the hearse, illuminating his hands in a hazy aura which focused in and out of vision to the beat of every tear he shed. His cheeks were sticky and warm against the leather of the seat. The only clarity of what he saw in the streets came through the forks of water-trails down the windows. The pinks and yellows of flowers left beside the road could just be made out.

Silence was broken to the sound of his Mother replying to her sister on the phone. It was clear that her sister was doing most of the talking. He could hear subtle tones of defiance through the phone speaker, and he could imagine everything her mother might have been hearing and it angered him –He had had the “be strong now” treatment for a whole week and it became sickening.

Another glance out the misted window showed him the greens of a garden and the black figures of mourners, telling him that he was getting closer to the church. He could almost feel nervous if it wasn’t for the overwhelming sense of apathy he had been nursing.
He closed his eyes for a very long time as his mother assured him “This is going to be the toughest part”, as if touring the city behind a car with his dead father in wasn’t tough enough.
‘Yeah,’ He replied.

He sensed the car coming to a stop, and he wiped his eyes and opened them in unison with the car door.
Stepping outside came with a refreshing breath of fresh air, and a warm sensation on his back that told him that the sun was blurring behind him, despite the forecast of torrential rain and strong winds.

He kept his head down to avoid the many eyes that had been cast down on him, but the glare of each could be felt against his face like the heat of the tears he was shedding in the car. A gentle breeze cast against his face as he began to walk into the church. The ground blurred itself into a glow of red and refocused again as a tear that had built up in his eyes fell to the floor. He noticed for the first time that he was walking amongst a sea of rose petals which were gliding around his feet as he walked. The sensation calmed him.

Walking into the church brought the smell of old wood and leather and the echoes of distant conversation and footsteps. His Mother was doing all of the talking as he feigned dumbness, it was only direct addressing of his name which brought his head up and opened his mouth.
‘Brooke, chin up son,’ It was his uncle Trevor.
‘Yeah,’ he replied, smiling briefly before turning away to find a seat.
It was only as he sat down did he realize that Trevor was his Father’s Brother, and that the dismissive tone in his voice was unnecessary. A sickly sensation of falling passed over him.

His Mother soon sat beside him and smiled at him. He returned his best effort, becoming painfully aware that there were a lot of people in this room that were as distraught about his father’s death as he was, and that all of the attention he felt directed at him should have been shared out better. He may be young but he was as strong as anybody.

Eerie whispers played in his mind, plaguing his every sane thought. Not allowing him a moment to himself, yet plunging him deeper and deeper into a trance-like state in his own head. With the funeral came the paining realization that his father was truly gone and the feeling caught in his stomach, jabbing at his insides with malice that he could not relate to before. His head was swimming as he was overcome with emotions of which he hadn’t felt enough before to understand. His father was dead, and not far in front was his father’s dead body. He was fighting with every ounce of his strength not to cry again. Brooke closed his eyes and breathed in slowly in an attempt to calm himself, yet upon closing his eyes his mind projected a memory of his father onto his eyelids.

The sun is shining, brighter than it has ever been. The sky is a clear blue and there are no clouds. Brooke and his father are sitting on a hilltop, looking out to the vast ocean ahead of them. All around them are tiny red poppies and the sun is sparkling on the water’s edges, lighting it up like a Christmas tree.

The smell of cut grass and the sea fills Brooke's nostrils as they speak together. His father was a complicated man whose mind was vast. He would often question life and its purpose. Yet this was just small talk, the type of talking that Brooke liked best from his father.
‘So how is school going for you? Are you still doing well in maths?’ Asked his father, with every understanding that math was definitely not Brooke’s favorite subject and neither did he perform well in it.
‘Yeah, it’s going great Dad, getting F’s and all that, fantastic.’
Brooke took a moment to pull some grass out of the ground before asking, ‘Mum isn’t feeling well, is she?’
The silence that followed was brief but as painful as anything.
‘She isn’t feeling well is she, Dad?’
‘Not … no not particularly, Brooke. I don’t think she is, no’
‘What’s wrong with her? Nobody has told me’ There was a hint of accusation in Brooke’s voice.
‘She’s gonna be alright, son, just not right now …’ His father smirked down at him before getting up.
His Father’s smile was all he needed. So long as his Father was still smiling, everything was going to be okay.
‘I’m getting an ice cream if you want one, because it has parked deliberately right next to us and I’d feel like a moron if we just left’.

The scene melted in Brooke’s mind and reformed again. They were at home and the Fire was cracking away at one end of the room. The windows were underlined with thick snow and from outside shone the deep yellow of a street light.

Inside the house, the lighting was dim, and everybody had sat down for dinner, listening to Dad share the latest ‘plan of action’ with them all.
‘We’re leaving!’ He said, apparently euphoric with excitement. ‘We’re leaving here,’ he said again rhetorically. Everyone immediately stopped eating.
‘What?’ Mother said. ‘What on earth have you got going on in your head this time Peter?’ She said with exasperation in her voice.

Brooke only smiled to himself in the corner; he loved his Dad’s inspired idea’s.
‘We’re leaving here and we’re living …’ He took some time to arrange his arms in the air to trace out the horizon in his mind, ‘We’re living in Spain, by a beach, in a Spanish mansion.’
But this idea wasn’t exactly what Brooke had expected. His Mother had taken this in jest and held her hands to her mouth and smiled.
‘Really, peter?’ She beamed.
‘Oh come on, I’m being serious June, I have it paid for …’
Her smile vanished at this point and was replaced by incomparable shock, her hand dropped to the floor.
‘Eh?’ Brooke broke his silence for the first time. ‘What?’ And obviously hadn’t thought of anything to say.
‘Well what do you both think?’ His Father said, ‘I want to get away from all of this, from everything’
His mother looked deep in thought for a moment. She had always wanted to move to Spain but being given the sudden possibility took her by surprise.
‘What about the rest of our family? We can’t just leave can we? Just pick up our stuff and go?’
‘Of course we can’t June, which is why I’ve booked us a leaving party’
There was a silence in the room that followed with all eyes on Brooke’s Mother.
‘Yes,’ She said, now breaking into a laugh, ‘I think that might be an okay idea, Peter. Now who wants Desert?’
‘Brooke?’ The scene melted inside his eyes once more as he opened them to the sound of his Mother’s voice.
‘Brooke, are you okay?’ She had concern etched into every corner of her face. It became obvious that Brooke had spent a lot of time being silent.
‘Yeah, I am, I’m just thinking about stuff,’ He said. His mother nodded in understanding and after a moment looked away.

The ceremony passed as quick as it had begun and Brooke was only half aware that with its closure brought a smile to his face. A smile of which the exact reason eluded him, nevertheless it was good to smile.

The church hall cleared as people made their way outside to their various modes of transport, and Brooke made to follow until he caught sight of a girl he had not noticed before of about his age. She had long red hair and round brown eyes.

He looked around for his Mother, who was engaged in a heady conversation with the priest. The sun shone through the stained-glass windows and illuminated him in red; he could barely see the girl in front of him.

She was smiling to herself and something triggered an involuntary movement in Brooke’s feet, and as he approached, she became more defined. She had creamy white skin and freckles about her nose and she wore school clothes. She seemed to glow and had an aura of dreaminess about her.
“Brooke, come now, we’re going. Where do you think you’re off to?”
He never even realized that he had been holding his breath; he turned around to look at his Mother. He took a deep breath.
“Coming now,” he said.
When he turned back around, the girl had gone. He stood and stared at the spot where she had been for a moment before leaving after his Mother.