Walking Between Stones

Part 2 - An Angel's Tears

The next day was another one of my 'tired days', as I've come to call them. My doctor thought I had mono for awhile but now I know it's just one of the many warning signs for...this disease.

I don't like to call it by its name. It's not that I'm in denial; it's just that when you have something affecting you that you can't see then it's hard to accept or even believe that it's real. I just don't like using the 'A' word. I don't even think it.

I couldn't even say it to my boss when I quit today. I simply explained to him that I had some personal problems to work out and that I had to leave. He thinks it's alcohol related because of the way I used to talk about all the bars I frequented when I first started working here. Little does he know that I hardly ever drink and that those were gay bars I was visiting on my nights off. I don't correct him, though; I'll let him think what he wants. I've been doing that all my life, letting people believe what they want about me. He would rather believe that I was a drunken straight man rather than a dying gay man, and I'll just let him continue thinking that because sometimes the truth is more trouble than it's worth.

I can see the attraction, though, of drowning your sorrows in alcohol. Who doesn't want to leave behind their inhibitions, forget their worries, and see the world through rose-tinted glasses? Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, I don't like the taste of alcohol. I also don't trust myself to find the strength to crawl out of the alcoholic gutter and face reality again once I'd fallen in. The last thing I need to do right now is hide from one problem by acquiring another.

I turn my back on the factory where I've worked the assembly lines for the last three years and walk away without a backward glance.

I've never had so much free time before; the thought of the entire day stretching before with nothing planned is a little daunting.

I watch the Muggles scurry past, hiding under their black umbrellas, rushing to get somewhere as fast as humanly possible. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion as they push past me in the opposite direction, an unnamed urgency in their almost frantic movements. The familiar feeling of isolation washes over me as I struggle against the human traffic of the city sidewalk. I feel like I'm the only one without a place to go or people to see.

I've never had an unplanned moment in my life; from my daily chores at the Dursleys as far back as I can remember, to my structured school life, then working as an Auror and fighting in the war, and finally to my working days as a Muggle. The thought of all this free time is making me uneasy. I wonder if this is how people feel on their first day of retirement? Although those people always seem relieved and excited. This is more like forced retirement.

I spot a coffee shop on the corner across from me and jog through the rain towards it. The inside smells of cinnamon and the comforting aroma of brewing coffee.

I glance uninterestedly around the small shop as I patiently wait my turn in the long queue of customers. It's extremely busy this morning, probably due to the poor weather outside forcing people to seek comfort in the ever growing coffee shop industry. There's a lot to be said for the comfort of a steaming cup of coffee and a pastry, something those money-grubbing executives at Starbucks take great pleasure in charging a small fortune for.

As the girl bustles off to fill my order, I glance at the calendar hanging on the wall behind the cashier and notice with a start that today is July thirtieth, which means...tomorrow is my birthday.

How could it have snuck up on me like that?

I thank the girl and take my coffee outside to drink at an empty table under the faded, green awning.

I know my life has been a bit distracting lately, but to forget my birthday altogether? That would've been unthinkable only a few years ago when I treasured celebrating my birthday more than anything, especially when I still was with Draco. He never celebrated birthdays as a child either, so we always planned ridiculously extravagant parties for each other. I miss that.

I take a sip of my coffee as I listen to the pleasant sound of rain drops pattering on the canvas above me. I always liked the rain, everything about it - from the sound, the feel, and the damp smell of it in the air. I suppose growing up in Britain forces you to embrace the wet weather.

I pick up my plastic cup and decide to take a walk with no destination in mind. I don't have an umbrella with me, so I just let the rain fall onto my bare head uncaringly. My hair is soon plastered down and my trousers soaked through.

I feel a little guilty as the chill settles onto my skin, my doctor warned me that I would be more susceptible to pneumonia now. I take another sip of coffee and push away that nagging inner voice.

