I Did Not

A Story by Rachel

There was no light in the church. The sun had set and the lights had been turned off, leaving an eery look. Slowly, the congregation lit up, candle by candle, until the whole crowd of people were glowing. The flickering light cast shadows on the walls and the faces of strangers.

Packed shoulder to shoulder they stood, clad in black, surrounding a thick dark box. My friend stood by its side, clinging to it, her knuckles white. Her mom stood behind her, one hand on her back and the other beside her hand on the box. I stood beside them quietly, looking around at the people I hardly recognized Strangers, they were strangers to me.

I peered up at Mrs. Deirdre again, her hand still on her daughter’s back. A tear trickled down her cheek and over the corner of her lip, shining in the glow of the candles.

I looked at my dad standing behind me, his face hard yet sad. My mom cried as well. I glanced at the face of a stranger to my left, a tear also on his cheek. There wasn’t one on mine.

I looked at the long box again quizzically. It wasn’t there the last service on Sunday. Where did it come from? I leaned in closer but I couldn’t look inside, the top of my head barely clearing the edge. My brother stood in front of me and stared down at the box. He also cried. I did not.