I curled into myself when the bagpipes ruffled the air, and the notes of Amazing Grace rippled deep to my core. I somehow found a way to make myself even smaller when the twenty-one bells rang, each ding echoed on in my ears even after the guard had tolled the last chime. But I slid to the ground, a withered piece of who I once was, my heart bleeding when dispatch called out through Eric’s radio.
“Thirteen oh one.” I gasped hearing Eric’s call numbers. Dispatch repeated, “Thirteen oh one.” There was a pause before they continued. “Orange County dispatch, all stations be advised, thirteen oh one has reached his end of watch.” I howled in heartbreak, the words piercing me, the future we had planned was over in the blink of an eye. “Show thirteen oh one, ten seven, on January twenty-one, at fourteen hundred forty-six. You patrol the skies, we’ll patrol the roads.” The radio went off, the color guard moved forward, and then slowly they folded the flag that laid across Eric’s casket.
I sat, trying to prepare myself but I couldn’t. Nothing could prepare me as I stared at that box that held a shell of the man I had given my heart to, a heart that would never be whole again.
His empty motorcycle riding boots sat next to the coffin, along with his hat, and badge.
The sheriff handed me the flag. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Haines. Eric was a great deputy,” the sheriff said and then moved on.
Eric’s boots were placed by my feet, as the assistant deputy sheriff shook my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He moved on, and the procession of condolences began.
I was there, giving typical platitudes: thank you, that means so much, Eric thought the world of you too. One after another, I spoke them as if they were a five-second song on perpetual replay.
The loud roar of motorcycles as they revved broke through the haze in my mind, and I glanced over and admired the beauty of their formation as, two by two, they drove off.
Slowly the people thinned out, and I figured that before too long, I was going to be alone. But to my utter surprise I was wrong. That night, my friends—my true friends—Stella and Leo were with me. Stella was curled up to my back, Leo at my front, the two of them wrapped me in a net of safety as we slept, and they said nothing during the times I woke and cried.
Vivian
I was in the final stretch, or as normal people called it, the reception. I estimated that in about thirty minutes I could sneak out and no one would be any the wiser. It wasn’t exactly as if I accepted the request to be part of their bridal party without reservation. Oh hell no, I asked the whole twenty questions, trying to get out of it. Did she have a sister? A cousin? How about her future husband, he have a sister? What about her second grade best friend? Anyone except me. I would have thought someone would catch on, word would spread that I was a horrid bridal attendant, and they would stop asking me, but no. I was a thirty-fucking-two-year-old widow. That alone should have stopped them. Obviously, since I was still being asked, no one cared.
My day sucked, and my night was slowly swirling down the drain. This wedding had me popping Tums and Stella texting me nonstop throughout the day. She was dying to know when the bomb would be dropped.
Some people never grew up; they settle into their comfort zone, whether it is cheerleader attitude in high school or like now, the bride with her eternal, sorority-sisters-for-life mentality. I didn’t understand it. Sure, we partied together and shared a sorority house, but when college was over and we went our separate ways that was the end.
This whole wedding had been a clusterfuck; two ladies I spoke to via Facebook and hadn’t seen since our ten-year reunion, were in some made-for-television-drama shit. They were best friends and best enemies, always trying to steal the other’s thunder—but all innocence, of course.
I glanced at my phone and smiled at the text that had come in.
Stella: Any bloodshed yet?
Me: No. No one would dare, it doesn’t match the color scheme.
Stella: You sorority bitches are too much for me.
Me: Bite me. We aren’t all catty.
Stella: Meow. So, has bitch 1 gotten even yet with bitch 2?
Bitch One was a bride last year when Bitch Two, the maid of honor, announced during her speech that they could share the date forever because she just got engaged, and then shows off the ring. Needless to say, she got applause and sort of stole the bride’s thunder. But the shocking part was that Bitch Two was stupid enough to ask Bitch One to be one of her bridesmaids.
Me: Not yet but some strange shit has happened.
Stella: Tell me.
Me: During the ceremony the flower girl dropped blue rose petals instead of ivory. No one knew who did it or took ownership of the mess up. Hell, even the speeches went off without a hitch. I give it to Bitch One, she is standing tall. Shit, gotta go.
Bitch One held a microphone as if she were going to eat it. I wondered, for the hundredth time, what I was doing there. I should be with Stella and the rest of the gang. Of all of my friends, they were the ones who stood by me while I fell to pieces after my husband was killed. Not to mention we all rode motorcycles, and we all got into some serious shit together. My true friends weren’t these ladies. Nope, my true friends were my gang and my sister-in-law, she and I were close and always would be, probably because we had
