Tiny Wooden Cross

Ricky stood outside the church as the hands of old relatives caressed his own.

"I’m so sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man.”

“He’ll be watching over you, son.”

“You have a guardian angel now.”

All these people were quick to give him assurances. Most of them, he didn’t even know. Ricky nodded, forced a smile, and said “Thank you” a hundred fucking times.

When the Church of St Anthony had cleared out, Ricky felt like he could finally loosen his tie and take a breath. He sat on the step and looked out at the countryside. There was a fair amount of guilt weighing him down, and he was having a hard time deciphering exactly what the cause was. Was it because he hadn’t seen his old man in a couple of years before he was killed? Or was it that he didn’t give a shit?

His mother, Rosie, and her newfound lover, Angie, walked out of the church and didn’t waste a second before lighting their cigarettes.

“You coming home?” Rosie asked,

“In a bit. I think I’m just going to hang out for a while.” “

Suit yourself,” Angie added. “Make sure to visit your sister in the hospital, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go after.”

“Alright, kiddo.”

After the cars pulled out and the dust from the parking lot settled, Ricky went around back to the tiny graveyard to have one last chat with the old man.

The family was broke. So, instead of a headstone, Earl Walker had a small wooden cross that was no higher than Ricky’s shins when he stood in front of it.

Earl’s ashes were placed between his father and his mother, who had large stones with etchings describing them as lovable, courageous, and proud. These stones had been paid for by their insurance, which Ricky’s family had none.

“Hey, dad. How’s it going?” Ricky asked, and looked around the graveyard to make sure that no one was watching him talk to a wooden cross. He felt stupid. But he also felt it was necessary. If he didn’t do it, it would gnaw at his brain like a mental rat. Slowly driving him crazy.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like you can hear me. But here I am anyway. I just wanted to say that you know, you really fucked us up. Jenny is in the hospital. She swallowed like a pound of sleeping pills. Mom has some kind of thing going on with Angie from work, and I’m just here, feeling numb to it all, but feeling scared that when it wears off, I’m going to go crazy, ya know?”

Ricky paused before realizing that he was waiting for an answer. Then he laughed at himself and sat down on the dewy grass.

“But I’m not going to make you a martyr dad. I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of saying you left us, and you broke my heart, or anything like that. I have no delusions about what you were. You were a drunk. A gambler, a whore, who put those three things in front of his family. You weren’t a hero, and I won’t cry for you. But I will forgive you because you are what you are, despite wanting to think otherwise. Some people spend their whole lives trying to find the version of themselves that they think exists somewhere, only to realize that they were chasing shadows. If you taught me anything, dad, it’s just to be who you are, even if that’s a monster.

Ricky pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and carefully unfolded it.

“Someday I’ll buy you a stone, dad. But for now, all I have is a piece of paper. Jenny wrote a small poem for you from the hospital and told me to give it to you cause she couldn’t be here today. Anyway, here it is. Here you lay, ashes under stone. Never a king, never a throne. A man who has died like the rest all alone, but perhaps several hearts were broken that day, including my own.”

Ricky felt his eyes beginning to water and knew that it was time to go. He placed the paper under the wreaths of flowers. He kissed his fingers and placed them on top of the tiny wooden cross.

“See you next time, old man.”