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Walking the Aisle
Head bowed, he breathes deep and chokes on the odor of flowers, the subtle cloying scent of lily and sharp tang of lilac settling on the back of his tongue.
She’s next to him, holding his arm; he can feel the soft swell of her breast against his tricep and the sturdy warmth of her body molded against him from torso to calf. She breaks away as the double doors open, twining her fingers with his, and guides him down the aisle to the resonant thrum of organ music; his gait hitches right along with his breath.
At the front of the room, he finally raises his head, falters and loses a step, shiny black shoes scuffing the threadbare chapel carpet.
The coffin, draped in flowers, sits on the middle of a dais with lights beaming down on it; if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring at the opening scenes of some play, but the bowed heads of people in the pews, the whisper-soft sobs and rasps of tissue against wet cheeks remind him that this is reality.
She slides onto the hard wooden pew reserved for family and he follows her, looks at her, waits for her to tighten her fingers around his hand and then he turns his face forward—breathes out, breathes in—and whispers: Goodbye, brother.
AN: Originally submitted to the main blog. Alas, it did not make the cut. Also, thanks for the all the wonderful comments on the last piece, "Unseen." I do appreciate them. :)
She’s next to him, holding his arm; he can feel the soft swell of her breast against his tricep and the sturdy warmth of her body molded against him from torso to calf. She breaks away as the double doors open, twining her fingers with his, and guides him down the aisle to the resonant thrum of organ music; his gait hitches right along with his breath.
At the front of the room, he finally raises his head, falters and loses a step, shiny black shoes scuffing the threadbare chapel carpet.
The coffin, draped in flowers, sits on the middle of a dais with lights beaming down on it; if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring at the opening scenes of some play, but the bowed heads of people in the pews, the whisper-soft sobs and rasps of tissue against wet cheeks remind him that this is reality.
She slides onto the hard wooden pew reserved for family and he follows her, looks at her, waits for her to tighten her fingers around his hand and then he turns his face forward—breathes out, breathes in—and whispers: Goodbye, brother.
AN: Originally submitted to the main blog. Alas, it did not make the cut. Also, thanks for the all the wonderful comments on the last piece, "Unseen." I do appreciate them. :)
Comment
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Comment by Lindsey Leffew on September 10, 2010 at 11:29am -
Hm. I thought I posted a "Thank you all for the lovely comments!" comment, but apparently it never showed... (Browser issues, possibly.)
So, again, Thank You. :) I appreciate the support. And I'm glad you enjoyed the ambiguity of the scene. It was fun to write.
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Comment by Bonnie on September 8, 2010 at 8:19pm -
I was also thinking we were going to a wedding. Beautifully crafted Lindsey!
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Comment by Brittany on September 8, 2010 at 9:41am -
Great piece Lindsey. It was obscure enough to leave me feeling so many emotions through different scenarios- it was sensual, romantic, and sad.
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