“Air above me, earth below me, fire within me, water surround me…” He read my words out loud and then whistled low. “Oh,” he said, nodding slowly. “You’re a hippie weirdo.”
“Yes, I’m a hippie weirdo.” The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was forcing himself not to smile. “My mother used to say it to my sisters and me all the time.”
“So your mom’s a weirdo hippie too.”
A slight pain hit my heart, but I kept smiling. I found a spot on the ground and sat once again. “Yeah, she was.”
“Was,” he murmured, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Someone once told me people die, that it’s a pretty common aspect of life.”
“Yes, but…” he started, but his words faded away. Our eyes locked and for a moment, the coldness they held was gone, and the look he gave me was filled with sorrow and pain. It was a look he’d spent his whole day hiding from the world, a look he’d probably spent his whole life hiding from himself.
“I did write a eulogy,” he whispered, sitting down on the ground beside me. He bent his knees and his hands pushed up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to share it?” I asked.
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Yes,” he muttered softly.
“Okay.”
“It’s not much at all…” he warned, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small folded piece of paper.
I nudged him in the leg. “Graham, you’re sitting outside of an arena trapped with a hippie weirdo you’ll probably never see again. You shouldn’t be nervous about sharing it.”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat, his nerves more intense than they should’ve been. “I hated my father, and a few nights ago, he passed away. He was my biggest demon, my greatest monster, and my living nightmare. Still, with him gone, everything around me has somehow slowed, and I miss the memories that never existed.”
Wow.
His words were few, yet they weighed so much. “That’s it?” I asked, goose bumps forming on my arms.
He nodded. “That’s it.”
“Graham Cracker?” I said softly, turning my body toward him, moving a few inches closer.
“Yes, Lucille?” he replied, turning more toward me.
“Every word you’ve ever written becomes my new favorite story.”
As his lips parted to speak again, the door swung open, breaking us from our stare. I turned to see a security guard holler behind him.
“Found him! This door locks once closed. I’m guessing he got stuck.”
“Oh my God, it’s about freaking time!” a woman’s voice said. The moment she stepped outside to meet us, my eyes narrowed with confusion.
“Jane.”
“Lyric?”
Graham and I spoke in unison, staring at my older sister, who I hadn’t seen in years—my older sister who was pregnant and wide-eyed as she stared my way.