Spring waits for no one

"Look at those green sprouts on the branch", says my father pointing at the tallest oak. Instead of raising my eyes, I shut my eyelids as quickly as the drapes of a business going into bankruptcy. I don't want to see them. I wish he had not spoken those words. Deep down, I know that, from now on, I'll always associate the early signs of spring with her departure. I used to like spring. And it's not mid-March yet, and I already hate it for good. From now on, I declare, spring is hideous to me.

My father puts his arm around my shoulder and goes on chattering. I wish I could lock up my ears the same way I keep my eyes shut. I wish I could forget his words as they came through me like a ray of sunshine through the fog. But his voice keeps coming. And I cannot simply let the words pass. "You see, Jake, in spring, Mother Earth wakes up, but not all their children wake up again. Plants, animals, people… Some of them have gone to sleep their final sleep. And some others are born. One thing is necessary for the other."

"Don't you dare", I mumble. At first, I think he hasn't heard me. But he takes one, two more steps, and then he pauses. He turns around and, although my eyes are still firmly close, I feel him looking at me with sadness, a sweet and honest look. "Speak up, Jake", he says, "You can talk to me. You can always do."

My lips are sealed now. I don't want to talk. He can't understand. He's only there because he and mum believe I'm too young to face this all by myself. But they didn't know her as I did. They haven't lost her. I did. And I'm the one who has to live with her loss. I'm turning sixteen in a couple of months. Chances are I still got sixty or more springs to live by myself, without her. Through my eyelids, tears begin to flow against my will. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I'm not sad, I'm outraged. This is all so unfair.

Dad is standing next to me. I can hear him breathing, the same way I hear the breeze between the sprouting oaks at both sides of the path to the chapel. He is quiet now. He just stays next to me and waits. And as my tears flow, words escape from my mouth: "Don't you dare romanticize her death, don't you dare!" I finally open my eyes because tears are bursting. And yet, I'm not sad. I'm furious at how everything turned up. I'm mad about the coming spring, and even madder about the fact that she and I won't get to enjoy it together. Not now, not ever.

"I'm sorry, Jake. I-I didn't mean to" my father says. "There's nothing romantic about what happened to Nikki. It's a dreadful loss and a tragedy. I understand how you must be feeling…." "For God's sake would you-JUST-STOP" I raise my voice, I can't help it. He doesn't understand the least. If he could just leave me alone! I hate him. I hate the oaks, I hate the sunshine that her eyes will never reflect again, I hate the breeze that won't tangle her hair once more, and I hate the flowers she will never get to smell. Spring should be banned in a world where Nikki no longer is.

"I understand if you want me to wait in the car", dad says. "You can walk the rest of the path alone if you want to, or we can go home if this is too much for you." I can't imagine going to the service without him though. What can I say to Nikki's parents or her younger sister? She was going to introduce me to her family as soon as she got a little stronger. "Next time", she said. But there wasn't a next time.

There was a first time though, that day when I saw a pair of green eyes and freckles. I remember them as if I could see them now, together with the sound of her laughter and the cool way she had to tell me shocking things, as her diagnosis. It was the very first thing we ever talked about the day we met at the library. She seemed less concerned about the incoming results of the blood test than about the price of the comic book she was about to purchase. I wonder if she ever got to read it: she told me she had a huge pile of brand-new, unread books, but she couldn't keep herself from buying new ones. "Hey, it's not that I'm wasting my allowance. I'll eventually get to read them, right? Bet you I finish this by next spring!" If only she had had more time. If we had had more time. But the world, nature, spring, they wait for no one.

I feel another rush of pain through my chest and I cry again. I give a quiet yell, from the bottom of my stomach. I think it isn't loud enough to scare the butterflies but dad can hear it anyway. And when my eyes finally meet his, I notice they are reddish too. I don't remember I ever saw my father cry until today. I surrender to the impulse and I bury my face in his chest as I did when I was a little boy with a bruised knee. He hugs me. And we weep together in the middle of the path, surrounded by sprouting oaks and birds chirping.

Ages seem to happen when we take a step back. My father offers me his handkerchief and says nothing. "No, dad, ok, you can… you can walk with me, it's fine." I take a glimpse at my watch: the memorial service is about to begin. We bounce through the rest of the path and we bump into Nikki's family and friends. Most of them I've never seen. If all of this should have happened a year later, maybe they would be hugging me too, and asking me how I was dealing with all of it. But today, I guess there are only a couple of people who know who I am, besides her best pal Sarah. I see her standing next to a woman who I recognize as Nikki's grandmother from a picture she once showed me. She's old, wrinkled, and sad. The parents and the sister are surrounded by people, and when dad and I walk towards them I can't think of something appropriate to say besides the customary "so sorry for your loss". I can't begin to explain to them now that their loss is also my loss.

We listen to the obsequies; a man with a deep voice speaks of God's will and unfortunate diseases, about certain precious flowers that only bloom in Heaven, and especially about the duty we all have to carry on to keep her memory alive. They are empty words. He never saw Nikki in his life. And then that's it. I see a wooden casket going into the ground, white petals falling… none of which has anything to do with the girl I met.

Slowly, people start to walk away. My father puts once more his hand on my shoulder and I know it's time to go. Nothing else remains in this graveyard that links me to the girl I knew, the girl I loved. And then, I notice Nikki's mom approaching. She's holding something, a book. "Wait, please," she says. She hands me the comic book from that first time at the library. "I know you must be Jake. Nikki wanted you to have it" she smiles through her tears, "thank you for being there for her. And I'm sorry for your loss too".

I can't believe my ears. As she walks away, I open the comic book and I bump into a dedication: "To J. Please read it this spring for me, will ya? Love, N." I hold the book against my chest and put it under my jacket, it feels like hiding a treasure. Sarah waves at me from a distance, and I respond with a nod.

Again, my father and I walk among the oaks, going back to the car. A gentle breeze dries my tears and a ray of sunshine makes me look upwards. "You're right, old man", I say, "The sprouts are there".

And they don't look hideous. Not hideous at all.