Reunion

........................

January winds bit as Micah stood on top of the cliff, ocean breeze blowing through the fringes of his locks, and caressed him, the way his mother did, with palms and fingers made of sea-salt. A storm had passed through the town and left in its wake electric skies hazed in purples and pinks, turning the rotting weeds around him into distant cousins of lavender, and painting the sea foam with hints of mauve as if gallons of grape slurpees were dumped by the shore. His brain waited for some gas-station lavender or a sickly grape scent to hit but all he processed was the live-wire stench of a power transformer that exploded in the rainstorm.

Seagulls screeched overhead with the sounds of waves lapping against the rocks, their silhouettes against the purple sky like the lines children would draw to show birds in flight. Just as the tide ebbed and flowed, a quiet wave of peace would wash over him, each exhale and inhale in sync with the rythmic breath of the sea. He would close his eyes, cradling the urn in his arms, his fingers tracing the aluminum exterior, and let everything fall by the wayside. Right as he’d gone to some place where only waves against rocks existed, this woman’s voice crawled through, came from someone who lit fresh cigarettes with the embers of dying one’s.

“Ma always said ‘Only time Castillo’s do reunions are at funerals’.” She shambled towards him. ”That woman was always right huh.”

Micah swiveled and faced Tess, bags drooping down from tired amber eyes rimmed with blackened paintstick, vertical wrinkles lining the edges of her pale lips, cheekbones flared amethyst from the sunset. Her brown hair was drawn back, held by a rubber band. “How you holding up?” Her breath carried a six pack and a carton of cigarettes.

“I’m...” Micah tried to find the words as he was checking her eyes for signs of dilations or constrictions. ”... I’m alright. You?”

“Could be better.” She cracked a faint smile. “How long has it been...’bout three?”

“Four years.” Micah turned towards the sea. “Good to see you Tess.”

She nodded reluctantly as a still moment enveloped the two, before she dug a crumpled pack of Camels from a jacket pocket “Want one?”

“I quit.”

A small gust of air rushed out her nose “What, since today?”

“Been four months.”

“Even the drink?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. Well - kind of late now don’t you think?" She joked "Needed that more when Gab and I were youn-”

“Tess.” He hugged the urn and shook his head.

"Right." She lit her cigarette, savoring the first drag, and blew out a stream of smoke, capping it with a perfect ring. "How’s ma.” she drawled, changing the subject, and ran her fingers through her hair as she eyed the urn.

“Well.” His hands waved the purple ghosts away. “She can’t complain.” said Micah as he tapped the lid.

She tried to smile before slumping down to tired lips. “Sorry we couldn’t...y’know... make it earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s alright... Probably better that way.” Micah turned towards her again, scanning behind. “Gab uhh... where’s he at?”

She tilted her head down the hill. “He’s in the car. Told him to take his time.”

“Hm.” He gave a slight nod before looking down at the urn.

“Family all know about this by the way?”

“No.” His fingers played with the lid. “Didn’t tell them you guys were coming down either.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Told them what you wrote in that letter. Gab’s stand-up gig, you and your - uh - what do you call it?”

“My barista thing?” She tilted her head with a sly smile.

“Yeah - that.”

“It’s just a fancier way of saying ‘I make coffee for minimum wage’.”

“Hm.”

“Seems like you need one too.”

A curl formed at the end of his lips “Yeah, brain’s pretty zapped Tess.” He coughed.

“So... how ’bout them? Still fucked I guess?”

“What’d you expect?”

“Dunno, like Uncle Trev finally winning the lottery? I mean, he’s been going at it since - what - since we were kids.”

Images of the Castillo Santa came up; a drunk, always babbling about the deep state, spending hours in lines to buy a lottery ticket. “He’d win some and lose some, you know how it goes.” Micah would then recount the Castillo family’s latest activites: Uncle Greg’s newfound hobby for coin-collecting, Aunt Mara and her whole schtick with healing crystals, Red getting married for the sixth time, Erynn getting divorced for the fourth time, Jake on meth being detained by cops two nights ago, and the whole fight about gun control between Uncle Kent and Aunt Anne’s second husband at their mother’s funeral - a Castillo eulogy.

“Jesus Christ.” Tess dropped the cigarette, grounded it out with her heel, and sat on the edge, letting her feet hang. “Should’ve stayed, like watching a train ’bout to crash.” she snickered, “You sure you alright?” She looked up at Micah.

