Mess of a life

3- Funerals & fires

I often heard that one truly embraced the reality of death during funerals. Facing the coffin containing the corpse of a loved one, it forced you to face reality. There wasn't any room left for self-told lies and illusions.

Well, that wasn't true. I was standing, and in front of me, four coffins were ready to be buried. Four coffins, holding the bodies of my whole family. My universe was contained in those four wooden boxes. I was facing them, but it seemed so unlikely, so absurd. They were the constants of my life, they had always been there for me during the sixteen years I had spent on Earth. They couldn't be dead. My brain couldn't acknowledge that fact. If they weren't on Earth, there was no way the Sun would still be shining, the birds chirping, my lungs working. It just felt impossible, and the funerary boxes before my eyes couldn't convince me otherwise.

The funeral in itself passed by in a blur. There was a ceremony at the church, and then at the graveyard. A lot of people offered me their condolences, most of whom I didn't know. It was a continuous ballet of relatives, great-great cousins and whatever, saying how sorry they were for the death of the people whose existence they had forgotten. So many people presented themselves that I had lost track. There were colleagues, old family friends, people from our small town. I didn't utter a single word. A few presences marked me more than others. My grandma stayed by my side for a long moment, and I did remember the hug she gave me. The air was full of pity directed towards me, the small, poor, lost orphan, but also of wary looks in the direction of Charles, who stayed close by my side the whole time. They probably weren't aware either of the whole 'oh hello Camille your family isn't blood and you have brothers' thing. I think him and my grandma spoke, but I wasn't paying attention.

If I had been a little more myself during that ceremony, I would have jumped on the occasion to gather information. After all, the people I thought were my family were all gathered in the same place, some of them had to be aware of something. But this funeral was so ridiculous, so unbelievably wrong, that I couldn't focus on anything else than the caskets being buried under tons of dirt. It must have seemed like grief, while internally I was just completely confused. Wrong. This, all this, was so impossible. The fact that it was a beautiful day, with a clear blue sky and a shiny sun despite the slightly cold air, didn't help. In movies, all the funerals happened under a heavy rain. Furthermore, I knew that such a ceremony was the exact opposite of what they would have wanted. If they had a say, they wouldn't go to church, they wouldn't organise such a big event. Hell, they didn't want to be buried! Everytime someone bought a new bouquet of flowers on the fresh graves, I wanted to scream. My mom didn't like cut flowers: to her, they were pretty only when alive. My little sister loved sunflowers. And my father would have picked some random, funny phrase to decorate his tombstone, anything rather than the meaningless in the loving memory of...

At some point, an eternity later it seemed, people began to leave. Small group after small group, they shed one last tear, evoked one last random memory intended to prove they did know the deceased, and they left. The last one was my grandma, who gave my long hug, assuring me of her love and support. After hours of immobility, I finally took a shaking step towards the graves, falling on my knees before them. In one glance, I could embrace the extent of my loss, four tombstones raised towards the skies, side by side, casting over me their gloomy shadows. I could not feel anything but defeat.

After some time, I felt Charles moving from the spot he was standing in, behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder, silently compelling me to stand, and I complied. I was a bit unsteady on my feet at first, my limbs frozen from unmovingly staying on the ground, but my brother's strong arm around my shoulders kept me somewhat stable.

"We should go." He pulled me out of the graveyard, not facing any resistance from me, towards his still as shiny as ever black car. He already explained to me the plan of the day during breakfast. We were to go to the cemetery for the funeral, and then we would go to my old house to get my stuff back. We were meant to go to Paris in the afternoon, where we could stay a few days, in order for me to get better before finally flying to the motherland, England. I was not looking forward to any of it, but at the same time, I think some part of me was relieved to leave this place where every single thing reminded me of the family I wouldn't ever see again.

I felt myself getting fidgety as we got closer to my village. Charles felt it too, because he rested a hand on my bouncing knee. I relentlessly bit my trembling lips, trying to keep myself from uttering a sound. Every single atom of my body was compelling me to turn around. I knew, in the deepest part of my being, that I just couldn't face this. My breathing was getting heavier.

With my eyes glossed over by tears, I didn't even see the moment we reached the house. Charles pulled over on the side of the street, and immediately turned towards me, grabbing my shaking hands in his.

"Shhh, Camille, look at me." His voice was gentle but I barely heard it. "Camille." One of his hands reached for my cheek, directing my face for our eyes to meet. "You're okay, it's okay", he soothed. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready, we can do this later, or not at all. It's completely up to you."

My eyes roamed over his features, without really taking them in. However, his words had some effect, and my breathing slowed down enough for my brain to at least get some oxygen. I focused on my still shaking fingers, on the feel of his hot skin touching my cold hands. I calmed down a bit, until my eyes caught an unusual light behind him.

I jumped. Before I knew it, I was out of the car. I crossed the desert street. Behind me, I heard Charles' car door slam. He screamed my name, but I was in a trance-like state. It was fire. My home was burning. I only hesitated a second when I reached it, before entering the flames.

"CAMILLE! NO!"

But I was already inside, and the only sound I could hear was the ominous cracking of the house structure. I was moved only by instinct. My gestures were automatic, and I kept moving frantically inside the burning house. Instincts were a powerful thing, and mine ordered me to get the stuffed animals. I think somewhere in my hurting mind, I saw their teddies as the last remaining thing I could have to remember my sisters. I couldn't let that burn.

I was already in the last room I intended to visit when my arm was grabbed. Out of instinct I flinched, and then I started fighting, desperately trying to get out of this grip that prevented me from getting what I wanted. I didn't even realise it was Charles. I didn't hear him shouting at me, trying to make me understand that we had to leave. I didn't see the walls cracking dangerously.

At some point, he must have understood that I couldn't be reasoned with. He grabbed me by the waist, effectively restraining me, and threw me over his shoulder. My shouts only increased. I think I hit him a couple of times. He didn't budge.

I could feel the fight slowly leaving me. As the adrenalin left my body, my burning lungs caught up with me, and my breathing became shallow. I struggled less and less against Charles' hold. I think he felt it, his pace quickened.

I was barely conscious when we reached the outside. I wasn't even awake enough to feel the cool air against my skin, to appreciate the fresh oxygen entering my system. I was out before I saw the flashing blue lights, losing consciousness to the sound of sirens.