A Place That No Longer Exists

The tiny crematorium chapel felt cold and functional as she took her seat at the front. There were only three other people there and she had no idea who two of them were. The third nodded in acknowledgement as she passed, a deliberate and emotionless gesture marinated by years of ill feeling. 

The tape she had given the Minister a week earlier played quietly through the sound system, Bach's double violin concerto in D minor. She had deliberately chosen it for its positivity and vigour and the expressive relationship between the two solo instruments; all qualities sadly lacking in their thirty-six year marriage. It was her choice, personal, esoteric and bristling with defiance.

This was the moment she had been dreading since the day she had returned from work to find him silent and motionless in the armchair. The TV had been on and a half finished can of lager stood on the side table, alongside a burnt down cigarette. For five whole minutes she had just stared at the scene, breathing in the stale air as her mind processed what she was looking at; slowly but surely transforming initial disbelief into blessed relief. A faint smile had reached her lips as the realisation struck her. They didn't exist any more.

The Minister had made it easy for her, well aware of the marriage she'd endured. He'd dealt solely with the practicalities of the occasion and done it with a gentle efficiency. He'd teased from her the highlights of their early relationship, in search of positives for the construction of his perfunctory eulogy; but above all, he'd understood exactly how she was feeling as he emerged from the vestry and took up his place at the lectern. He would speak briefly of the departed and how every passing would always lead to a new beginning. He smiled at her and at the meagre congregation, and as he did so, she noticed that he was wearing trainers under his robe. She smiled back and for some inexplicable reason immediately began to feel long lost energy returning. They stood to sing the hymn she'd chosen, Lord of All Hopefulness, and she sang with a gusto which startled the meagre few.

When the short ceremony was over, she remained seated, in the hope that the few would leave. She had no wish to engage with others today, to hear their bland expressions of regret at his passing or their hallow reminiscences. More than anything, she wanted liberation from what had been. Her hopeless, soulless, callous past no longer existed. It had expired in the armchair, still bound to him by chains in that suffocating air. The Minister beckoned her towards the vestry door and she followed gratefully. Words weren't needed between them, he simply let her out of the side door where he'd asked the driver to wait for her, and she hugged him before climbing into the waiting black limousine.

It was over, the ceremony, the formalities and the fuss; but most of all, the subjugation. She sank back into the sumptuous leather seating and watched the familiar pass-by with new eyes. As they crossed town a strange transformation took place as her sepia world slowly and magically blended into glorious colour. She leaned forward and touched the driver gently on the shoulder and asked him to stop anywhere that was convenient. She could see his face in the rear view mirror and the look of concern that had occupied it by her request. He had clearly never been asked to do this before.

The bible black limousine whispered to a halt by the kerbside and the driver left his comfortable domain to open her door. She slid across with as much dignity as she could muster and stepped graciously out into the cold November afternoon. With a reassuring touch to the sleeve of his sombre dark coat she thanked him, told him he could now return to his base and set off along the pavement with a calm determination. After some moments of hesitation the limousine slid quietly past her, taking with it her abandoned 'Order of Service and Eulogy' and decades of subjection. A gentle smile crossed her face as she watched her past glide sedately into her future.

She adjusted her scarf against the chill air and set off in the direction of the park. This was the one place that had always been her sanctuary, a place where she'd escaped from the constant distaste in her life. A place where she had recharged on normality and beauty before having to return to repugnance and repression. This was the home of mother nature, where all that was good and meaningful could be found. This was the place that had sustained her faith in beauty and gentleness.

As she passed through the towering black and gold park gates, an excitable reception party of multi-coloured leaves scurried around her feet, ushering her to her favourite seat before swirling away to find new friends. She closed her eyes and began to sense the season. Now in the Autumn of her own years she would follow the natural rhythms surrounding her, rhythms untouchable by ugliness or man. She had come from a place that now no longer existed, to seek sanctuary and guidance from the one place that always would.