The Gravity of Us
Page 9
“Fans were invited to attend the funeral?”
“Yeah, Kent put it in his will. All the money is being donated to a children’s hospital. I got solid seats. My best friend Heather was supposed to come with me, but she went into labor—freaking kids ruin everything.”
I laughed.
“Do you want my extra ticket?” she asked. “It’s super close up front. Plus, I’d rather sit beside another G.M. fan than a Papa Russell fan. You’d be shocked by how many people are here for him.” She paused, cocked an eyebrow, and went digging through her purse. “On second thought, maybe not, seeing as how he was the one who croaked and all. Here you go, they’re opening the doors now.” She handed me her spare ticket. “Oh, and my name’s Tori.”
“Lucy,” I said with a smile. I hesitated for a moment, thinking how weird and out of the ordinary attending a stranger’s funeral in an arena was, but then again…G.M. Russell was inside that building, along with my flowers, which were going to be tossed in a few hours.
We made it to our seats, and Tori couldn’t stop snapping photographs. “These are amazing seats, aren’t they? I can’t believe I snatched this ticket up for only two thousand!”
“Two thousand?!” I gasped.
“I know, right? Such a steal, and all I had to do was sell my kidney on Craigslist to some dude named Kenny.”
She turned to the older gentleman sitting on her left. He had to be in his late seventies, and was handsome as ever. He wore an open trench coat, and underneath it, a brown suede suit with a polka dot blue and white bowtie. When he looked our way, he had the most genuine smile.
“Hey, sorry, just curious—how much did you pay for your seat?”
“Oh, I didn’t pay,” he said with the kindest grin in the world. “Graham was a former student of mine. I was invited.”
Tori’s arms flew out in a state of complete and utter shock. “Wait, wait, wait, time out—you’re Professor Oliver?!”
He smirked and nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“You’re like…the Yoda to our Luke Skywalker. You’re the Wizard behind Oz. You’re the freaking shit, Professor Oliver! I’ve read every article Graham ever wrote and I must say, it’s just so great to meet the person he spoke so highly of—well, highly in G.M. Russell terms, which isn’t really highly, if you know what I mean.” She chuckled to herself. “Can I shake your hand?”
Tori continued talking through almost the whole service, but stopped the moment Graham was called up to the stage to deliver the eulogy. Before his lips parted, he unbuttoned his suit jacket, took it off, unhooked his cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves in such a manly-man style. I swore he rolled each sleeve up in slow motion as he rubbed his lips together and let out a small breath.
Wow.
He was so handsome, and effortlessly so, too.
He was more handsome in person than I thought he’d be. His whole persona was dark, enchanting, yet extremely uninviting. His short, midnight black hair was slicked back with loose tiny waves, and his sharp square jaw was covered with a few days’ growth of beard. His copper-colored skin was smooth and flawless, not a blemish of imperfection anywhere to be found, except for a small scar that ran across his neck, but that didn’t make him imperfect.
If I’d learned anything about scars from Graham’s novels, it was that they, too, could be beautiful.
He hadn’t smiled once, but that wasn’t shocking—after all, it was his father’s funeral—but when he spoke, his voice came out smooth, like whisky on the rocks. Just like everyone else in the arena, I couldn’t tear my eyes from him.
“My father, Kent Russell, saved my life. He challenged me daily to not only be a better storyteller, but to become a better person.” The next five minutes of his speech led to hundreds of people crying, holding their breaths, and wishing that they, too, were kin to Kent. I hadn’t ever read any of Kent’s tales, but Graham made me curious to pick up one of his books. He finished his speech, looked up at the ceiling, and gave a tight grin. “So, I’ll end this in the words of my father: Be inspiration. Be true. Be adventurous. We only have one life to live, and to honor my father, I plan to live each day as if it’s my final chapter.”
“Oh my gosh,” Tori whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. “Do you see it?” she asked, gesturing her head toward her lap.
“See what?” I whispered.
“How massive my invisible boner currently is. I didn’t know it was possible to be turned on by a eulogy.”
I laughed. “Neither did I.”
After everything finished, Tori exchanged numbers with me and invited me to her book club. After our goodbyes, I made it to the back room to collect my floral arrangements. As I searched for my roses, I couldn’t help but think how uncomfortable I felt by the lavishness of Kent’s funeral. It almost seemed a bit…circus-like.
I wasn’t one who understood funerals, at least not the typical mainstream ones. In my family, our final goodbyes normally involved planting a tree in our loved one’s memory, honoring their life by bringing more beauty to the world.
As a worker walked by with one of my floral arrangements, I gasped and called after her. “Excuse me!” The headphones in her ears kept her from hearing me, though, so I hurried, pushing my way through a crowd, trying to keep up with her. She walked up to a door, held it open, and tossed the flowers outside before shutting the door and walking off dancing to the sound of her music.
“Those were three-hundred-dollar flowers!” I groaned out loud, hurrying through the door. As it slammed, I raced over to the roses that had been tossed into a trash bin in a gated area.
The night’s air brushed against my skin, and I was bathed in the light of the moon shining down as I gathered the roses. When I finished, I took a deep inhale. There was something so peaceful about the night, how everything slowed a bit, how the busyness of the day disappeared until morning.
When I went to open the door to head back inside, I panicked.
I yanked on the handle repeatedly.
Locked.
Oh crap.
My hands formed fists and I started banging against the door, trying my best to get back inside. “Hello?!” I hollered for what felt like ten minutes straight before I gave up.
Thirty minutes later, I had sat down on the concrete and was staring at the stars when I heard the door behind me open. I twisted myself around and gasped lightly.
