Black Mascara

1/1

“The wake is tomorrow.”

I turned my face from the sky and rubbed the raindrops from my eyelashes. My fingers came back black – mascara. Pressing my thumb and forefingers together and smearing the marks, I turned to the man behind me and tried my best not to make eye contact.

“You’re going to catch cold or something.”

He didn’t ask if I wanted to go inside. Subtly hinted, but he knew I wouldn’t go. I wiped my hands on my jeans and looked over his shoulder instead of at his face. Even with my peripheral vision, I could see his cheeks were red. He’d been weeping, just like me.

“If you stand out here, it’s like you’re not even crying,” I offered, and his sigh was the quiet response I received. He took two long strides to stand at my side, and we both looked up at the sky. His hand weakly wound around my own and I let a small smile quirk through.

“Feel better?” I asked, and his grip went from limp to knuckle-cracking.

“No.”

“Me neither.”