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“Our Heavenly Father gives each one of us a purpose. To love one another in times of both joy and sorrow. To feed your neighbor when they are hungry. To protect those who need it the most. To love unconditionally and fully. And most importantly, to judge not.”

Father McKinnley paused his sermon as he glanced down over the two closed caskets just in front of the podium where he presided. “I’ve known Megan and James for over 20 years. I was in James’ class. We walked the high school graduation stage together. Megan was a year behind, but celebrated the day with us with as much excitement and enthusiasm as if it had been her own.”

“From the moment James laid eyes on Meg on the first day of our sophomore year, something just clicked. It was like he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he’d found his person.”

He let out a somber chuckle. “I can still see the two of them locking eyes from across the hall and James marching straight up to her. The memory feels like a movie scene. He said, "Hello, my name is James Vasquez, and I think I’d like to marry you one day.’’’

“They were inseparable from that day forward. James and Megan made me believe in soulmates. That God sends that one special person to us—we just have to be lucky enough to recognize it and hold on tight. Anyone who knew the two of them would no doubt tell you that they would be together for the rest of their lives… and they were.”

My focus faded in and out as the pastor spoke, my brain vacillating between waves of overwhelming emotion and moments of oblivious numbness. I glanced around the room of misty eyes and hushed sniffles, all these people weeping for my parents and the love story that could have been ripped right off the silver screen. A modern day Romeo and Juliet… but where did that leave me?

My parents had only recently died, but they’d been gone for a long time. My mother became a shell of the woman she used to be, and I’d lost my father to the pub. I had already started to come to terms with the fact that my father was not strong enough to face the reality of what was happening when he blew his head off, which only cemented the fact.

Oh, sure, he was losing the love of his life, but his son was also losing his mother. He never seemed to be able to connect the two.

My father coming home and shooting himself in the next room was the most shocking thing that had ever happened to me. But was I surprised? No.

I tried my best to tamp down the resentment fermenting in my gut. I wasn’t even an afterthought.

What will Gabe do with both of his parents gone? Dad had never stopped to think about that.a

I guess that wasn’t entirely true. He’d at least kept up with the life insurance premiums. I was surprised to find out that I would be receiving both of their insurance policies. I knew about Mom’s, but I thought I had heard somewhere that insurers don’t pay out if you kill yourself. I was wrong.

The insurance adjuster explained that there was a suicide clause, but Dad had the policy for nearly 20 years, and the clause had well expired. My father had always been a frugal man. We lived comfortably, but still well below our means. Our family home was in an okay neighborhood… not the best, but not the worst. Our home was nice, and I always felt like I had everything I needed. Between the life insurance policies and dad’s investments, I now had a little over four million dollars at my disposal, plus the house. The very definition of “cold comfort.”

I waded through the flurry of hugs and well-wishes as everyone filed out of the church, coworkers and long-time acquaintances promising to keep in touch, and making me promise to call if I needed anything. The problem was, I had no clue what I needed.

My identity had changed so much, so quickly. I was an orphan, now. Could you be considered an orphan at age 20? Was there a limit on the term? Thanks to my father’s shrewd financial mindset, I had simultaneously become a millionaire.

I could walk right out of this church and go wherever I wanted. I had no employer to report to, and I’d already been unenrolled from school. I was as free as I could be, but the only place I wanted to go was back to bed.

Once the church had completely emptied out, I thanked Father McKinnley one last time as the undertakers were coming in to remove the bodies and take them to the crematorium.

“Um, can I just have a minute, please?”

I asked them.

The men nodded and backed away. Father McKinnley put his hand on my shoulder as he walked past.

“Take as much time as you need, son.”

He offered a tight-lipped smile as he backed out of the small church, pulling the door closed behind him.

I swallowed hard and wiped my sweaty palms down the sides of my slacks. It was just the three of us. It was how it had been my entire life: Mom, Dad, and me. I stared down at the long red carpet that ran up the aisle between the pews. I wasn’t ready to look up yet. I wasn’t ready to face them for the last time.

I wasn’t ready to walk up to those caskets and tell them that I loved them, or to tell them how much I’m going to miss them. I wasn’t ready for this to be the last time I was in the same room with my parents.

There was still a voice inside my head that screamed, “Wake up! This isn’t real! It’s all just a dream!”

I wasn’t ready for that voice to die. And when I walked up to those caskets, it would.

I took a shaky breath, wiping my cheeks with the sleeves of my suit jacket, and took a step. And then another. I chewed my bottom lip as I approached the front of the church.

The caskets were a matching ivory, and had been positioned opposite each other, the pulpit recessed back between them. I walked up between them and placed a hand on each one. The caskets were closed, but I knew Mom was on the left, and Dad on the right.

“I, uh… I’m still trying to wrap my head around ho-how we got to this moment,”

I said, a low sob interrupting the words. I swallowed hard and leaned more of my weight to the left. “You were the best mom ever. I was so lucky to have such a loving, accepting, and kind person be my mom. You were so supportive and kind when I came out. A lot of kids aren’t that lucky.”

I wiped my eyes again, and sniffled. “I don’t know if love can help you wherever you are, but I’ll love you forever, Mama.”

