An Excerpt from Beneath the Willow
Thomas
tightened the sheet about her. As he’d spread it on the ground, he’d been
reminded of the picnics they’d had. This moment and the past week had made a
mockery of the life they’d shared.
Keziah’s eyes, affected by the
strangeness that had taken away the woman he’d loved for three years, lifted to
him. Not even moonlight affected the pupils; the enlarged discs remained fixed,
almost erasing the green irises.
He swiped away his tears, could smell
the damp earth on his hands.
“Thomas,” Keziah whispered, “don’t bury
me deep.” Now the moment had arrived, she was fearful.
“It’s shallow,” he answered and kissed
her brow.
“Remember, the twentieth.”
Thomas nodded; eight short days away, it
would seem like forever. Stillness claimed her. He placed his ear to her mouth,
detected no breath. He covered her face.
Standing up, Thomas stared down at
Keziah’s form wrapped in the white sheet, her feet were exposed and now bare,
the edges of her grey bottoms fluted around her ankles. If it weren’t for those
small feet, the truth would be easier to hide from; easier to pretend there was
nothing of worth within the sheet. Only rubbish. Until he picked it up. Then
he’d feel her, the contours that described her, that stated she was real, human…a
body wrapped in a sheet in his arms. He couldn’t bear to unwrap her now and
cover her fully. The resolve he’d maintained while carrying Keziah, she urging
him on, faltered.
He couldn’t do it.
His eyes fell on her white sneakers
placed neatly at the grave’s edge. Oh
God. I don’t want to do this. This can’t be happening. He uncovered her
face, placing his ear to her mouth again, then pressed his hand over her heart.
No breath. No beating. Needing to reconfirm the new reality, Thomas thumbed up
her top lip. Okay, okay, they’re still
there.
He re-covered her face. “You’re gone,
aren’t you?”
Only the voice of water responded,
stirred to life by a harrying wind. The willow’s fronds spoke against the gust
and moonlight jumped about, spying here and there through the parting fronds as
if taken over by a childish mood.
The sudden energy in his surroundings
fed Thomas’s indecision. Standing, he paced between the cocooned form and the
willow. On the fourth return to the tree, he pressed his face against its solid
form, feeling the grooves bite into his skin. He punched the tree with the side
of his fist. Finish it! Grabbing the
shovel laying across the hole, Thomas stepped into the shallow grave – Don’t bury me deep – and began to dig
deeper.
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