M Sellars: Blood Moon

“We just got here, Ben,” I half stammered. “We’re at the seventh floor waiting room. Where are you?”

“I’m…downstairs…in the chapel,” he droned out the answer, pausing randomly before falling completely silent.

I closed my eyes as the dark portent in his words crept along my spine, making me physically shiver. Ben was devoutly secular. He claimed a belief in God but in the same breath noted that he despised organized religion. For him to be in the chapel was a harbinger of the worst kind. I waited for him to continue, but after several heartbeats my chest began to tighten and I forced a single word past the lump in my throat, “Ben?”

His voice cracked as he said, “Yeah…listen Row…I’ve got some bad news to tell ya’…”

Tuesday, December 20

10:37 A.M.

Sacred Heart Cemetery

Saint Louis, Missouri

The procession from the funeral home to the cemetery had been long, both in its physical size and the time spent covering the distance between the two locations. Several squad cars from the county police department provided a somber escort, light bars flickering out of respect, as our pace was unhurried. Local municipalities stopped traffic at intersections along the route, waving us through as our line of vehicles slowly snaked toward the final destination. Then, even after we arrived there was a substantial delay. So many people had turned out for this solemn occasion that it took several minutes before everyone was parked and the graveside service could officially commence.

Around us now was a sea of uniforms intermixing with the suits, dresses, and overcoats, all in varying hues of grey and black. If there were any other colors, I didn’t recognize them. The world had been leached to dull black-and-white halftones for me.

In my eyes, most everyone else was a faceless, nameless mannequin set apart from the others only by the subtle differences in shades of their dark clothing. While I recognized some of the officers I had worked with over the years, those few were the exceptions to the rule.

Each member of the law enforcement who was present wore a black band across his or her shield. Even though my mind was blending the crowd together in response to my grief, the overt display of respect for a fallen comrade stood out and was impossible to ignore. Another salient observation was that among them, almost any local department I could readily name appeared to be represented here by at least one officer or detective, if not more.

With abrupt sharpness, a loud crack split the cool morning air, and my wife flinched at the sound. The members of the rifle squad moved smoothly through the ceremonious steps of lowering the weapons, then on cue, placing them back against their shoulders in preparation for firing the second volley of blanks.

Felicity leaned against me. I slipped my arm around her and held her tight; her body was tense, as if she was steeling herself against what we all knew was coming next. Even so, she started as the second round and then the third sounded their reports across the cemetery grounds.

Behind us, as the echoes faded, bagpipes began filling in the void, starting as a low hum that escalated into the melancholy strains of Amazing Grace. Felicity was trembling now, and even without looking I knew she was no longer holding her tears at bay. I shoved my hand inside my overcoat and sent it searching for a handkerchief. Finding the one I’d stashed in an inner pocket, I pulled it out and carefully dabbed her cheeks before slipping the square of cloth into her hand. She pressed herself harder against me and allowed her head to hang, chin against her chest as she quietly expressed her grief.

The rifle squad was now standing at attention, their weapons ordered at their sides, while the honor guard carefully removed the flag from the casket and proceeded to fold it into a tight triangle. I was having trouble containing my own tears at this point, but I took a deep breath and bit them back. I would have to find time to grieve later. Right now I needed to be strong for my wife. Even though “fragile” was almost never an accurate description where she was concerned, “temporarily breakable” definitely fit the bill at the moment. Emotionally she was still floundering in the dangerous wake of her own far too recent crisis, and that left her vulnerable. One of us had to hold it together awhile longer, and it might as well be me. She had seen me through my share of moments in recent years, and I owed her.

I hugged Felicity closer and allowed her to cry as I stared past the ranks in front of us. My eyes eventually settled on the casket at the center of the crowd. I could see Ben standing off to the side of it along with the other pallbearers. Of course, being six-foot-six, and full-blooded Native American, he would have been hard to miss even if he was with the rest of the masses.

One by one, the half dozen men came forward and placed their boutonnieres atop the casket. Then each of them stepped over to the row of seated family members and offered their personal condolences before continuing on and melting into the crowd. My friend was the last of them, and he lingered silently for several moments before finally placing his flower with the rest. At this distance it was hard to tell for sure, but I thought I could see the glisten of tears welling in his dark eyes too.

“That was a nice service,” I commented, offering the platitude because I wasn’t really sure what else to say.

“Yeah,” Ben acknowledged, nodding his head slightly as he spoke. “Yeah… it was.”

We were standing on the walkway between the gravesite and the access road that ran through the cemetery. Ben’s van was parked nearby along one side of the narrow, paved stretch. Since Felicity and I had been farther behind in the procession, my truck was out of sight around the corner at the back of the memorial gardens.

People were still in the process of leaving, and we had decided to give them a few minutes to clear out before we added ourselves to the crush of traffic trying to exit onto the main road. I really didn’t mind the wait, especially since this was the first chance in several days that I’d had to speak with my friend at any length. Between everything that had happened only a few nights ago and him being so involved in the funeral arrangements, he had been scarce. Of course I couldn’t blame it all on him. We had been doing our fair share of hiding out as well, so it hadn’t been easy for him to reach us either.

There was a cold breeze blowing, and Felicity was snuggled in against me, trying to keep warm. I glanced to the side, then kissed her lightly on the forehead and hugged her close. Looking at her now, I had to admit that I was still getting used to the new hairstyle. While her loose curls had somewhat returned, and the temporary black dye was gone for the most part, it still left a dull patina, which made her normally fiery mane appear a darker auburn. And, of course, it was much shorter-now hanging only just past her shoulders instead of the longer waist length cascade it had been ever since I’d met her many years ago. The uncharacteristic coif certainly didn’t keep me from thinking she was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon, but the current picture I saw with those eyes was definitely different from the one I remembered whenever they were closed.

Of course, we had all experienced radical change in the past month, both physical and emotional-some worse than others, and some far more permanent. With time, the physical issues would heal, become accepted as the norm, or return to their original states of being. The emotional changes were the wild card because exactly how the deeper alterations to our psyches would manifest still remained to be seen. For better or worse, we would just have to ride them out.