Carpe Diem

June 2012

It rained the day of his funeral. Of course it did. He loved a good cliché. The clouds hung low in the sky above the cemetery, weeping like they missed him too. My pin-straight light brown hair blew into my eyes. I brushed it out of my face. From under my umbrella, I took one last instant photograph of him. I aimed the lens of my Polaroid Spectra SE at the casket and pressed the shutter. It loudly pushed the photo out of the slot at the front. The pastor cleared his throat. "Sorry," I mumbled. "He would have liked it." I shook the photo until it faded into view. The pastor rambled on about death. He would not have liked that. I looked at the polished black marble headstone, drenched in rain. Arthur Marcus Platz: Son, brother, friend. And the love of my life. Art was a vibrant, friendly guy. Nobody expected him to take all those pills. And now what was I supposed to do without my fiancé?

We left the cemetery and returned to the church, to its common room, where Art's family was serving lunch for their guests. It was all of Art's favorites. He loved potato salad with peas in it, roast beef sandwiches, mac & cheese, and dark chocolate brownies. I filled a plate and sat down at one of the folding tables. His little sister Marie came and sat next to me. "Cute camera," she said quietly. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her nose was still running a little. "Mom's not happy about it though."

"Because I took a picture at the cemetery?" I asked. She nodded. "Well, she won't have to worry about me anymore."

"Oh, Penny, please," Marie whispered, exasperated. "You're my friend. I was looking forward to calling you my sister."

"You're my friend too, Marie," I said. "I promise. But there's nothing else here for me. I don't know what to do without Art. I didn't even know anything was wrong. He never told me a thing."

"He never told anybody. I think he knew you would have tried to save him. But you know Art. Once his mind was made up, that was it."

I looked at my plate and pushed my potato salad around with my fork. For the first time since he died, tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. Marie put her arm around my shoulders. She didn't say anything. "I feel so empty," I whispered. I wiped my eyes. "I'm sorry. You're his sister. You knew him all your life. I can't imagine how much it must hurt for him to suddenly just be gone."

"We have memories, Penny," Marie said. "When I miss him, I'll think of all the good times we had. And all the times he was a big, fat bully, just because he could be." She laughed. I smiled. "He loved you so much. Where were you going for your honeymoon?"

"London," I replied. "I have an aunt there. She and her partner were going to let us stay with them for a couple weeks."

"That's sweet," Marie said. "You should still go, I think. Take Art's memory with you." She absently twisted one of her abundant blonde curls between her fingers.

"I was thinking that, yeah," I said. "Only I don't think I want to come back if I go."

"Why?"

"Clean slate. Nobody there knows me but Aunt Tara and Maggie."

"I mean... think about it. Think hard. If you decide to move to London, promise you'll come back and visit me sometimes."

"Oh, Marie, you know I will."

~

Heathrow was a zoo. I dragged my luggage behind me. Its wheels rolled silently along the floor. "Hey, sweet-pea!" a woman called as I exited the airport. I looked to my left. "Over here, goofy!" I turned to the right. Aunt Tara and her life partner Maggie were shuffling towards me, elbowing their way through the current of people leaving the airport. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry about Arthur," Aunt Tara said as she folded me up in her arms. "If you need to talk, we're here for you. Neither of us have ever felt that pain, but we can try to offer you comfort." I felt a lump form in my throat, and swallowed it. I nodded, silently. Aunt Tara let go of me and I moved to hug Maggie. "Mags, babe, why don't we take Penny out for a drink?"

"We're not day drinkers, darling," Maggie trilled at Tara. She squeezed me tightly. "But if you'd like a sip of something, I'm certainly willing to toss a few pounds your way and drop you off at a pub."

"I don't need anything," I insisted. Maggie and I broke our hug and she and Tara started leading me to their car. "I'm just tired from the flight."

"Be glad you arrived on a pretty day, at the very least," Maggie said with a smile. She was English and always spoke gently, just above a whisper. Her voice always sounded musical. I glanced up at the soft blue sky, dotted with a few big, fluffy clouds. "It's a myth that it always rains in London."

I settled into the backseat of Maggie's car. Of all the couples in my family, I think I liked Tara and Maggie the best. They were so eccentric and fun. Maggie's hair was an explosion of shoulder-length orange curls that offset her bright green eyes spectacularly. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Her plump lips were always curved slightly upwards in a tiny smile. She wore a lot of blues and yellows. Her socks never matched. Her appearance was in stark contrast to my aunt's. Tara's hair was chin-length and dyed silver. Her brown roots, the same shade as my own hair, were growing in. She didn't seem to care. Her eyes were dark brown, also like mine. We definitely bore the family resemblance. She wore almost nothing but black and gray. Thick cat-eye glasses framed her eyes, emphasizing her long lashes. She was a chemist. Maggie was an artist. They were perfect for each other. Tara had moved to London a decade before, purely to be with Maggie. Grandma excommunicated her for that.

I wondered how obviously American I looked. My hair hung down as a fine curtain draping over my shoulders. I hid my tired brown eyes behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. My nose was a button with a small hoop pierced through my right nostril. My lips, average, not full, not thin, and the color of bubble gum. I wore a gray t-shirt from my favorite record shop back home, under a black button-down cardigan. My dark wash blue jeans were just a little too big, and I cinched the waist with a plain black canvas belt. I wasn't blatantly touristy, but I was sure people would be able to tell. I carefully lifted my camera out of my carry-on and snapped a photo of the ladies in the front seats, holding hands as Maggie navigated the London traffic.