My feet carry me across the wet pavement and an unsettling tenseness thrums just under my skin. I'm not sure if it's the caffeine causing this feeling of nervous energy or not. I want to be somewhere, but I'm not sure where. I want to find a safe haven or sanctuary where I can simply be alone, though it's close to impossible to find a private corner in a city as large and as heavily populated as this one.

I find myself wandering for what feels like hours, but a glance at my watch tells me that it's only been forty-five minutes. I've long since discarded my empty coffee cup and I walk slowly with my hands in my pockets.

I amble past row upon row of houses and peer through the illuminated windows curiously. Some are empty, some show mothers or nannies with their children, some show people working, watching television, or retired couples deep in conversation.

The picturesque scenes give me no joy, so I continue to walk.

At the end of the street is a tall, wrought iron fence. The black barrier stretches on for miles, disappearing from view. Beyond the iron bars is a sloping hill of neatly trimmed grass; dotting the massive field are rows of stone crosses and marble headstones.

I am transfixed by the sight. It doesn't depress or sadden me, but fills me with the peaceful solitude that I had been searching for all morning. Is it sick to find comfort in a graveyard? I don't care at this moment and push open the front gate without another thought.

The rain has let up and the air is heavy with mist as I enter the cemetery. My trainers begin to squelch noisily as the wet grass brushes across the thin fabric.

I stop and look around me. On the top of the hill is the largest tombstone in sight. It stands proud and tall in the surrounding fog and I decide that that is my destination.

I ignore the tightness in my chest as I climb the steep hillside, the burning in my leg muscles reminding me that I haven't done any physical activity for quite awhile.

I finally reach the top and stand before the stone statue. It is shaped like an angel, her head bowed, her eyes closed, and her hands pressed together - palm to palm. The statue itself must be at least ten feet tall.

I stare up at her face for a moment, then drop my gaze to the inscription carved into the grey stone below. It reads: 'His body lies beneath the ground, an angel rests above, yet the soul can not be contained, for it will live on in my love.'

I feel sad for the first time since entering the quiet field and I walk around to the other side of the angel and sit down. My back rests against the marble base and I can see over the endless expanse of country-side in front of me.

I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around them for warmth, my chin resting on top and my eyes closed.

I can't believe that it's my thirtieth birthday tomorrow. It's strange, but I feel as if it was only last week that I graduated from Hogwarts and it feels like years since I made that life-altering trip to the hospital yesterday. It's funny how time works.

I wonder how to celebrate this milestone. My thoughts immediately turn to the obvious absence of family and friends, and my heart aches painfully as I think about them. I sit here in a cold and damp cemetery yearning for the touch of a loved one and I realize how sad and self-pitying this whole situation is. I can't even turn to the artificial comfort of an anonymous man's bed anymore; I'm too ashamed to tell them that I am 'tainted', and too decent to not tell them.

I open my eyes and finally allow myself the luxury of crying here in this deserted field of expired life. There's no one to see me and the physical release lends me a little comfort. I realize the irony of thinking about how depressing my birthday is going to be whilst sitting in a place where the inhabitants will never have that chance again.

As the hot tears trail down my frozen skin, I realize that that I'm not crying because my life now has an expiry date, but because I have no one to spend what time I do have left with.

My doctor told me that I would eventually feel the need to talk to someone and he was right. I want the advice of someone that's been in my position, I want to be able to be myself and not hide, but most of all I want the reassurance that life can go on and that I'm not alone.

I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the crumpled, white card. I've kept it with me since yesterday, with no intention of ever really using it. I look down at the stark, black print that lists the place and times of a nearby support group.

I stand up with a sigh and walk around to look at the angel's face again.

"Well, what do you think?" I ask aloud. "Should I go?"

Droplets of rain trail down her cracked, stone face and it looks eerily as if she's crying.

"What have I got to lose?" I mutter quietly.

I turn my back on her sombre expression and walk back down the hill. I push through the gate and let it clang shut as I leave the cemetery behind me.