* * * * *
I cannot help but be reminded of these flames as the doors slowly open and Mike's casket rolls into the flames that will reduce him to a pile of ash and bone fragments. My three-year-old Goddaughter sits quietly on Danna's lap, gazing intently with aqua eyes, aware that something important is happening but not quite sure what. I hold Danna's hand tightly, hoping I can infuse it with some warmth but it remains consistently cold. The ever-present warmth in Danna's eyes is gone and instead they are flecked with snow. Despite the raging summer heat outside, we find ourselves with goose bumps as a chill covers us from head to toe. The drunk driver who hit Mike was never caught and probably never will be. When I informed his sister of the accident she replied "Too bad you weren't riding along with him. I hope you two queers and that slut rot in hell." Needless to say, neither she nor her husband decided to attend the services. Danna turns to me and I can read her mind as easily as my own. She, like I would give anything to leap into that oven and burn in the flames, immolate ourselves just to capture a second of the fire the warmed and fed us all these last four years.
I stand and walk towards the oven, the doors now closed and can hear the flames turned up, roaring higher and higher, can see them swirling and dancing, can feel them wrapping themselves around him like a final lover, consuming him forever.
Suddenly, I can feel the enormous heat radiating from inside, washing over me again in powerful waves. He is touching me for the last time. The knowledge of this, lets loose the dam of tears that has been building up since the accident two weeks ago. I have not been able to cry, not once, but now my tears flow hot down my face and drop at my feet, I'm sure burning holes in the rug. Danna comes up behind me wrapping her arms around me leaving tears of her own on my shoulder. I take her hands.
They are warm.
The End
