Cemetery Street

By shear force of will, Shannie rose, her grief shelved for the task at hand. A cough broke the silence as she glided to the lectern. She paused, taking in the sea of faces. Her untamed hair, strewn about by an imaginary gale, belied her composed face. Her ashen skin contrasted against her black dress. She fumbled for her glasses. Oval spectacles framed her bloodshot eyes. She sighed.

"Words usually don't escape me," Shannie began; her small voice booming over the church's PA. "Today they've abandoned me. I've looked everywhere, but I can't find them. I looked in the trees we climbed as little kids - but they weren't there. I've looked up and down the sidewalks of Beyford - but I didn't find them there. I've searched through his possessions, even looking under the seat of his truck - I didn't find them there. I searched his letters home, hoping to find words amidst the grains of sand from the Arabian desert - but they weren't there either."

"If I found them, could they describe our feelings? Can words explain grief? Does sorrow come close to describing the feeling in our hearts? Does loneliness describe the emptiness that consumes us? Does shock explain our numbness? Does desperate describe the need to see his face, hear his voice? Does anger define the inferno raging in our stomachs?"

"If they did, so what? Despite all our hopes and prayers, words won't bring him back. Maybe it's better that the words stay lost, I think if I found them they'd be inadequate. How could words describe such a person. A single name couldn't contain his spirit; some of us know him as Leroy, or Leroy, Jr. or Junior or whatever. Some of us know him as Count." For a brief second, Shannie's eyes locked on mine. "I'm sure he has knick-names none of us know. Just as names fail to describe his spirit, can we trust words to describe his persona? Can they serve Count as he served his family, friends, and country? I know him to be a hero, a protector, friend, critic, wise ass, stooge, aggravating, aloof, sometimes aggravatingly aloof, nosey, sometimes overly so, socially aware; he's the closest I've ever had to a big brother." Shannie paused, nodding her head, "he is my big brother. I only have to look out to see that he is a son, savior…"

The good minister winced on that account, apparently forgetting the circumstances. Shannie continued: "…boyfriend, lover, friend, favorite son, and yet, some feared him." Someone in the congregation coughed. "Obviously they deserved to see that side, for they were incapable of seeing what there is to love, admire, and emulate.