chapter 33: weeping willow

It was a bad habit.

Amongst many others, she had the bad habit of smoking cigarettes. She did not know why she kept smoking them. She could have easily tossed the pack of Marlboro 100's into the trashcan, along with her green transparent lighter, and felt no need to dig through the crumpled-up homework papers to retrieve the bad habit again. She did not quite like the lingering coat of musk that they left on her clothes after each smoke session. The bad habit, she felt, was seemingly written across her forehead, visible to each passing person with a decent olfactory system. French vanilla perfume never failed to halfway cover the scent. She wondered if those who knew her knew her scent as that—cigarettes and French vanilla.

Everyone had a scent, she reflected to herself as she felt the thick smoke fill her lungs until they burned and then hastily flee from between her chapped lips, almost as desperate for a sense of freedom as she was. Whether by perfume or their bad habits, everyone, no matter if they felt like the most unimportant person in the world, automatically earned some sort of significance at the very second of their birth—a scent.

She remembered her scent. It seemed to physically verify her tangible aura. Her scent was cherry Coke and cigarettes. The latter one was passed onto her, especially after she had been handed her first cigarette only three months ago. Three months was all it took for her to develop that bad habit, but it was not the first nor the only one she developed in that period of time.

Now she laid on the roof where she had smoked her first cigarette three months ago, and she glanced over at the full can of cherry Coke sitting on the concrete next to her, almost as if it were mocking her. A dull ache formed in her heart, a hollow, resounding ache that penetrated her deepest core. A sudden burning sensation in her fingers made her realize that the cigarette was burned to its very end, and maybe so was she.

♠

There were well over five hundred people at the funeral, the graveyard covered in people dressed in black, most of them having spade tattoos somewhere on them. There was no visitation, so August didn't even get to see Willow one last time.

Ronnie sat beside her, his bandaged head hung low as a preacher spoke, stood right in front of the coffin. August's nose moistened at both the icy January air and the tears falling constantly down her face. She felt Cornelia rub her shoulder, but she couldn't draw herself out of her mind. She couldn't even hear a word the preacher was saying.

At the end of the preacher's sermon, Ronnie sniffled before standing up and walking to the podium. August stared hard at the closed wooden coffin, her mind flashing with the memory of Willow's green eyes closing before she fell to the warehouse floor. She remembered her beautiful lips mouth to her that she loved her before the bullet tore her chest open. August pressed her eyes closed as she felt the dull ache in her heart reappear. It was the only thing she had felt the past couple of days.

"It goes without saying that whoever crossed paths with Willow in this lifetime, never met anyone else like her," Ronnie began, his voice shaky before he cleared it and continued meekly. "She was not just the leader of our gang. She was my best friend. She was the laughter resounding in all our ears. She was the life of all our extravagant parties—and, boy, the woman threw some parties."

A few laughs were heard in the crowd, and a few sniffles, but August could not laugh or smile. She just stared at the wooden surface of the coffin that held her lover and listened to Ronnie speak.

"She was a protector—an excellent one at that. I think each and every one of us has had our lives saved by Willow at least once. She cared about her gang, and every move she made was with our welfare in mind. She held so much power and composure. She always managed to stay calm during the storm whenever everyone else panicked, but whenever she was the storm brewing, everyone always shook with fear. She was stronger as one single being than all of us combined. She smart and quick as a whip, and when she struck, it always stung. But she wasn't just that. She was kind and caring and thoughtful. Those closer to her know that she would have taken a bullet for each and every one of us."

August winced, her lips pursing. She was the one in that crowd of people to witness her take that bullet.

"And she was a great friend," he stopped, his voice cracking. He chewed on his lip, staring down at the podium as tears pricked his eyes. "And those who took that dear friend away from us paid for what they did, and they will continue to pay until each and every last one of them have no breaths left to breathe."

August remembered seeing Ronnie shoot Rick straight between the eyes right as Cornelia had dragged her out of that warehouse door, taking her to the car and trying to console her; but August sobbed and cried as they took her back to Ronnie's house where they all had stayed the past two days in preparation of her funeral. She had been inconsolable, her voice gone from how much she had screamed and cried the past two nights.

A tear rolled down Ronnie's cheek, but he raised his chin, straightening himself and holding a warrior-like stance. He was the new leader of the gang, now, and August had to admit that he did hold the position well. But not he nor anyone else would ever come close to being the leader that Willow was.

"Would all of the members of the Blue Porcelain gang please stand in remembrance and respect of the best leader we ever had and ever will have. Willow could never be replaced, and she left us with the same intent she had when she joined as our leader—to protect." He paused, his voice shaky. "Please stand in honor of our leader."

August looked up and watched as hundreds of people slowly stood up, one after another, the area completely silent except for the sound of people standing from their chairs. Almost all five hundred people in the crowd were standing, and it sent shivers up the girl's spine as she watched Ronnie, along with all those standing, hold their hands over their hearts and stay that way for a few emotional moments.

"You will never be forgotten, Will," Ronnie spoke through his tears, allowing his voice to crack.

He was right, August thought to herself as fresh tears streamed her face and her eyes settled again on the coffin that held the dead woman she loved.

She would never be forgotten.

♠

August and everyone else watched in silence as they lowered the coffin into the ground and covered it up with fresh dirt. She watched as people laid flowers down until every inch of her grave and the surrounding area was covered in beautiful, colorful flowers that made her grave stand out from all the others. She watched as people started to file out slowly, consoling each other and saying nothing but positive words about their late leader. When funeral workers came to take away all the chairs and clean up the area, August made her way to the freshly covered grave and sat on the grass beside it, clutching her purse with white knuckles as she tried to not let her body shake from her cries.

