Steps

The brass handles gleam with a sheet of January frost; cold, unforgiving. The pallbearers, all older men, struggle with the weight of the coffin. The solid pine is setting their arms to work; their weathered expressions capture the confusing mixture of sorrow and physical discomfort.

The stairs halts their procession. They advance slowly, cautiously, taking every step with great care. Their faces red, and blank, their arms taught, and tired. The coffin tips awkwardly from left to right throughout it’s decent. A mother and her child sway gently within.

As the casket moves further from the crowd and toward the waiting hearse a woman sobs. She watches the casket gradually escape her reach, and is suddenly overwhelmed. Her husband feels her move away, as she moves to the center of the aisle, closer to the entrance. She begins to walk but stops herself.

The crowd looks on, dead eyed. Her hands raise, her fists clench. The priest’s massive visage catches her eye. She lunges. Her shrill cry fills every corner of the church before it is silenced in his swirling robes. A mess of white and green engulfs her tiny frame. Her sobbing grows in intensity but is quietly tucked away. She spasms uncontrollably.

The husband reaches out but does not know why. He searches for her but finds only the priest. He latches on to the robes and pulls himself inward.