The Debutante
“He had his briefcase with him, in case he changed his mind and decided to go to the office instead. But when the train pulled in, he felt himself get on—travelling in the opposite direction from people heading into the City.Part of him knew, that if he didn’t do it, he’d regret it. And yet he’d wrestled with the idea; the complicated mass of feelings. And mostly the anger. It was monumental, like the stones that surrounded him now, heavy, dark marble, in the leafy calm of the Fortune Green Ceme...tery.Here was one that looked like an angel, arms crossed over its chest holding a single lily, head bent, a filmy veil across its face. Was that what grief was? A sheer filter through which the beauty and hope of this world could no longer be perceived? He passed a cumbersome family crypt, bolted with black wrought-iron gates. On top there was a great stone urn, wrapped in winding drapery. This was the common theme; in death, the living were cut off from their loved ones by doors that were shut forever, the great mass of despair covering them like thick folds of fabric, weighing them down.He walked up the wide central pathway, stones crunching beneath his summer shoes.MoreLess
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