"I love you," she whispered. "Everything about you. Your mind, your anger, your love for me, your scariness, your dedication, your intelligence, the way you held me, the way you kissed me." She could barely speak as her throat closed from how hard she began to cry. "I'm so sorry," she breathed, staring at the dirt as if it would talk back to her. She watched her tears make wet spots on the brown surface of the ground, blades of grass gently catching her droplets. "I am so, so sorry."

She stayed there for a few more minutes before she unclenched her hand from her purse, slowly unzipping it and letting her hand cup a round object.

Her cold fingers set the can of cherry Coke on the dirt in front of the gravestone, pressing it into the ground so that it would stay. She bit her lip, trying to get the can just right. When she finally deemed it was a good enough depth in the dirt to stay put, she retracted her hand and let it rest on the silver locket resting on her chest, remembering when Willow gave it to her at Christmas. Her tears fell harder.

"I'm not rushing you," spoke a smooth voice from behind her. She recognized it as Ronnie's. "But I called you a taxi and ordered them to take you back to my place when you're ready."

"Thank you," August mumbled, wiping her nose. She knew she didn't need to be alone during that time, both because of her grief and because of the turmoil erupting in the spiderweb of New York gangs. Willow's death had a ripple of effects that put everyone in danger.

She felt his warm hand touch her shoulder in an almost apologetic but comforting way, and she listened to his footsteps walk away after his hand had disappeared.

August felt like she shouldn't leave her. She didn't want to leave her beloved alone, six feet under the cold ground. She hated the fact that Willow was buried around a whole bunch of other buried people, even if the graveyard was dedicated solely to Blue Porcelain members. She felt that the woman deserved a whole ten acres of space just to herself, and if August could, she would fill every acre up with flowers every day for the rest of her life.

But if August was gifted with wishes, she would've wished that that bullet implanted in her flesh rather than her lover's.

She winced, getting sick at the thought. She wanted to not think about that tragic, traumatic moment, but it was forever etched into her mind.

Letting her hand run over the gravestone and then the dirt, August whispered, "I love you," and slowly stood up, brushing the grass off her black dress. She stared down at the plot and all the flowers, smiling only a little bit. She was glad that Willow at least had the most attractive plot out of all the others. Even after death, she was the biggest and boldest presence around.

Sighing, August finally tore herself away and began making her way through the graveyard and to the entrance where she saw a black car waiting, smoke flowing from the exhaust pipe. She wrapped her light sweater around herself, her legs shaking from being so exposed to the cold by her dress.

She opened the door to the taxi, sliding into the backseat and slamming the door shut. She sniffled, wiping her nose and her cheeks from her tears that seemed to never end. She was sure she would soon get dehydrated from all the moisture leaving her body.

She sheepishly glanced up, looking at the bleach blonde hair of the female driver. She felt embarrassed because of how obviously she was crying, but then again, she didn't care. She just lost the person she loved most, and it was all her fault.

The driver put the car in drive and began to pull out of the graveyard. August watched through the window, keeping her eyes on Willow's colorful grave until they were too far down the road to see.

Pulling at a string on her dress, August sniffed and glanced upwards again at the driver's blonde hair. It was put into a bun, but August could tell that the hair was pretty damaged, tons of split ends poking out. She wondered if the driver had recently dyed her hair, and she wondered if maybe dyeing her own hair would make her feel better. She wondered if changing her identity would make her feel less guilty about being the person responsible for Willow's death.

Her eyes lowered to the back of the woman's slender neck, catching sight of a tattoo. It was a black spade, and the words "Blue Porcelain" tatted directly above the familiar emblem, barely visible above the collar of the black suit that she wore. August closed her eyes, telling herself that of course Ronnie would call a fellow gang member to drive her.

She reopened her eyes, watching the blonde woman take a right turn. She caught sight of her hands turning the steering wheel, the white suit cuffs sliding down the driver's wrists a little. The hands were long and slender, her knuckles sharp. August scrunched her eyebrows, telling herself that she must have been going crazy from how similar she thought the woman's hands looked to...

A red can sitting in the front cupholder caught her eye. She squinted, lifting her head up to get a better sight. She could see some remnants of the drink sitting around the rim of the metal can, probably remaining from the last time the driver took a sip. August noticed the reddish tint to the brown, carbonated liquid, automatically realizing it was a cherry Coke.

The rabbit in her chest thumped, but she swallowed it down, telling herself to stop acting like a psycho. She couldn't let herself go crazy. She needed at least her sanity in order to get through the grief she would suffer over her dead lover for a long, long time.

August decided to divert her eyes before they would again deceive her. She glanced at the window on her other side, her eyes trailing down to the seat beside her where two items sat.

The first thing was a box of blonde hair dye, the top flap tore open and the box easily moving around in the seat with every bump of the car as if it were empty.

She couldn't quite make out what the second thing was, but the longer she looked at it, the more the realized that it was some sort of black vest. She slowly reached over, running her hand over it and flipping it over to find that there was a bullet hole torn through the hard fabric. She parted her lips, running her fingers softly over the hole and loose strings, her fingertips finding cold metal inside the hole. After feeling around, she realized it was a bullet lodged inside the bulletproof vest.

She snapped her head up to the driver to see that she was looking at her through her black sunglasses in the rearview mirror. The sunglasses were large, covering most of the woman's face. But August perked her head up until she could see the plump, pink lips on the lower half of the woman's face. She would recognize those lips anywhere.

August gasped, her eyes widening as she felt tingles run through her. The car pulled over to the side of the road, and she watched with shock as the driver put the car in park.

The woman then turned around to finally face the girl and slid her glasses off her face which earned another large intake of breath from August, tears pricking her already moist eyes as they connected with those cool green ones.

"I told you I was never going to leave you."