I don't think that I was able to keep a coherent thought in my head as I watched that coffin sink into the cold soil. I shook, and a hand was around my shoulders that I knew was a woman's but I did not know whose. Nor did I much care. How could I? My entire life until that moment was gone, and watching that ornate brown box sink made me feel like when I looked up at the horizon, there would be nothing except dust and silence.
The arm turned me and pulled me into a walk to a car; I had no strength left. I walked on, not really caring. The arm felt good and comforting. I began to weep again and the arm then pulled me to her. I knew it was a her because even though I was bereft of thought and under a tsunami of loss, I felt the two warm breasts press into me. I was eighteen and there were hormones.
"It will be okay," I heard her say. "We're going to watch over you."
***
As I climbed the steps to the stage where the University's beaming smile could not hide her flat, bored eyes. I was just another name, and it was called - Thomas Carter - and I took my diploma and shook her head. As I walked off the stage, I looked into the stands. She was looking at me, her smile radiant, her beauty a shining beacon. Her strength my rock over the past four years. I waved to her.
Why my brother had cheated on her for the cheap, stupid slut that he'd knocked up, and lost Monica forever, was a question that only his heart and brain and cock could answer. I had not bothered to ask him; he was as dead to me as my father, and as lost to me as my mother.
Monica was my father, mother and sister all rolled into her actual relationship, as my now ex-sister in law. I kept looking at her, and kept seeing her brilliant smile, and nearly stumbled on my way back to my uncomfortable seat. I rejoined the long row of graduating seniors, and once there I chatted amiably with my neighbors, none of whom I knew well, but all of whom I knew by sight.
I was going to start law school in three months. After my mom left, my dad had invested heavily in life insurance. I had taken the absolute smallest amounts that I could and worked impossibly hard, driven by his memory, aided by Monica's steadying hand. Achieving good grades was relatively easily done. I got into a good law school, too, and even though that degree would further erode into that nest egg, I knew that I'd be able to repay it quickly.
But while everyone around me was bubbling with their plans for the night - going out and getting hammered or dinner with their big families so that their achievements could be celebrated properly - I knew what was going to happen. Monica was going to hug me like she always had, that full-body embrace that plastered my chest to hers, and she would give me a big but chaste kiss on the cheek. Then she would get into her sleek sports car, because she had taken my brother for a ride in the divorce and drive off to her life.
And like most nights, I would return to my small apartment that I did not share.
I felt like I might cry.
After the final songs were played and the otherwise boring ceremony drew to a close, I joined the throng on the gym floor. Monica pushed and shoved her way through the crowd to get to me.
"Thomas," she said softly, her eyes glimmering with tears.
"I did it, Monica," I told her.
She pulled me into that embrace. "I know, baby," she said. I got the expected kiss on the cheek. But she slid her hands down my arm and took my hands into hers. "I have a surprise for you," she announced.
"A surprise?"
"Yes, a surprise," she smiled. The woman's smile made my heart ache. She knew that I was madly in love with her; she had told me that she knew my darkest secret last Christmas. We had spent that day together, actually; she did not spend it at her parent's mansion and since she was in the midst of divorcing my brother, she had no where to go. So we had spent it together and we cooked together then ate together. After we cleaned up, she poured us some wine and we sat and talked for hours. In that conversation, she told me that she knew I was infatuated with her.
Talk about the mother of all friend zones. I did not even think of attempting a seduction. I mean, my brother's cock had been in her body before; why would I want that?
She walked me to the car. Part of my brother's problem was that Monica came from money. Though she had never out and out told me, I got the sense that the prenup she'd made him sign was ironclad, drawn up by lawyers who knew how to protect their clients. My brother, who was rudderless before my father's passing, completely lost his way until his cock led him to the wrong woman. So we got to this car, a midnight blue sports car that screamed wealth. She had me get in.
Monica drove like she was competing in an F1 circuit. Her shifting precise, her acceleration strong. She was aggressive, weaving in and out of traffic as we got onto the freeway. Where was she taking me, I asked her.
I told you, she replied without taking her eyes from the road. "It's a surprise."
We fell into an easy rhythm of conversation. We had always been able to talk. I saw her as I would see a mother, and despite the difficulties of working up the courage to tell that female adult how badly you fucked up, you did it because you needed her advice and her tenderness. She would forgive you, after all; she was your mother and she loved you above all others. Except my mother was gone, perhaps as rudderless as the first son she birthed. So I had Monica.
It had been Monica whom I'd told that I'd finally lost my virginity. It had been Monica to whom I turned when I faced dark nights and loneliness that I felt might crush me to death. It had been Monica who had brought me along with her family for their annual family vacation to whatever Caribbean island had caught their fancy this time.
I was part of their family, in a way, like a stepson. Monica was now ten years older than me - my brother was eight years older than me. My father had been older than my mother, and I often wondered - believed, in fact - that it was my birth that triggered her departure. But I had a family and it was big and broad and they welcomed me with open arms, though only on certain occasions.
She got off of the freeway. We were nearing the mountains. She accelerated through two-lane roads, finding them fairly clear of traffic. For another half an hour she drove and we talked, until the car came nearly to a halt and she made a sharp right turn onto an unmarked road. A few yards into this side road had us surrounded by woods; the forest was deep and old and impenetrable.
After a longish drive that had me fearing for her expensive car's suspension, we got to a clearing and a large, gorgeous log cabin sat high atop a bluff that overlooked a lake. I did not see this immediately; it was during the tour that I came to see it.
"What is this place?" I asked in hushed tones. Though it was spring and there were bright green leaves everywhere, and bugs making their incessant noises low in the weeds and birds called our their territories in the trees around us, I felt like I needed to speak in hushed tones. The lushness of the spot seemed to call for it.
"This is my family's getaway," she explained. "We only use it on special occasions," she spoke in the same hushed tones that I did. She grasped my hand, and in seconds our fingers were intertwined. "This is a special occasion."
Monica worked on Wall Street. She made more money in a day than I would probably make in a year. Her father's money ensured that she didn't have to work a day in her life, but she loved the life of high finance. All of this had been told to me time and again. I knew their mansion was imposing. This was an anti-mansion yet in some way it was more enticing to me than their mansion.
"It is. I had no idea," I replied.
"Do you know who was never granted the right to make a visit here?" she asked.
I could tell from her tone that I did not have to guess - not really. I said my brother's name, and got the curt nod of her head that I expected to see.
"What did you ever see in him?" I asked. That question I had only asked her a million times...in my head. Never out loud.
"There was a time," she said after a heavy pause, "that he made me laugh harder than any man had ever done." She turned to face me. "I loved him. A part of me did, anyway," she said.
I felt her squeeze and returned it. Maybe giving her some strength back.