The child stood there, headphones firmly adhearsed to her heavily pierced earlobes. One black-swathed fingernail hovered over the controls of her CD player, and every now and again it would punch the ^ VOL. button to try and drill the harsh music further into her brain. She stood there against the pastel-colored wall, stark in her poorly-fitted short black dress and flats. There were people all around her, but no one bothered her, no one spoke. No one knew what to say. Finally, a visibly nervous middle-aged woman in a tailored beige pantsuit approached the girl.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Hey Ann...” She tapped the girl on one thin shoulder. Ann jerked noticeably in surprise, then saw the newcomer for the first time. The fingernail slammed down onto the ‘pause’ button.
“Hey there. How long have you been standing there?”
“Just arrived. What’re you listening to?”
“Black Sabbath.”
“Oh! I, um... I see.”
“Yes.” Ann brushed a strand of her short black hair out of her once-innocent black eyes and looked definitely at her mother.
“Um, well anyway Annie, I was thinking about going soon, all right?” The fingernail mashed the ‘play’ button.
“I’m not leaving. Tim can drive me home.”
“No, now Ann I really think that-” But Ann was no longer listening. The woman just sighed and looked sadly into her daughter’s face, now concentrated on something far away. Her mascara was running on one eye, the tears slicing a black streak down one cheek. Her mother gave up and walked across the room to the doorway. A tall, pale young man with an earring and black-spiked hair met her halfway.
“Hey how’s Ann doing?” The woman tightened her lips with displeasure.
“Drowning her sorrows in your metal CDs. And you, Tim?”
“Good, I guess. Mrs LeFevere is taking it pretty hard. But under the circumstances-”
“I know. Are you going to be here much longer?”
“Yeah. I never abandoned my best friend before. And now is when he needs me most.”
The woman nodded in faux comprehension, then left the room. A young man, about the same age and height as Tim, came up behind him. His bushy blond hair was carefully combed, and his black suit almost complimented his heavy-set appearance.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Do you think that anyone knows... hell even suspects?” Tim’s once warm brown eyes narrowed.
“Let’s take a walk, Chip.” Chip nodded, and retrieved his coat from where it was draped haphazardly over the back of a pew. They both exited the small chapel area and wandered down a hallway to a side exit. The two men took a seat on the crumbling concrete step outside, thinking. Tim tapped a cigarette out of a battered Camels box, lit it, and held it in his shaking hands, feeling the warmth.
“Did you take the pipe?” Chip nodded.
“Yeah. He had a half gram in what was left of his glove compartment, too.” He reached into the pocket of his blazer and produced a tin Cinnamon Altoids case, which he passed to Tim. Opening the metal container, Tim took out the crack pipe and turned it over in his hands.
“Imagine. This damned thing is the cause of so much pain.” Chip carefully adjusted his round wire-rim glasses over his dark blue eyes.
“Now you’re sure. No one else knows the truth.”
“Ann does. But that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.” Chip opened his mouth a bit, almost objecting with Tim’s words. Then he really thought hard about his whole situation.
“Truth be told,” he said. They looked over the graveyard before them, thinking of their lost friend, once so happy, now so cold.
