A Rain Of Tears
Written: December 14th 2000
Final Edit: February 1st 2001
This is a work of adult fiction. I do not know any of the characters portrayed below, nor their sexual orientations. If you are not of the legal age to read such material, please stop reading immediately (yeah right, as if anyone actually heeds such warnings...) This also applies if you do not like reading about same sex pairings. You have been warned.
A very short piece I came up with a while ago... even before chapter 21 of 'Kevin & Justin'. :) However, events have conspired to keep this story untold, until now. It's a bit gloomy, and that seems to be a trend that's affecting a lot of Nifty 'Boyband' authors at the moment, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.
One last note: my email address has changed. I will still be checking the other email account from time to time, but all email should be directed to the new account if possible. Thanks.
A Rain Of Tears
The darkness of the day is a fitting tribute and testimony to the loss we've suffered.
We stand there motionless, family and friends, as one of our own is laid to rest in the waterlogged darkness of the open grave.
As his casket sinks from sight, the rain begins to fall again in increasing tempo, beating a loud tattoo on the army of umbrellas surrounding us. It also beats, almost blasphemously, on the hard wooden lid of his casket. As if to torture us all with the knowledge that, even though the casket has disappeared from sight, it is still there; it is still sinking into the damp earth, carrying one of our number forever away from us.
I have yet to move.
I am frozen in place.
I have not looked away from the casket - and now the gaping lip of the open grave - since I came to rest beside the looming dark hole in the ground.
I am marginally aware of the looks my three 'brothers' - my bandmates - give me from time to time. I cannot not be. We have shared so much together, we have bonded closer than any family ever could, that I cannot miss their looks and thoughts as they watch me for signs of reaction.
But they'll see nothing.
Even as close as I am to each, the love I shared with him was a private concern. And although he's now lost to me... to each of us... I'll only be able to grieve for him in private.
I am almost unaware of the rituals taking place around me. My 'brothers' and my love's parents all reach down to pick up handfuls of soaking earth, which they drop into the grave. I am aware of the expectant looks on their faces, but cannot bring myself to move or glance away from the blackness of his final resting place.
By the time the ceremony is over, everyone is soaked through. Most people leave soon after, pausing only long enough to express their sorrow to his parents. More than once I am aware of looks directed at me, but none of them carry through with their aborted plans to express their condolences to me.
Soon after, the only people left around his grave are his parents, and we four. One by one, my bandmates caress my shoulders in loving sympathy, then hug my love's parents, unashamedly crying out their grief. And one by one, they depart, heading back to our house where our immediate families will hold a small wake for him.
In silence, I watch the grave. I watch the rain wash soggy earth into the gaping dark hole. I listen as each drop of rain hits the coffin lid, and feel as if each is a sharp knife being driven into my heart.
And it's only when his mother steps in front of me, when she grabs my chin and forces my attention to her bleak countenance, that I break the link with his resting place. And in the process, my lifeline to sanity and composure is severed as well. Even as I take in the tears flowing down her rain-washed features, my longing, my hurt, my immeasurable pain wells up until I sob out his name in a crescendo of pure agony and despair.
Instantly I'm in his mother's arms, and I feel his father embracing us both, as the sobbing and tears I'd denied myself for so long rush out with no regard, almost crushing me with their intensity. The three of us clutch each other, trembling in each other's arms as our grief consumes us.
Several minutes... hours... centuries... later, I am still being held, though my tears have passed and I'm almost exhausted. His parents have also cried themselves out, though I know they'll never lose the pain in their hearts, as won't I.
His father finally suggests we pay our last respects, and we do so. His mother never lets go of my arm as I stand near the lip of the grave and silently speak my loving goodbyes, knowing that they are doing the same. I'm not surprised when fresh tears spring forth, but this time I seem to have better control of my emotions.
His parents then steer my lifeless torso away from him... away from there... and walk me over to their waiting car.
As I'm about to open the car door and get in, his mother hugs me once more and whispers, "He'll always be in your heart, love. Never doubt that. He'll always be there when you need him, Joey."
And in her words, I know I have found the truth.