The End

Kiss #36

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." -Semisonic, Closing Time

Everything inside the temple seemed to call for Yoh's attention – the fine red-and-gold Oriental carpet, the rows of pews with dragon heads for armrests, the ornate roofbeam that glimmered even in the dim and fading sunlight.

Yet Yoh remained fixated upon the bronze urn that a Buddhist priest was now carrying, cushioned from his hands by a jade pillow. The priest knelt before the softly glowing incense bowl before the altar and placed the urn just in front of it.

The rumble of a gong finally pulled Yoh out of his fixated stare. He recoiled. A delicate hand rested itself upon Yoh's leg.

He glanced to his right and saw Anna. The expression on her face was hard to place. It certainly wasn't happy, but it wasn't angry either.

Yoh looked forward, where the priest was leafing through his prayer book. He began to chant, and the few others in attendance lowered their heads. Yoh didn't understand any of the classical Japanese, but he tried hard to feel comfort from the words.

Instead he looked out the window. The hill outside looked like a pumpkin field as the light of the sunset played off its tufts of grass. Marble stones, lined in evenly spaced rows, seemed to stand and salute as the sun made its way down.

Another bang of the gong brought Yoh back to the temple's interior. The priest knelt before the altar. He took a pinch of incense and scattered it within the bowl. A man and woman, both no older than Yoh's father, rose slowly and knelt before the altar together. The woman's veil drifted upwards as she lowered herself and for an instant Yoh saw the grief in her eyes.

Yoh felt the hand upon his leg again. Anna was getting up from the pew. With great effort Yoh followed. As he did he smelled the incense, musty and pungent, almost like the smell after a driving rain.

He knelt and pinched some incense between his fingers. He was shaking and some of it sprinkled onto the carpet. He watched the rest of it become smell and smoke. He was close enough to read the inscription on the urn. Still no words came. He rose slowly.

The priest waited until Yoh was several steps away. Then he picked up the urn and made his way down the aisle and out the door.

This time Yoh felt the hand upon his back. There was no more reason for him to stay.

Around him the scene was beautiful. The sky still glowed with fading embers of sunset. The pathway he and Anna followed seemed to be paved with rubies. Ahead he could barely make out the priest.

Yoh was walking between the marble stones now, some dull and weathered, some polished and sharp. The priest stopped in front of one that looked brand new. He bowed his head as if looking down into the pit that had been dug before it. Then he took the urn and put it in its final resting place.

Anna walked to Yoh's other side and accepted the shovel the priest extended to her. She scooped some earth onto it, but hesitated, and put it back. He felt the hand again. This time it was placed upon his. Together they picked up the shovel.

The light was too dim for Yoh to see the urn. He heard chunks of earth pinging against it as he filled the pit. Then he looked up. The priest was gone.

Yoh looked down at the shovel. He dropped it. Then he looked up at the sky. The stars had come out.

He had something to let out, too. Now was the time.

A great sob came from deep within his chest, a huge, heartfelt cry that shook his entire body. He gasped for air but his sadness stopped him with a mocking hiccup. "He didn't," he managed to say.

He tried again. "He didn't have to die!"

Yoh felt the hands again. They were on his shoulders.

"He was…he was my age," Yoh mourned. "Why?"

Even without Anna's hands on them, Yoh's shoulders were heavy with despair.

"I can't believe…I'm never going to see him again."

He stared down at the half-filled hole. There was no sign of the urn.

"Never got to tell him…how much easier life was with him at our side. Never got to say to him…what a great friend he was …or sorry…for all the stupid things I said and did…"

That confession seemed to open the floodgates. Yoh made no effort to stop the tears as they glided down his cheeks. He couldn't move even as he felt the hands upon his back and the warmth encircling him. Her grip on him was viselike, almost angry.

"Yoh." Her voice was muffled by his shirt. "Your friend knew you loved him. You were always so happy together. So carefree. You could tell just by the way you were together. But If I woke up tomorrow and…God forbid, you were gone…"

It wasn't anger making her grip so tight. It was passion. Maybe more than passion…

"Yoh, I want you to know. Know now and know forever that I don't show it well, but…"

Anna squeezed Yoh so tight it pushed the air out of him. She gave a gasp and stole it all.

"Things are so much easier with you by my side. I'm sorry for all the stupid things I've done. And you're a great friend and so much more."

Love is energy – sometimes nervous, sometimes electric, sometimes blinding – and like energy, it is conserved. When a loved one's life ends, the love does not disappear. Sometimes it is cherished in memory, sometimes it jolts people into the realization that life is finite and precious. Yoh and Anna couldn't put into words what their friend's love had done for them. They just knew something between them had changed. And, as they made their way back to the temple, they knew that was good enough. They didn't kiss in the cemetery. Back at the Inn, however, is another story. Literally…

Dedicated to G.G. (1985-2001)

and to anyone who has lost someone before it was their time.