by Perry Moore
I didn't even have time to panic. I started for Scarlett, and I spotted Ruth making a break to help Larry.
The dark blur disappeared, and Ruth and I made sudden eye contact before we could make it to our friends. One of us would be next. Then Ruth's fear melted away, her face muscles relaxed, and I saw a peace overcome her. She looked at me and smiled. It was the most serene expression I'd ever seen on her face, and it made me realize how beautiful she must have been when she was young, why that man had risked his life to be with her.
In a flash she was gone. Just like that. One minute she was standing there, and the next she was hurtling through space directly toward a giant oak tree, carried by a dark, inexorable force. I saw her brittle body smack against the wide trunk of the tree at full force and then collapse, utterly limp, onto her face in a mat of pine needles. Chills shot their way through my body. My teammates were getting picked off one by one, and I couldn't act fast enough to save them.
Then I felt the searing pain of two hands beginning to crush my head. They lifted me from the ground by my face, and I wondered if my head was going to pop off my neck. Suddenly I was airborne, being propelled through the air at an impossible speed. I managed a glance behind me and saw another massive oak fast approaching. In a moment my body would be crushed against it like Ruth's. In front of me was nothing but a dark blur.
I struggled as much as I could, kicked my legs. In a few seconds I would be pulp. It couldn't end like this. My teeth managed to grab hold of a finger, and the hand pulled away from my head. Then I felt a different pain. The hands gripped my neck and squeezed. The pressure of those hands was incredible; they pushed so hard that I could feel them drive the ring on my necklace clear into the skin, right into my throat.
And suddenly, just short of impact with the tree, the hands pulled away, the dark blur whizzed back up into the sky, and the clouds disappeared. The ring fell back down and hung on my chest.
I tumbled to the ground, somersault over somersault. I finally stopped rolling and looked up, dizzy, and saw the sky spinning bright blue. The dark blur was no where in sight.
I tried to see straight. I saw a shining golden arc shoot toward the tree where Scarlett hung. Golden Boy tore open her tarp and sped her safely to the ground, where she gasped for breath.
I heard the chokes and wheezes of a dying man and saw that I'd landed close to Larry, who was straining for every last breath he could manage through his windpipe. I was on top of him in a second, my hands gently around his neck, and I felt his trachea spring back to its proper shape in the heat of my grip. He began to breath evenly again, though clearly it was still painful to take in air.
We saw Ruth crumpled by the oak tree she'd been smashed against. She lay in a limp, fetal position.
I raced over to her. Larry tried to keep up. Golden Boy scooped up Scarlett, and we were all beside Ruth within seconds.
We stood around her, sure of the worst. Her frail body didn't move.
Scarlett buried her head in Golden Boy's chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and she let him. Larry choked back a tear. I crouched down and put my ear over Ruth's mouth and prayed that I'd hear some breathing.
She suddenly sat up like she'd found a good yard sale.
"What's everybody looking at? I ain't dead yet!" She struggled to catch her breath and wiped a clump of oak leaves off the side of her face. "Knocked the wind out of me, that's all."
Scarlett laughed through her tears. Larry and Golden Boy and I all shared smiles of joy and relief. Ruth began to push herself off the ground to get to her feet.
"Help a tired old lady get up, will you, kid?" She reached out a hand in my direction.
Our expressions suddenly changed. Scarlett's jaw dropped, Golden Boy turned white, and Larry actually gasped out loud. I grabbed Ruth's hand, but I didn't help her up. She looked at me curiously as I began to lay her carefully on her back on the soft mat of pine needles.
"What?" She didn't like what she saw in our expressions. "What is it, what's wrong?"
Then she saw that my hand was covered with blood. Her blood. Her eyes moved in a trail as she followed the blood from my hand to hers, from her hand up her arm, and from her arm to her chest.
We hadn't seen the blood at first because it matched the red of her dress.
There was a hole in her chest the size of my fist, and just inside it we could see the broken-off end of a sturdy oak branch. It had impaled her and broken off when she slammed into the tree. Scarlett covered her mouth, trying her best not to let the horror show on her face.
