The Locket

The clock ticked, each tick a deafening strike on a timpani in Manny's mind. His face was filled with worry and apprehension as he glanced at the nuisance of a clock. He turned back to look at the copy of the coroner's report he'd been given and had kept for several weeks. Magdalena Garcia Rodriguez, female, Birth date: 4/09/1972, Death date: 7/7/08, Cause of death: suicide. He hadn't given the report a thought until that night. Tears streamed down his face and he gripped the band on his left hand.
         "Why? Why..." he muttered to himself every now and then. So many things filled his mind; work at the factory, his son, the looming funeral, Father Harris, and the locket. Manny was holding onto the locket like it was the last thing of importance to him. He pressed it to his heart, looked towards the ceiling and prayed.
         He abruptly stood up from his chair at the sound of somebody knocking on the door. Snakes writhed ferociously in his gut. He slowly opened the door.
         Father Harris stood there, old and little but with a kind face, horn-rimmed glasses, and smiled, a million little lines on his face like cracks in the pavement.
         "May I come in?" he asked quietly.
         Manny nodded and gulped, nervously running his hand through his jet black hair.
         Father Harris scoped out Manny's small apartment, observing the crosses hung on the wall and the tiny candle figures of Jesus.
         "Here, sit here," Manny stammered, gesturing towards the chair opposite the one he'd been in earlier.
         Father Harris sat down and eyed Manny. "I know this is difficult for you, Manuel," he said gravely, his British accent as strong as ever.
         Manny bit the insides of his cheeks trying not to cry. He glanced up at Father and quickly looked back down at the locket he held in his hands.
         "What dear Magdalena did was a horrible sin, but as Christians, we learn to forgive," he continued. "I know you love her very much and treated her like a queen. If I could hear her speak to us right now, I think you know what she'd want."
         "I know too, Father. I know. She would tell me when she was drunk how she'd want to be... to be..." Manny, too pained by her loss, couldn't get the words out.
         "Buried, Manuel, buried. I understand. She was a great woman--"
         "No, Father, she is a great woman. Her soul is going to keep on. If I didn't think that, I wouldn't have ever married her," Manny said in a suddenly stern tone.
         "Yes, of course," Father Harris agreed, looking at the locket in Manny's hand. "Manuel, you said it yourself. The funeral won't happen if she isn't wearing it."
         "I know," Manny wept. "I know, I just... can't let go. I threw away all of her clothes, all of her perfume and makeup. This is all I have left of her, Father. I can't give it to you just yet."
         Father Harris sighed. "I suppose you need more time to yourself, and that is perfectly understandable, Manuel. But I have to get going to prepare for the funeral. The last thing you could do for her is to let her wear the locket. Please."
         Manny looked up at him and stood up to greet him out of the door.
* * *
The next morning, Manny was ready for the funeral, dressed in an all black suit, his hair slicked back, and a pained expression on his face. He manuevered through the tiny apartment to get to his son's room.
         "Carlos," he said, knocking on the door.
         The eight-year-old boy opened up, identical to his father -- dressed in all black, deep dimples, and a miserable face.
         "Come on, Carlos, we gotta go now."
They held each other's hand the whole short walk it took to get to the cemetery. Black specks of people were arranged all around Magdalena's burial place.
         Friends and family greeted Manny and Carlos, hugging them, kissing them, crying with them, comforting them.
         Father Harris walked over to Manny. "Manuel, it's time."
         "Carlos, go over to your abuela," whispered Manny, his throat in a chokehold of emotion.
         Slowly, he walked over to Magdalena's open casket. His hands shook and sweated profusely. His breathing picked up rapidly with each inch he took to get to her. He could feel the color drain from his face as soon as he saw her, laying peacefully. Her big, beautiful brown eyes were shut and her flowing raven hair was too neat. Her clothing was atrocious, things Manny knew she would hate and make jokes at. It amused him a bit, offended him more.
         The locket was in his hand, trembling just like he was. He opened it one last time to see a picture of the two of them; Magdalena was kissing his cheek and he was smiling and looking into the camera. He deftly shut it and began to remove the latch. Manny leaned over and placed it around her neck.
         He stood there for five minutes, leaned over and closed his eyes. In between loud sobs, he sang the drunken lullaby he'd written for her after one drink too many. "Magdalena, Magdalena, baby don't you cry, I'll get a big house, buy a diamond ring and I'll never ever stop singing, my love, my lovely Magdalena, baby don't you cry..."