Author's Note: You've got to use your imagination with
this pic. Think of it as age-enhanced to the point of Justin being 60 years old
and Brian 72.
Arriving by limo, they file unobtrusively into the church,
distinguished gentlemen clad appropriately in dark colors. Time has slowed them
down considerably: Brian's knees causing him discomfort most mornings and
Justin's eyesight poor.
"I have to attend," Justin had announced over breakfast the morning he'd spotted the obituary in the newspaper.
"Naturally," Brian had agreed, leaning into his husband with a kiss to the side of his face. Some gestures never get old. "We'll go together."
Now, he absorbs by osmosis the closure that washes over Justin as they sit listening to the eulogy, shoulders pressed together, staring straight ahead.
It hits Justin in the gut as he stands at the grave site
observing the casket lowering into the earth. The source of his pain, inflicted
a lifetime ago and returning to haunt him intermittently as his youth had
slipped into advanced age, has been silenced forever.
His hand reaches for Brian's down at their sides, the last clump of dirt thrown onto the pine box by a grieving family member of the deceased. "I'm glad I can't remember," he utters softly into his ear.
"I still can't forget."
Returning to their limo arm in arm, blessed peace has arrived.
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