“Air above me, earth below me, fire within me, water surround me…” He read my words out loud and then whistled low. “Oh,” he said, nodding slowly. “You’re a hippie weirdo.”

“Yes, I’m a hippie weirdo.” The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was forcing himself not to smile. “My mother used to say it to my sisters and me all the time.”

“So your mom’s a weirdo hippie too.”

A slight pain hit my heart, but I kept smiling. I found a spot on the ground and sat once again. “Yeah, she was.”

“Was,” he murmured, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Someone once told me people die, that it’s a pretty common aspect of life.”

“Yes, but…” he started, but his words faded away. Our eyes locked and for a moment, the coldness they held was gone, and the look he gave me was filled with sorrow and pain. It was a look he’d spent his whole day hiding from the world, a look he’d probably spent his whole life hiding from himself.

“I did write a eulogy,” he whispered, sitting down on the ground beside me. He bent his knees and his hands pushed up the sleeves of his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to share it?” I asked.

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Yes,” he muttered softly.

“Okay.”

“It’s not much at all…” he warned, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small folded piece of paper.

I nudged him in the leg. “Graham, you’re sitting outside of an arena trapped with a hippie weirdo you’ll probably never see again. You shouldn’t be nervous about sharing it.”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat, his nerves more intense than they should’ve been. “I hated my father, and a few nights ago, he passed away. He was my biggest demon, my greatest monster, and my living nightmare. Still, with him gone, everything around me has somehow slowed, and I miss the memories that never existed.”

Wow.

His words were few, yet they weighed so much. “That’s it?” I asked, goose bumps forming on my arms.

He nodded. “That’s it.”

“Graham Cracker?” I said softly, turning my body toward him, moving a few inches closer.

“Yes, Lucille?” he replied, turning more toward me.

“Every word you’ve ever written becomes my new favorite story.”

As his lips parted to speak again, the door swung open, breaking us from our stare. I turned to see a security guard holler behind him.

“Found him! This door locks once closed. I’m guessing he got stuck.”

“Oh my God, it’s about freaking time!” a woman’s voice said. The moment she stepped outside to meet us, my eyes narrowed with confusion.

“Jane.”

“Lyric?”

Graham and I spoke in unison, staring at my older sister, who I hadn’t seen in years—my older sister who was pregnant and wide-eyed as she stared my way.

“Who’s Jane?” I asked.

“Who’s Lyric?” Graham countered.

Her eyes filled with emotion and she placed her hands over her chest. “What the hell are you doing here, Lucy?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I brought flowers for the service,” I told her.

“You ordered from Monet’s Gardens?” Lyric asked Graham.

I was somewhat surprised she knew the name of my shop.

“I ordered from several shops. What does it matter? Wait, how do you two know each other?” Graham asked, still confused.

“Well,” I said, my body shaking as I stared at Lyric’s stomach, and then into her eyes, which matched Mama’s. Her eyes filled with tears as if she’d been caught in the biggest lie, and my lips parted to speak the biggest truth. “She’s my sister.”

“Your sister?” I asked, repeating Lucy’s words as I stared blankly at my wife, who wasn’t speaking up at all. “Since when do you have a sister?”

“And since when are you married and pregnant?” Lucy questioned.

“It’s a long story,” she said softly, placing her hand against her stomach and cringing a bit.

“Graham, it’s time to go. My ankles are swollen and I’m exhausted.”

Jane’s eyes—Lyric’s eyes—darted to Lucy, whose eyes were still wide with confusion. Their eyes matched in color, but that was the only resemblance they shared. One pair of chocolate eyes was ice cold as always, while the other was soft and filled with warmth.

I couldn’t take my stare off Lucy as I searched my mind, trying to understand how someone like her could’ve been related to someone like my wife.

If Jane had an opposite, it would be Lucy.

“Graham,” Jane barked, breaking my stare from the woman with warm eyes. I turned her way and arched an eyebrow. She crossed her arms over her stomach and huffed loudly. “It has been a long day, and it’s time to go.”

She turned away and started to walk off when Lucy spoke, staring at her sister.

“You kept the biggest parts of you secret from your family. Do you really hate us that much?” Lucy asked, her voice shaking.

Jane’s body froze for a moment and she stood up straight, yet didn’t turn around. “You are not my family.”

With that, she left.

I stood there for a few seconds, uncertain if my feet would allow me to move. As for Lucy, I witnessed her heart break right in front of me. Completely and unapologetically, she began to fall apart. A wave of emotion filled those gentle eyes, and she didn’t even try to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks. She allowed her feelings to overtake her fully, not resisting the tears and body shakes. I could almost see it—how she placed the entire world on her shoulders, and how the world was slowly weighing her down. Her body physically bent, making her appear much smaller than she was as the hurt coursed through her. I’d never seen someone feel so freely when it came to emotions, not since…

Stop.

My mind was traveling back to my past, to memories I buried deep within me. I broke my stare away from her, rolled down my sleeves, and tried to block out the noise of the pain she was feeling.

As I moved toward the door—which the security guard was still holding open—I glanced back at the woman who was falling apart and cleared my throat.

“Lucille,” I called, straightening my tie. “A bit of advice.”

“Yes?” She wrapped her arms around her body and when she looked at me, her smile was gone, replaced by a heavy frown.

“Feel less.” I breathed out. “Don’t allow others to drive your emotions in such a way. Shut it off.”

“Shut off my feelings?”

I nodded.

“I can’t,” she argued, still crying. Her hands fell over her heart, and she shook her head back and forth. “This is who I am. I am the girl who feels everything.”

I could tell that was true.

She was the girl who felt everything, and I was the man who felt nothing at all.

“Then the world will do its best to make you nothing,” I told her. “The more feelings you give, the more they’ll take from you. Trust me. Pull yourself together.”

“But…she’s my sister, and—”

“She’s not your sister.”

“What?”