Shafts of sunlight cut through the room, let in by the tall windows on either side of the pulpit. Almost every pew was filled with people dressed in black. Melanie didn't know most of them. Outside was a beautifully warm summer day whereas inside the chapel the air conditioner appeared to be working overtime to prevent those inside from being able to enjoy the weather. The incessant hum from the vents above made Melanie both agitated and drowsy at the same time. Judging by what she could see of the others around her, she was not the only one so affected.
Below the podium at the front of the room were several photographs arranged around wreath that in turn surrounded a large picture of a middle aged man, smiling. As the speakers all took their turn standing at the podium while they shared their thoughts, their memories, their advice, Melanie found it difficult not to let her gaze wander down to the large photograph of her dad. And every time she looked at the picture she choked up and it would take her several minutes to quell her tears.
As the final speaker moved to the podium, Melanie cried quietly into her handkerchief, flanked by Joan on the left and Mike on the right. Joan and mike had both argued against sitting in the family section during the funeral but Melanie had insisted and neither Joan nor Mike could make any more arguments when Melanie's mom stepped in and gave them each a formal invitation to sit with them during the services.
Mike gave up early on in the ceremony trying to hold Melanie as he tried to console her, and she instead held onto his arm. There was something so comforting about having his arm there to hold onto, much more so than having him holding her and Melanie wasn't in any mood to argue with her instincts. Mike glanced over to her from time to time but he otherwise let her be. He was learning.
“...but let us not allow our memories to be tarnished,” The speaker, her uncle, was saying, “By the circumstances surrounding this tragedy. For it is in forgiveness that we will find solace,” He'd always had a way with words. Perhaps that was why he'd been asked to be the closing speaker.
Joan snorted in derision and Melanie elbowed her in the side.
“Sorry,” Joan whispered.
Melanie dabbed at her eyes and stemmed the flow of tears for the time being. Joan was blushing with embarrassment as well as glancing around to see who else had heard her. Melanie doubted anyone else had; Joan, at least, was subtle. But still, now was not the time for pessimism.
Her eyes began to wander back toward the photographs and so, not wanting to begin crying again so soon, she focused her attention on the casket instead. It was empty, of course, except for the few things people had placed inside themselves before the service began. Very few bodies had been recovered from the nuclear power plant, mostly those on the fringes of the complex. Melanie's dad had worked right next to the reactor, where the first explosions hit. Even if they found a way to get in that deep, there probably wasn't anything left for them to bury anyway. Thus the empty coffin.
Melanie began to cry. Mike leaned into her as much as he reasonably could to give her support and Joan patted her on the knee. Melanie rested her head on Mike's shoulder a listened to her uncle as he finished his remarks.
“...whoever it is that brought this disaster upon our family, and the hundreds of other families who have been similarly affected. Just as they blazed a terrifying light into our lives in their attempt to scar and destroy us, so let us burn all the more brightly. For we must be beacons of hope, and not despair. We who have suffered so much can now extend the helping hand to those around us, who too may be suffering, and together we will become so much the stronger.”
Melanie leaned over to Joan and caught her attention.
“Joan,” Melanie said, “Would you burn a little flame for my dad?”
Joan looked at her, uncertain. She'd been instructed not to burn while at the funeral and had every intention of not causing problems here, of all places.
“Please?” Melanie begged, “I know it's stupid, but it would mean a lot to me.”
Joan nodded at last and rested her hand on Melanie's knee. A small flame spread out from the back of her hand until it covered Melanie's knee.
“Someone's been practicing,” Melanie said as the fire continued to burn without scorching her dress or burning her skin.
Joan smiled a wane smile before turning back to watch as the casket was carried down the isle to the waiting hearse outside.
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