Tiptoe Through the True Bits

The air around us smelt like summer after rain, and following the storm of the previous night, the sun was making its best attempt to emerge from a prison of dark clouds. The grass was wet as we tiptoed through it, passing hundreds and hundreds of tombstones. We passed by the graves of mothers and sons and sisters and cousins and grandfathers and husbands and friends and lovers. It’s really heartbreaking, to be surrounded by such misery, and I knew that Gerard felt this every bit as much as I did, as he squeezed gently on my hand.

All those people, all those lives. Where are they now? With loves and hates and passions just like mine; they were born and then they lived and then they died.

I could barely breathe. All of a sudden I felt light-headed, racked with guilt and pain and grief. I had not visited my parents’ graves since the funeral. Why not? I had no valid excuses. The best I could come up with was that I had been too scared. Scared of what? Scared that I would only be reminded that I was all alone; lost in the world once more. Alone to make my own mistakes and learn my own lessons and ignore my own advice. I had nobody to guide me through; to hold my hand tightly and stroke my hair and tell me that everything will really be okay.

Until now. Because now I had Gerard. And now I felt ready to face my parents again. And I wanted Gerard to help me through it like I knew he would.

My aunt Fran arranged the headstones. They were white marble; simple and clean and elegant. As I stared solemnly down at the two graves in front of me though, the headstones didn’t seem simple or clean or elegant, they seemed crude and sterile, like baby teeth sticking out of the ground, beckoning me closer until they could swallow me up into the earth, too. My breath caught in my throat and I stumbled sideways a little, into Gerard. He steadied my elbow with his free hand; the other was being desperately gripped for security, letting him know that I was frightened, and I needed him.

“You’re okay,” he said gently, taking my other hand in his, forcing me to face him as I blinked back my tears. There was a steady rumble overhead and I prayed that there would not be another storm. Please. I can’t take any more.

I let my forehead fall against his chest, dropping his hands so that I could envelop him, pulling him closer to me until all I could see was blackness and all I could smell was almonds as I buried my head into his chest. Slowly, I felt his arms caress me, nestling his head against mine until his mouth was beside my ear. “You’re okay,” he repeated, even softer this time, before kissing me lightly on the top of the head and pulling away. I retracted my hands inside the sleeves of the hoodie I had stolen from him that morning (as mine was yet to dry) and rubbed my eyes with the coarse material, smearing tears and dry skin and god knows what else across my pale face.

It was strange to think that my mother and my father were just six feet away from me, beneath my feet. It was the closest I had been to them in ten weeks. I found this strangely comforting, and took a seat on the grass between them, crossing my legs underneath me, so as to get as physically close to them as I could. Of course, I knew that they were not really there; or at least, what made them human was not there, and that below me, through all of the compacted earth, were just the burnt outer shells of my parents. The skin and the hair, the fingernails and the cartilage and the fluids had all but evaporated. All that lay in these graves were what remained of their final remains; bones and teeth. They had been effectively cremated before the burial, but were wrapped in coffins and laid into the earth just the same. Still I found that this was enough to soothe me, as I let out a wobbly smile and glanced up at Gerard.

He returned this with a small grin and I gestured for him to come sit with me. I thought he would find this weird, but to my surprise he wasted no time in stepping towards me, settling down onto the grass opposite me with a gentle thud and a quick peck on my cheek. I took his hands in mine and looked left, to my mother’s grave. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, imagining just what I would say to her if she were in front of me.

Katharina Paige LeBeau. Kathy. Mother. Mom. I miss you every single day. I want you to sing to me like you used to, and tell me that you love me more than I will ever know because I love you just the same.

Slowly letting out the breath I realised I had kept in my lungs, I risked a glance at Gerard, but he was looking down at the grass beneath us. Coolly, I turned to the right, eyes skimming over my father’s final resting place.

William Oliver George LeBeau. Will. Father. Dad. Thank you for everything you ever did for me. Thank you for the thoughtful birthday presents, and the bedtime stories, and the words of advice. I love you, and I miss you with all my heart.

My lower lip started to tremble again, and I knew that the tears would follow soon afterwards. But that was okay. I never used to cry at anything; mostly because I never really had a reason to cry. Lately, I found myself resorting to tears more and more often, despite my constant self-assurance that I am stronger than that. Clearly I am no stronger than anybody else who ever lost someone whom they loved.

A stray tear rolled down my cheek, followed by another and then a couple more. They were subtle tears. Silent, controlled tears. I took a deep breath and wiped them away, sniffing a little as I did so. Gerard looked up at me with a weak smile. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just squeezed my fingers tightly and I squeezed his right back.

