All Things Concerning Kings: Part IV

The fourth and final part of Rolands story.

     “Take the next left,” Emily said from the passenger seat of Roland’s 1957 Chevy Hardtop.

                ”I wish you’d just tell me where we’re going,” Roland replied.

                He didn’t really care where they were going though, he was just happy to be going somewhere with her.  In less than a week college would be over and their two lives would inevitably split.

                Emily had accepted an internship in California near the coast with some law firm or another, Roland couldn’t remember the name.  He would stay a little closer to home in Ohio crunching numbers and filing various documents. 

Though he had known this moment was on its way for years now, he’d always choose not to think about it.  Pushed it away into one of the dusty cobweb covered corners of thought where he kept other memories and thoughts that didn’t matter.  Now with graduation looming, he couldn’t keep the thought at bay anymore.

                He was just happy to have the time that he did.

                “If I were a gambling man, I’d say I already know where we’re going anyway.”

                “But I would call your bluff and you would lose the gamble.  I promise you’ve never seen this place.”

                For another hour they drove, listening to the radio or talking about this and that.  The spoke of childhood and the way Mr. Grady glared at children who stepped too closely to his fence line.  They listened to the Beatles and agreed that, though catchy, neither of them could understand why they had been given such hype.  They spoke of the kiss they had once shared as teenagers and laughed when they both knew that what they had was more than a kiss.  They listened to Otis Redding and envied his ability to do nothing but sit on the dock of the bay.

                Finally they arrived at their destination.  A simple overlook just off the main road.  The overlook was on a piece of land that a local winery owned and even as they pulled up there were a few couples scattered about, gazing over the hillside and sipping pinot noir.

                “You brought me to a winery?” Roland said as he stepped out of his car, “we could’ve gone to Pepperdocks in town for wine.”

                “Were not here for the wine, we’re here for the memory.”

                She took his hand, a friendly gesture, and led him to an elaborate stone wall the owners of the winery had built partly as a boundary and partly to give the admirers a place to sit.

                When they reached the wall and Roland got a full glimpse of the expanse of the land his breath caught in his throat.

                “This place is gorgeous, Em.”

                Before them lay a partial valley, either mountain side covered in dense green.  At the base, a river cut its way through rock and hillside, stopping the two hills from fully touching.

                “I saw a picture of this place once that a girl in my class had taken.  I knew right then that we needed to see it together,” Emily said.

                “Look at it, Roland.  It’s us.  The hills are the lives that we’ve built side by side and so close, so similar.  The trees are the friends we’ve made, the knowledge we’ve gained, strong and wise.  The river both links us together and keeps our lives from spilling into one another, just the right distance.”

                Roland smiled and squeezed her hand, “it’ll always be us Em.”

                Emily rested her head on his shoulder and smiled.  “No matter what.”

               

 

Anson’s truck hit a bump in the road and caused Roland’s memory to vanish as quickly as it had appeared.  They were close to the cemetery now.

                Most of the ride there had been in silence having only the occasional break with a question or a statement.

                “We should have dinner together after it’s over,” Anna said.

                “We can go to that new Italian place down the road from the mall if you want,” Anson replied.

                “What do you think Roland?”

                “I’d love to guys, so long as you let me pay.”

                “Deal!”  Anson blurted and they all laughed.

                They arrived at the cemetery early, as Roland knew they would.  The three of them strolled through the many rows of tombstones reading names and quotes of great men and women, parables and poem’s on others.  They walked on for a while, passing some time until they came upon the plot that was Emily’s.  It was as final as it seemed.  It was lonely as this was no shared plot.  Emily had never married, she was too free. 

                “She always liked her solitude,” said Anson solemnly.

                “It’s not so much that she liked it, it’s just how she was.  That quality always made the times she shared her life much more special,” replied Roland through a sweet smile.

                “That’s exactly it, Roland,” said Anna, “it was just her way.”

                More people began to file in.  Roland lost count at fifty six, but knew the number went well beyond that, a testament to his earlier statement to see how many lives Emily had touched with her own.

                When everyone had arrived, said their hello’s and gave condolences, the pastor began the eulogy.

                “Look at all of you here,” he began “you’re all connected.  This beautiful woman has run the thread of her spirit through each and every one of you, tying you together without you ever knowing.”

                Throughout the crowd there were nods of agreement, renewed tears, sad smiles and glances at one another.

                The rest of the eulogy went as most do.  Memory after memory, one sweet sentiment followed by another.  When at last the pallbearers ushered her casket in, all the crowd realized the final note was nearing, their last chance to say farewell.

                Somewhere in the crowd a woman began to sing.  At first, the tune and the words were lost between tears and quick gulps of air.  At last the words came through; the tune was strong and clear.

                “When Jesus is my portion, a constant friend is He.  His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me…”

                Roland didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but felt the power of her heart in the words of the song.

                “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” Anna managed to say in between her own gulps for air, “Emily loved that hymn.”

