Requiem "What am I going to do without you?" The tears fell from his eyes as he sat on the corner of his bed. He could cry now. He was home, away from people who knew him. As much as they were his friends, he couldn't cry in front of them. He just wasn't brought up that way. Never saw his father cry, even when his own wife died and was buried, so many years ago. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, still wearing his dress uniform. "The last time I wore this suit was when we were promoted to Captain." He paused as he removed the white gloves and gingerly put them in his hat. "I know we've both gone our own ways since our promotion, but I always thought you'd be around. We'd mow the lawn together, fix those lose shingles, hitting our thumbs with our hammers as we missed a nail." He took the jacket off and tossed it on his bed. The tie was the next part to be removed, but he stopped and had to sit down as the weeping overtook him again. "All those years, partner and we kept one another safe. I never worried with you watching my back. And you never had to worry with me." He reached for a tissue to blow his nose. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, the tie askew on his neck. Putting his feet on the floor, he got up and made his way to his kitchen. His house was quiet, too quiet, almost as if the wildlife outside his home knew he was in mourning and respected his right to grieve. Once inside his kitchen, he reached for a bottle of scotch, removed the cap and took a long swig. The amber liquid warmed his throat as it made its way down to his stomach. He hoped the alcohol would dull his senses and allow him to forget that he went to his best friend's funeral today. His folded arms supported his head as another bout of sorrow hit him. So far the alcohol was not doing what he hoped it would, so he took another swig. He knew drowning his misery in scotch wouldn't remove his pain. The pain would always be there. And in time, he would feel better. But he would never feel normal again. There was no such thing as normalcy once you lost your best friend. "Time heals all wounds." He laughed. "I don't think there's enough time to heal this wound." He was about to take another mouthful when he decided against it. One should drink to celebrate, not to escape from the realities of life. He let out a deep sigh. After he placed the cap on the bottle, he returned the scotch to his liquor cabinet. Slowly he returned to his bedroom to change out of his dress uniform. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw how old he looked. No, not old, weary. He changed out from the dress uniform into slacks and a shirt. He put the suit back into its protective bag and hung it up. The scotch was affecting him a bit, relaxing his exhausted body. His bed looked too inviting so he crawled into it and got underneath his comforter. He hoped in sleep he would forget this day; the day he buried his best friend. |