When I looked over his shoulder, I realised that there was a burial taking place a few yards away. There was a small gathering of black-clad mourners; from the elderly to almost-newborn, all daubing at their eyes with white paper tissues as the priest began his solemn words.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Maybe that is all that happens when we die. We just rot. The 21 grams evaporates and the soul goes nowhere and it doesn't even matter anyway. We just disintegrate until we become the very soil that surrounds us. Perhaps my parents had become the grass that Gerard and I were sitting on, or the raindrops that were calmly making their presence known as they spotted around us, landing first on our heads. Warning drops.

There was surely another storm coming, judging from the black clouds that dominated the sky, but neither of us acknowledged this, though we both knew it. Foreshadowing, perhaps?

In a matter of seconds, our suspicions were confirmed, as there was a sudden gust of violent wind, which brought with it heavy drops of water, falling all around us, instantly saturating everything in the vicinity. Still we did not move; merely just smiled at each other, both thinking the exact same thing. Typical. How fitting of there to be a thunderstorm as we were in a cemetery. And how clichéd.

There was a buzz of activity in the funeral party behind us, as they fumbled for umbrellas and coats. By the time they would find them, it would already be too late. This rain was ruthless; harsh and cold against bare flesh, splashing straight off the white marble of the milk-teeth headstones, pooling in the open palm of my left hand as I rested it upon my wet knee. Soon, the colour had drained from our surroundings, leaving behind just dull monotones. The grass and the trees and the flowers left by visitors were suddenly all grey, uniform and dull, and the two love-struck teenagers sat in the space between two graves were dripping wet from head to toe, laughing at a private joke neither of them could explain.

“We should probably get home,” Gerard announced, his voice distorted through the sound of water hitting the ground. I nodded in agreement, and rose to my feet, briefly touching with my fingertips first my father’s headstone, and then my mother’s, before taking Gerard’s hand once more and weaving our way through the labyrinth of death and misery that lead us back to those creaking iron gates and back to my car.



They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but sometimes I wonder if perhaps there is such a thing as universal beauty. We all know that our perception of beauty depends on our culture, the images we are fed by society and sometimes personal tastes, too. What one person considers beautiful may be laughable by another’s standards. Who are we to really say what defines beauty? Is it beautiful to have your ribs on show through paper skin? Is it beautiful to adorn your body with ink and metal? Is it beautiful to boldly display your scars and your wounds and the imperfections of your flesh to the world? Is beauty really skin deep, or does it go much further, etching itself into our very beings?

A universal beauty could laugh away these thoughts with one delicious laugh, licking her lips like the cat who got the cream. And that’s exactly what she did. She was mesmerising; her movements were fluid and her smiles were like those of an angel. Her smiles could cure the sick and feed the hungry and empower the weak. She had such a hold on me that for several minutes I could not focus on anything else around me. How does she do it?

It was as if I was hypnotised by her. Her features were delicate, impish, and her voice was low but sweet. Her scarlet hair fell lightly around her pale skin as she spoke each word, her lips perfectly forming every single syllable.

Why aren’t I normal? Why can’t I be like her?

“El?” Gerard’s voice brought me out of my trance, blushing slightly as I realised that I’d been staring at her face for God knows how long, making a fool of myself. I glanced back over to her with an apologetic smile. Anybody could be forgiven for thinking I was in love with the girl. Obviously I am not; not in a romantic kind of a way at least. I just wanted to keep her around me as much as possible, and I wanted to do everything I could to prevent her following the path I had taken. She had it all, but I doubt she really knew it. She was happy, and healthy, and beautiful. She had the ability to soften even the harshest of faces just with one lingering glance.

That used to be me.

“You’re coming to Frank’s party on Friday, right?” she was asking, her perfectly-outlined eyes coming into contact with mine through the airwaves. She was still smiling softly.

I turned to face Gerard for confirmation, as nothing had been mentioned to me about a party this weekend. Come to think of it, I had never even heard of a ‘Frank’ before. I was beyond bemused, so I just blinked inquisitively up at him, feeling a slight flutter in my stomach as he reached across for my hand, resting our entwined fingers on my lap.

“Yes, we are,” he replied for the two of us. “Aren’t we?” He looked back across at me and I smiled, accepting this with a slight shrug. Apparently so.

Chatter once more erupted between the group, and I relaxed back into my beanbag, almost willing the softness to just eat me up. Gerard’s fingers were still laced with mine, and he gently rubbed his thumb across the smooth skin on the back of my hand as he spoke with his brother. They were discussing something of minor importance, and I found myself once more drifting away from reality, inevitably casting my eyes back across the room to settle on Amber’s face. This time, she was looking in my direction, and greeted my gaze with a warm smile which I reciprocated in full.

She didn’t seem to find me as weird or creepy as she probably should have. She seemed to accept that I was just that kind of person. Spacey, my mother used to call me, but she was just the same. Neither of us could really ever be satisfied with the constraints of reality; always dreaming, wishing for more.

I hope my mother found it.

And I hope that I will one day find it too.