I reached into the wound and yanked the chunk of wood out of Ruth. I covered her chest cavity with blazing hands. Golden Boy disappeared in a flash to get an ambulance, and Scarlett cradled Ruth's head. Ruth gripped my wrists with viselike desperation.
"Don't let me die," she whispered. "I thought I was ready for this"—she gulped in as much air as she could hold in her leaking lungs—"but frankly I'm a little scared." Then she began to choke on her own blood as the life ebbed out of her.
I focused all my energy into the healing power of my hands. I tried to deny the thought going through my head, that this had been what Ruth had seen this morning when I found her crying. That there was no use in trying to save her, that she'd seen this clearly, the moment of her death.
Through bubbles of blood, she spoke. "Don't worry, I'm a tough old broad."
But her eyes betrayed her fear, and she began to whimper in pain. The more blood she lost, the more her grip relaxed on my wrist.
Her breathing soon went from shallow to nothing.
"She's not breathing!" Scarlett screamed.
I strained with all my might to make my hands as hot as a white star. The damage was so massive inside; I'd never been able to heal anything that bad. I couldn't even keep up with all the bleeding, much less try to heal the severed organs.
Larry rose to his knees and began administering CPR on her rib cage above my hands. Scarlett laid Ruth's head back, pinched her nose, and put her mouth over Ruth's crimson lips to give her mouth-to-mouth.
"C'mon!" My voice broke like a little boy's. "We're losing her!"
Larry's CPR compressions shook her body. I thought I heard a rib crack. I could feel Scarlett's breath blow out of the hole in Ruth's chest.
"WHERE'S THE FUCKING AMBULANCE!" Scarlett screamed.
Then Ruth coughed and suddenly came to, and opened her eyes for just a moment. She began to say something through her bloodstained lips, and Scarlett leaned in close to listen. I kept my hands welded to Ruth's chest, covering the wound, and then I experienced a new sensation I'd never felt when using my powers before.
My hands went cold.
Ruth struggled to whisper a few words to Scarlett. I leaned over and looked right into her eyes.
"You've got to help me, Ruth! Fight it!"
I didn't want her to see me cry. Scarlett was bawling, and Larry put his arm around her.
The corners of Ruth's mouth raised ever so slightly, and she looked at me with heavy, sleepy eyes.
"I was wrong," she said, her voice weak, barely audible. "About what happens after ..."
"Don't go, Ruth! PLEASE!"
Her eyes suddenly lit up as if she saw something else. Her face looked joyful, and tears of happiness, relief, and joy rolled down her cheeks. She whispered her final words to me.
"He's there, Thom," she said. "He waited for me."
Ruth's eyes rolled back in her head. I gently closed her eyelids.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RUTH'S FUNERAL WAS a simple, unadorned affair, much like her life. Even though it was summer, the day was gray and a chilly mist drizzled in the air. The funeral home attendant asked if I'd like to say a few words, but I declined. Ruth had always been the one with something to say.
Scarlett wore a black dress that was far too short for a funeral, and bawled throughout the ceremony. She wouldn't let Golden Boy stand near her. Each time he approached to lend her some comfort, she'd slip through the s
cant crowd to another pew. Larry sneezed uncontrollably throughout the whole service.
Ruth deserved a better memorial than this; Ruth deserved a better life. She was my friend, and she never gave a shit that I was gay. She actually believed in me, and now I didn't see how I was going to go on without her. There was a tremendous bouquet of expensive flowers on the altar from the League. How generous. It was so big that it dwarfed the casket. In fact, it took me a few minutes to realize there even was a casket. A reporter or two lingered by the door. No one from the League bothered to attend.
I turned around and scanned the crowd. Maybe I hoped to catch someone from her life lurking in the background. A relative, her old partner from the Wrecking Balls, anyone I could share a memory with. Anything to keep her memory alive just a little bit longer.
