We stood side by side putting on makeup.
She uses the brushes, but I always use the tips of my fingers to apply.
Her mouth opens and circles when she lines her eyes...and I laugh.
Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. And she does too.
We are garbed in black.
"How many funerals have we gotten ready for together now?"
"Three...this last year and a half." she frowns
I do too.
We stare at each other in the mirror.
She slowly starts to apply makeup again, and I unwind my hair from its high bun.
I sigh and run a brush through my hair.
Today was hard. Tears line every eye, strangers hug me.
My cousin comes up to me. His smile lights his face...but it is weary. Tired. worn. Strained.
It is his wife who's life we celebrate this day.
Her death we mourn.
She was 33. Too young.
He hugs me tight and murmers against my neck. "It has been to long cuz."
I sniffle and rub my hands along his back.
"It has." I agree, and nod.
He starts to walk past me, and his fingers catch my hair. He stops.
My hair between his fingers. He stares at it and rubs it between his hands.
I can see in his eyes. He must be on valum. He must.
So calm is his body. His words lazy.
He stares at my hair and slides his fingers on it....and smiles back down at me...and then walks on. To the next Hug. The next sniffle. The next set of tears to litter his neck.
I watch him go. My heart hurts for him.
I feel slightly uncomfortable here. Among those I once was closest too.
My daughter spins on a pole...and I smile and walk to her "I get half your cut when you are grown."
"my cut of what?" she stops and looks up at me.
"You my daughter, are a damn fine pole dancer."
"Oh! I am!" so proud was she. Innocent.
She smiles me...I smile back.
And we turn to leave.
