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Primani (priman’i) n. [Latin]: Soldiers of the First Legion
Prologue:
ANCIENT OAK TREES LOOMED like sentinels standing watch above the rolling hills. In summer, they would be majestic and beautiful. In March, they were skeletal against the dark clouds and dead grass. It was cold and gloomy—a good day for a funeral, I guess. If you’re into dark and creepy, this was perfect.
Marc was waiting for me. He’d shown up in black pants and a jacket he must’ve borrowed from his father. Like a little kid playing dress up, he seemed awkward and uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. At least he was here. We hadn’t seen each other since the day my world ended. He’d been the one to drag me away from my mother’s body and hold me together while we waited for the police.
As the service got started, I stood between Marc and my long-distance father, surveying the crowd and doing my best to stay calm. A lot of people lined up around the casket in support of our family and in remembrance of the woman who’d so briefly touched their lives. My mother’s best friend, Billie, was quietly crying into a tissue. Her boyfriend held her upright by the elbows. Her eyes were shattered. Did I look like that? Is that how everyone sees me right now? I carefully pulled my face into a blank mask. Better.
The service dragged on forever. Reverend Vaselli droned. I’m sure he talked about what a great life Mom had had and how many people would miss her. I’m sure he talked about Heaven and angels and God’s mercy. The reason I’m sure he talked about these things is because that’s what ministers do, right? The truth is I stopped listening the second he started talking. Frozen as a statue, I stood ramrod straight, thinking of anything else to block out the words. If I listened, if I heard, if I looked, I would implode. I would lose control. I would cry like a baby in front of all these people. No. That was not something I wanted to do. My grief should be private. I needed to be dignified, strong. I was screaming inside, but my face was blank, so painfully blank. My teeth ached from clenching—my jaw throbbed with tension—my eyes blazed with unshed tears. Would he not hurry up? How much did he really need to say?
I stared off into the trees, watching their bony arms claw at the gray sky. My mind wandered to the highway barely visible over a ridge. The faint sounds of moving cars drifted on the breeze. Where were those people going? Were they on their way to work now? Were they going to the store? Running errands? Normal things . . . what was my normal now? And still, the reverend talked . . .
After an eternity, I heard him say, “. . . dust to dust. Amen.”
Everyone echoed the words. Amen. Amen, indeed. I placed a single yellow rose on the casket. It was her favorite. My hand shook so hard I curled my fingers into a fist, nails gouging crescents. Damn. Oh, Mom . . . Why? Why you? The screaming in my head beat against my throat demanding release, demanding a voice. A tear rolled down my frozen cheek, a trigger to open the dam. I leaned against the casket, willing the tears to stop, letting my hair veil my face, silently saying goodbye to the most important person in my life.