                The woman continued the hymn while Emily was lowered into her cold grave.

                “And I know he watches me…..”  The woman had sung her final line.  The casket was out of sight.  They all stood on the snow covered ground while the first few shovels of dirt were cast into the grave.

                They all wept.

                Roland lost his sense of time afterwards.  All of Emily’s friends and family took solace in the strength of one another.  As he passed through the crowd from person to person he would catch bits of a story here, part of a memory there.  He heard laughter and sadness, he saw smiles and tears.  In the midst of it all he thought to himself how blessed he was to know her.

                The crowd dissipated an hour later leaving Roland, Anson, and Anna standing over Emily’s grave.  Anna removed a single white rose from inside her coat and placed it at the base of her sister’s tombstone.

                “Love you sis.”

                Then the three of them left.

                Later on at the Italian place, the tears were replaced with laughter.  The three of them shared stories with one another until well past dark.  Some of Emily, some not.  Though Roland knew he would never escape it, he was surprised when Anna asked him about the infamous kiss.  A blush bloomed on his face and Anson and Anna both laughed until their stomachs cramped.

                Final, after the bill was paid and the day was behind them Anson drove the three of them back to Roland’s house.  As they rounded the curve Roland noticed his dusk to dawn light was shining brightly.

                “My power is back on.  I think I left the heat on, I bet the house is a sauna,” he said.

                Roland gave Anna a gentle kiss on the cheek and shook Anson’s hand, thanked them both for the ride and insisted they keep in touch.  He watched the tail lights of the truck until they disappeared and then went inside.

                He went through his nightly routine.  He traded suit and tie for pajama bottoms and a robe.  Started a pot of coffee.  Checked his e-mail.  Everything was in order.

                While waiting for the coffee to brew he sat in his chair and let all the events of the past two days simultaneously absorb into him and disperse into the farthest cobwebbed corner of his mind.

                The memory of that day at the winery overlook crept back in, something Emily had said sparked.

                “The hills are the lives we’ve built….”

                It made him remember something his father had said to him while he lay on his death bed.  Roland remembered the sound of the morphine drip and his father’s labored breathing.  The sound of the many machines beeps and whirring gizmos.  He remembered the scent of sanitation and broken bodies. 

                Roland sat patiently in a chair by his father’s hospital bed holding his hand when his father’s eyes abruptly opened.  Roland remembered the look of clear intent and purpose in those eyes.

                “What’re you still doing here, son?” his father asked.  “Ain’t you got anything else to do except sit here and wait for me to die?”

                “I just wanted to be with you dad.  I told mom to go home and get some sleep and I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

                “People are always talking about being alone.  There ain’t nothing wrong with being alone.  Hell, half the time we think we are alone, we’re not.”

                They sat in mutual silence for a moment before his father started again.

                “Look at our hands, Roland,” he said.

                Roland looked at their two hands together the way they were and saw again the intent in his eyes.  His father had something to say.   Roland waited for him to say it.

                “At the end of a man’s life, all he has are the things he’s built and the hands he built them with.  A man can look back on the things he’s built and be proud or ashamed.  Someone else can look back on them and see grace or tragedy.  Be a man proud or ashamed, whether his structures are graceful or tragic, it’s the kingdom he built.  The kingdom he leaves behind for others.  It’s the legacy a man leaves behind, son.”

                Roland felt like a little boy again as he listened to his father teach his last lesson.

                “The things we build sometimes crumble, and yet some others stand for eternity.  But this is the way of all things concerning kings.  And you are a king, aren’t you, Roland?  Aren’t you the king of the life you’ve built?  Are your hands callused with the work you’ve done?  Will people look on your legacy as graceful or tragic?”

                His father’s words were as clear to him now as they were then all those years ago.

                Roland looked now at his hands.  He thought of his life.

                “I’ve never been a man filled with pride and I have been ashamed of only those things I should have.  I can only hope I lived a life filled with more grace than tragedy.  I could’ve done nothing, built nothing, became nothing without the people in my life,” Roland said a little to himself, mostly to the memory of his loved ones

                “I hope I have made you all proud.  I pray I’ve done right by you all.”

                After making a cup of coffee, he made his way to his room and stood again at his “picture window”.  He looked out at his neighborhood.  His imagination leapt from his mind to the middle window pane.

                A vision of Jason, full of love for life, chugging a can of beer.  A memory of his father getting out of his truck covered in wood shavings and smelling of oak, a scholar and builder of kingdoms.  His best friend Emily at a jazz club, dancing with her eyes closed as though no one else existed.  And his wife, in a sun dress, standing in their lawn as he left for work, blowing a kiss from her fingertips.

                Roland took a large gulp of coffee.  A tear crawled from his left eye and came to a sojourn at his chin.  A tear for all the people he loved.  A good tear.

                “Without you all, I am no one.”

Author's Note

I really tried to cut every thing out of this that didn't belong or had no true relevance to anything. Feel free to slam it.