the coldest air lives longer.

Three days later the weather was unnaturally warm. The trees began to show the sprouts and bulging backs of leaves - tentatively checking to see whether it was safe to bloom. Sunlight no longer reflected coldly against the water of the harbor. Emile was wearing all black and standing with one hand crossed under the other in front of him.

Emile's father was not Mason's father and yet he mourned as one would expect from a father whose son is dead. His silence was broken by heavy breathing throughout the viewing of the body. Emile could hear his breathing, and would turn sometimes to look at his father who wept single tears at a time, each tear carving a path down mottled skin and next to an insurmountable nose. Emile stood at the other end of the coffin from his father and watched the crowd with his hands pressed together and he did not move them. He did not want to shake anyone's hand and he did not give the crowd any opportunity to do so - his eyes seemed focused on something above and to the right of the approaching mourners and he had stepped back a few steps towards the back corner of the coffin, on the side where Mason's head lay on a silk pillow.

Emile would look down at his brother when there were breaks in the stream of well wishers. His brother, despite the heat, looked so cold. The cheeks were ashen but with livid spots that looked like the aereolae of nipples. The hair was carefully brushed and the eyes were closed gently, as if only setting down for a nap. Emile thought he could smell a subtle note of chemicals and decay but he wasn't sure and he did not want to ask anyone else. He wondered if the body was frozen inside, to the core. The funeral home had taken great care to make the body seem alive, but this seemed only more distasteful to Emile. His brother was dead. Let that be the truth of it.

Emile stood and watched the sunlight move along the length of the coffin until it was almost at his brother's face. It worried him that the sunlight might hit and suddenly the face would melt, it would dredge away and the bone would stare mockingly back like a white canvas. He realized that his brother was dead and that he could no longer think of him as a person. He realized that the entire day, he had found his position tedious and that he wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for as long as possible. He realized that he had not thought of this body as anything but a collection of parts and the realization tired him - his body sagged forwards as if his spine had lost all of it's resilience. Emile looked towards his father and not a single tear escaped his eye, even as he watched this man still crying, still mourning, still howling silently. The funeral progressed as quietly as before, the sound of shuffling feet and quiet condolences a roman candle in the bell jar of the day.

-Rich

sometimes it isn't you