I thought I saw someone dressed in black hiding in the foyer. I excused myself and stole out of the pew to see who it was. My shiny black Sunday school shoes looked brand new, and they were smooth on the bottom because I rarely wore them. As a result I slipped on the carpet in the middle of the aisle, and everyone saw me drop. Shit! The last thing I wanted to do was make a mockery of Ruth's service. As I started to get up from the floor, I made eye contact with Scarlett, who grinned and stifled a laugh.
I thought for a second and realized that no one would have enjoyed me sprawled out on the floor of her funeral more than Ruth. She would have been cackling louder than anyone. I chuckled and began to push myself off the floor.
And suddenly I was standing face-to-face with a new guest.
"Hello, Thom," my father said.
Dad always looked good in his black suit. His broad shoulders filled out the jacket, and he looked more comfortable and relaxed than he ever did in his starched factory uniform.
"Sorry I'm late," he whispered. "How's it going?"
A real barrel of laughs, Dad, it's a funeral.
"Where have you been?" I asked, loud enough for the peo-ple in the back of the chapel to turn around and look at us.
Dad tilted his head and stared at me. It sounded like an accusation from his own son, and I didn't mean it to come out that way, but I'd been thinking about it since Justice asked me the same question. I thought about the clean uniform in the washing machine and how I'd seen so little of him lately.
I rubbed the back of my neck, felt the leather string of the necklace Mom had given me. I went to reach for the ring, to feel the perfect circle between my fingers, but I stopped short. I couldn't tell him about seeing Mom. I kept myself from even thinking about it.
We hadn't really talked about anything since I'd decided to step forward at the news conference. I bit down on my lip to stop it from quivering.
I looked up to him with sad eyes. Neither of us said a word for the longest time. Neither of us moved.
I couldn't read his expression. It was solemn, his eyes deep with pain. But there was something more in his face, and I couldn't tell if it was disappointment, fear, or something worse, maybe anger. His chest heaved as he drew in a long breath. I thought he wanted to speak to me, but maybe he didn't know what to say.
I didn't know what to say either, but I knew one thing with all my heart: I needed him to hold me. Like all those times when I was sick and he came upstairs to my room and held me through the night and told me everything was going to be okay. I was racked with pain and guilt and grief, and I missed Ruth so much. If he just held me I could cling to the idea that my father could somehow fix everything.
As he looked at me, suddenly I caught a glimpse that he was fighting just as hard as I was to hold back tears. But he didn't move forward. His arms remained at his sides. He couldn't bring himself to touch me.
I reached out to hug him, and the minute I stepped toward him I knew it had been a grave mistake.
He winced and pushed my hands away.
Without meeting my eyes, he turned his back on me and walked out of the memorial chapel with strong, even strides.
I stood alone in the aisle, stunned. I knew everyone in the chapel had seen it, but it didn't matter what they thought. I had seen it.
The service ended, and Larry called me over to a side exit with Scarlett and Golden Boy. We snuck into the back room, where Ruth's casket had been taken. Larry looked to Golden Boy, who did a quick loop of the place.
"We good?" Larry asked.
Golden Boy nodded.
"We only have a minute before they take her away," Larry said, and opened the lid of her casket.
Ruth was perfectly white, her skin alabaster, her face at peace, her cheekbones smooth and lifted, her lips so full and red that you couldn't even tell where they'd been sewn shut by the embalmer. Unfortunately, they'd smeared a shade of tacky green eye shadow on her eyelids that she'd never have worn herself. Sure, she was a ballbuster, but she had terrific taste. She always knew how to work with what she had, and she was a great lady.
Scarlett leaned over the casket and placed her hand gently on Ruth's. She ran her young, slender fingers over Ruth's spindly digits, and then held up Ruth's limp hand and stroked it like she was caressing a baby. She stopped at Ruth's ring finger.
The only piece of jewelry Ruth wore was her League probationary ring. We looked at each other, and then at Ruth's four bare fingers. None of us said another word. We didn't need to.
Scarlett slid the League probationary ring off her own finger and held it up with a sad but determined look on her face. Larry, Golden Boy, and I slid our rings off our fingers, too, and held them up.