“Yeah, Kent put it in his will. All the money is being donated to a children’s hospital. I got solid seats. My best friend Heather was supposed to come with me, but she went into labor—freaking kids ruin everything.”
I laughed.
“Do you want my extra ticket?” she asked. “It’s super close up front. Plus, I’d rather sit beside another G.M. fan than a Papa Russell fan. You’d be shocked by how many people are here for him.” She paused, cocked an eyebrow, and went digging through her purse. “On second thought, maybe not, seeing as how he was the one who croaked and all. Here you go, they’re opening the doors now.” She handed me her spare ticket. “Oh, and my name’s Tori.”
“Lucy,” I said with a smile. I hesitated for a moment, thinking how weird and out of the ordinary attending a stranger’s funeral in an arena was, but then again…G.M. Russell was inside that building, along with my flowers, which were going to be tossed in a few hours.
We made it to our seats, and Tori couldn’t stop snapping photographs. “These are amazing seats, aren’t they? I can’t believe I snatched this ticket up for only two thousand!”
“Two thousand?!” I gasped.
“I know, right? Such a steal, and all I had to do was sell my kidney on Craigslist to some dude named Kenny.”
She turned to the older gentleman sitting on her left. He had to be in his late seventies, and was handsome as ever. He wore an open trench coat, and underneath it, a brown suede suit with a polka dot blue and white bowtie. When he looked our way, he had the most genuine smile.
“Hey, sorry, just curious—how much did you pay for your seat?”
“Oh, I didn’t pay,” he said with the kindest grin in the world. “Graham was a former student of mine. I was invited.”
Tori’s arms flew out in a state of complete and utter shock. “Wait, wait, wait, time out—you’re Professor Oliver?!”
He smirked and nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“You’re like…the Yoda to our Luke Skywalker. You’re the Wizard behind Oz. You’re the freaking shit, Professor Oliver! I’ve read every article Graham ever wrote and I must say, it’s just so great to meet the person he spoke so highly of—well, highly in G.M. Russell terms, which isn’t really highly, if you know what I mean.” She chuckled to herself. “Can I shake your hand?”
Tori continued talking through almost the whole service, but stopped the moment Graham was called up to the stage to deliver the eulogy. Before his lips parted, he unbuttoned his suit jacket, took it off, unhooked his cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves in such a manly-man style. I swore he rolled each sleeve up in slow motion as he rubbed his lips together and let out a small breath.
Wow.
He was so handsome, and effortlessly so, too.
He was more handsome in person than I thought he’d be. His whole persona was dark, enchanting, yet extremely uninviting. His short, midnight black hair was slicked back with loose tiny waves, and his sharp square jaw was covered with a few days’ growth of beard. His copper-colored skin was smooth and flawless, not a blemish of imperfection anywhere to be found, except for a small scar that ran across his neck, but that didn’t make him imperfect.
If I’d learned anything about scars from Graham’s novels, it was that they, too, could be beautiful.
He hadn’t smiled once, but that wasn’t shocking—after all, it was his father’s funeral—but when he spoke, his voice came out smooth, like whisky on the rocks. Just like everyone else in the arena, I couldn’t tear my eyes from him.
“My father, Kent Russell, saved my life. He challenged me daily to not only be a better storyteller, but to become a better person.” The next five minutes of his speech led to hundreds of people crying, holding their breaths, and wishing that they, too, were kin to Kent. I hadn’t ever read any of Kent’s tales, but Graham made me curious to pick up one of his books. He finished his speech, looked up at the ceiling, and gave a tight grin. “So, I’ll end this in the words of my father: Be inspiration. Be true. Be adventurous. We only have one life to live, and to honor my father, I plan to live each day as if it’s my final chapter.”
“Oh my gosh,” Tori whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. “Do you see it?” she asked, gesturing her head toward her lap.
“See what?” I whispered.
“How massive my invisible boner currently is. I didn’t know it was possible to be turned on by a eulogy.”
I laughed. “Neither did I.”
After everything finished, Tori exchanged numbers with me and invited me to her book club. After our goodbyes, I made it to the back room to collect my floral arrangements. As I searched for my roses, I couldn’t help but think how uncomfortable I felt by the lavishness of Kent’s funeral. It almost seemed a bit…circus-like.
I wasn’t one who understood funerals, at least not the typical mainstream ones. In my family, our final goodbyes normally involved planting a tree in our loved one’s memory, honoring their life by bringing more beauty to the world.
As a worker walked by with one of my floral arrangements, I gasped and called after her. “Excuse me!” The headphones in her ears kept her from hearing me, though, so I hurried, pushing my way through a crowd, trying to keep up with her. She walked up to a door, held it open, and tossed the flowers outside before shutting the door and walking off dancing to the sound of her music.
“Those were three-hundred-dollar flowers!” I groaned out loud, hurrying through the door. As it slammed, I raced over to the roses that had been tossed into a trash bin in a gated area.
The night’s air brushed against my skin, and I was bathed in the light of the moon shining down as I gathered the roses. When I finished, I took a deep inhale. There was something so peaceful about the night, how everything slowed a bit, how the busyness of the day disappeared until morning.
When I went to open the door to head back inside, I panicked.
I yanked on the handle repeatedly.
Locked.
Oh crap.
My hands formed fists and I started banging against the door, trying my best to get back inside. “Hello?!” I hollered for what felt like ten minutes straight before I gave up.
Thirty minutes later, I had sat down on the concrete and was staring at the stars when I heard the door behind me open. I twisted myself around and gasped lightly.