I turned towards my father’s casket. “God, I’m so fucking angry at you. You didn’t even ask me if I was okay. I had just watched my mother take her last breath, and I sat alone in that house for hours waiting for you to come home. You couldn’t even be bothered to put your arms around me one last time before you walked into the other room, blew your brains out, and left me here to clean up the mess.”

My hands balled into fists. “It would have been hard, but we could have gotten past losing her, together.”

I stuffed my knuckles into my mouth and bit down to stop myself from screaming. I was starting to get light-headed. I turned away from the caskets, staring at the closed church door. “Take care of her, Dad. I know that’s all you ever cared about.”

I didn’t look back again as I made my way back down the narrow aisle and out of the church.

***

I drove around the block a few times, aimless in journey, as my mind raced a thousand miles a minute. It was finished; the funeral was over. There was no one to take care of and worry over anymore. The same pestering question was ever present at the forefront of my mind…

What now?

I still had no answers. I pulled into the parking lot of a Taco Bell and ordered a soda through the speaker box. I paid the disinterested teenager at the window and nearly choked on my own spit as I looked ahead and saw him walking through the parking lot. Him.

The boy from the sidewalk. The one that had been pushed aside. I looked around and was relieved when I didn’t see the other guy. The mean one. I watched as he crossed right in front of my car as I waited for the cashier to hand me my cup. Once he was clear of the drive-thru, he looked both ways and crossed the street, heading down towards 5th, and then waited on the corner to cross the main intersection.

I gave a quick thanks, as she finally handed me my drink, and I pulled out of the lane to wind my way around the other side of the parking lot. He was still standing on the corner, waiting for the walk sign. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder, but he couldn't have been coming from school—it was Saturday.

God, he was pretty. More so than I remembered. Fair skin, thin frame, and a mess of unruly mahogany curls. He had his hands in his pockets and kept his gaze down towards the ground. Once the light changed, he crossed the street and I slowly pulled out of the parking lot, trying to keep a safe distance behind him. Where was he going?

He got stopped at another intersection, and I pulled into a service station just past where he was standing. I pulled up to a pump and put the car in park. The light turned green, and he stepped off the curb. I picked up Mom’s old Polaroid camera and tried to steady my hands.

Once the boy was in view on the sidewalk, I snapped a picture of him as he made his way down the sidewalk. As the negative mechanically slid out of the camera, I set it aside and pulled back out of the parking lot as the boy got down the road and out of sight.

I pulled back onto the road in time to see him take a right down a small alleyway, towards the more residential areas on the other side of the woods. The alleyway was too narrow for me to drive down, so I pulled to the side of the road and parked the car. I peeked my head around the alleyway, but couldn’t see him. I took a few cautious steps forward, my heart beginning to pound in my ears. I don’t know why I was following him, but something told me I had to. I made it to the end of the alleyway and spotted him off in the distance, walking along the tree line. I knew there were a bunch of houses back there; he must live in one of them.

I hung back a ways, 50 feet or so, filing in and out of the treeline as we went. I didn’t want him to see me. Mainly, I just didn’t want to freak him out. He sauntered along in no hurry, running his fingers through low-hanging leaves as he passed them. He seemed so carefree. So… unburdened.

I had a hard time determining how old he was. He looked like an older teenager. At least 16, I assumed. The treeline was coming to an end, and I held back a bit, not watching to step right out into the open. He walked past the first house on the corner, then the second, as he approached the third house on the right, he crossed the street and walked up the driveway of the third house on the left, and disappeared behind the front door.

So, he did live over here. The house was older, and could use a little more than a fresh coat of paint. The front porch railing was leaning and looked rickety, and the front yard was overgrown with crabgrass and weeds. Invasive vines left unchecked twirled themselves around the dilapidated banisters holding the front porch up. All the windows had been blocked with tinfoil, and the upstairs window on the left-hand side had been busted out at some point. A piece of plank-wood had been nailed across it.

I took note of the address and turned back down the street.

Why are you such chicken shit? You could have stopped and just talked to him.

…And say what, exactly?

“Hi, I’ve been thinking about you since I randomly met you on the street the other day when I watched your boyfriend assault you…”

Not the best introduction. I sighed, put my hands into the pockets of my slacks, and made my way back to where I’d left the car.

As I climbed into the seat, the Polaroid I’d taken of him caught my eye. I’d almost forgotten about it. It was fully developed now, and I was impressed that I’d managed to get such a clear shot of him from this far away.

The image featured a sharp profile, with his head tilted towards the ground; wild locks of auburn hair curling all around his temples. His lips were slightly pursed, and a smattering of freckles on the side of his cheek was highlighted in the image by a ray of sunlight.

It was like he was some ethereal being I’d been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of. To capture in a photograph. I sat on the side of the road staring at his image.

What is your name? Where did you come from?

I found myself wanting to know every single detail about his existence. I wanted to read his autobiography.

After a while, I set the photo face down on the seat next to me, not wanting the sun rays coming in through the windshield to mess with the coloring or clarity of the photo. In a daze, I drove back to the house that now belonged to only me.