Scarlett whispered something into Ruth's rosy, powdered ear and slid her ring onto Ruth's pinky finger, then stood up to make room for Larry. Larry leaned over the casket, gave Ruth a sweet kiss on her forehead, and slipped his ring onto Ruth's middle finger. He smiled a little that he'd got the one finger she'd used the most in life. Golden Boy moved up, careful to step around Scarlett, and gently held Ruth's hand and slipped his ring on her index finger. He laid her hands back on her chest in a crossed position and closed his eyes, his lips moving in a silent prayer.
Then it was my turn. I reached in the casket and grabbed hold of Ruth and hugged her as tightly as I possibly could without snapping any of her brittle bones, and I slid my League ring onto her thumb and carefully laid her back on the worm-proof satin cushion, and closed the lid.
We stood there for a long time over our fallen teammate. We didn't need to speak. We all knew it was over. Then slowly,
one by one, we each went our separate ways without saying so much as good-bye.
I couldn't bring myself to leave the funeral home. As soon as I saw the last car leave, I doubled back round to the delivery docks by the garage. Ruth's casket was sitting alone on the loading dock, waiting to be taken to the cemetery. Ruth didn't have any sort of life insurance; the League had paid the amount necessary to meet the minimum of the state health board's burial requirements.
Maybe the funeral home had forgotten about her and left the casket, and it would remain on the loading dock until someone bothered to ask what the hell it was doing there. Maybe there'd been a shift change, and the guys who left her there had already gone home.
Fire welled up in my belly as I watched Ruth's casket sit there for what seemed like hours. I told myself if someone didn't come soon I was going to drag it to the road, hail a cab, and bury it myself in my own damn backyard.
But two guys in drab uniforms finally pulled up in a paneled truck. One of them wasn't much older than I was. They lifted Ruth's casket and loaded it into the back of the truck, which had no sign painted on its side. It could have just as easily been delivering newspapers or cupcakes.
I'd picked up a few things about sneaking around from my father that came in handy from time to time. The workmen had no idea I'd slipped into the back of the truck when they closed the door and drove off.
* * *
We came to a bumpy stop at the burial site, and I quietly slipped out the back before they came to get the casket. I stole behind a large headstone and watched them carry
Ruth's casket to the spot they'd dug.
What a shitty job, hauling caskets that nobody cared about. The older workman huffed and grunted as they lifted Ruth's coffin. His mottled forehead was wet, and I couldn't tell if it was sweat or drizzle. The radio blared from the front seat of the truck.
A few feet away from the hole, the old-timer tripped over a clump of dirt and stumbled to the ground. The young guy tried to keep his end of the casket up, but the sudden shift in weight was too much for him. Ruth's coffin went tumbling out of their hands, and the lid flew open when it hit the ground.
It took every ounce of self-control I could summon to remain still for the following seconds. They looked at the casket on its side. I could see Ruth's pale, limp arm stretched out on the ground, her forearm covered with grit that slowly melted into a muddy trickle in the drizzle.
They stood and stared at the mess they'd made, and the young guy got this look on his face, his eyes squinting in a fond memory.
"Looks kinda like my grandmother," he said.
They stood for a moment and watched. Then the old-timer patted his partner on the back. "C'mon, let's do this."
He knelt down in the dirt and carefully lifted Ruth's arm. Holding her hand up, he saw the five rings. He licked his thumb and began wiping the mud off them. Then he motioned to his partner.
"Get my bag."
The young guy disappeared in the back of the truck and came back with a huge toolbox. He reached in the toolbox and pulled out what I thought was the biggest pair of hedge clippers I'd ever seen. The handles were long, but the blades were short nubs, a tool perfectly designed to cut something thick and tough.
The old-timer slid our four rings off Ruth's hand, but he couldn't manage to pry my ring off her thumb. The woman was tenacious, even in death. The young worker pulled open the long handles of the clippers, and the old-timer steadied Ruth's hand so that the blades zeroed in on Ruth's thumb.