“Could be better.” He said, and sat right next to Tess with a grunt, carefully hugging the urn in his arms “Jesus.”

“What?”

“Fucking knees.”

She chuckled “Getting old Mikey.”

“Hm.”

“Your birthday’s coming up soon.”

“Hmhm... 38 soon enough.”

Her lashes fluttered “What you getting?”

“Dunno.” He seemed to speak from a distance. “Sober for six months, maybe.”

She smiled. Or as much as she could anyway.

“Hey...” Micah looked back. Dead trees, his Sedan, and the dirt path that winded down were all there was. “Gab’s...uh... how is he?” he whispered, a swallow punctuated the question.

Tess took a deep breath, dug out another Camel filter, and lit it. “We’re bounded by blood Mikey,” she shrugged “Only reason he’s here cause it’s an obligation, so don’t expect too much. You’ll be disappointed.”

......................................

Gabriel’s head was a matchstick, dark hair cut in a rough shag covering it. He’d gotten bigger, Micah thought, shoulders widened and back built like a silverback’s, enough to mistake him for a fighter instead of a standup comedian. His eyes cut through Micah, adding violence in the electric air. “Let’s get this done yeah?” He grunted.

Micah nodded. “Who wants to start?”

“Jesus - Mike, just start. Don’t need to make us think like we actually matter man.” Gabriel cut in. “We aren’t kids anymore.”

“Alright...” Micah met the amber eyes rimmed with blackened paintstick. They were staring at the ground, avoiding his. “Uhh...” He moved his gaze towards the horizon, the sky in darker shades of purple now as the sun started die off, like some forlorn evil was all there was in this world. He dug in the pocket of his coat, coming up with a crumpled piece of paper, and smoothed it out, before clearing his throat.

Gabriel scoffed.

“One... Corin- Corinthians-”

“Tess what in the fuck are we doing here man. Wasting our time - he’s going to take an hour to read a fucking line.”

“Let him finish Gab.”

“No - honestly - all of a sudden we’re supposed to be family? Just cause ma died? Huh?”

Tess closed her eyes “Gab-”

Gabriel pointed at Micah, and took a step towards him “After all the shit you pulled?”

“I’m sober now Gab.” Micah pleaded “Four months-”

“Yeah fuck off with that Mike.” He cleaved “You can fuck off with that sappy shit.” Micah’s hair formed needles and his skin turned into orange rinds as the electricity in the air jumpstarted Gabriel. “Four months...” He scoffed “And how long is that going to last.”

“Gab. Just... just let Micah finish reading if you want to leave so fucking bad man.” Tess took out another fresh Camel filter.

Gabriel shook his head, and turned towards the poisoned nightshade sky. “Liked you more when you were an angry drunk man... Least you had balls instead of this gay shit you’re doing.” His words bit like the January winds.

Micah felt a hand that dragged his heart down, and coughed, trying to open up his clogged throat.

“Jesus...” Tess massaged her temples. “What the fuck Gab.”

“What. I know it’s in your head too. You just don’t have the balls to fucking say it.”

Micah looked away from Tess’ gaze, as if ashamed of being alive, then focused intently on the piece of paper. “I’m umm... I’m sorry Gabriel.”

“Yeah... Just get it over with man.” He scoffed

Micah hugged the cold dead urn for some semblance of comfort, to fill some hole in his gut. “One Corinthians thirteen. Verse. Eight to thirteen...” He bit his lip “Love never fails... but where there are proph-prophe...prophecies. They will... Cease. Where there are - tongues... They will be stilled. Where there is... um... there is knowledge... It-It will pass away.” His voice cracked, a few drops of salty tears blotted the letters “For we... uh... know in part and we... um... prophesy in part, but when comp-complete...ness comes, what is in part dis...disapp-”

Light footsteps interrupted him, Tess was holding her hand out, with a trying smile. He wiped the tears away and handed the paper to her.

She flicked the ember stub away as she walked towards the cliff, “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. At the end of my childhood, I put these ways behind me.” She motioned for Micah to follow. “For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror...” Her hand laid on Gab’s shoulders ”...then we shall see face to face.”

Gab stared at Tess for a moment, before looking at the urn. His jaw edged like Damascus steel, then softened up and relaxed. “Now I know in part, then I shall know fully... even as I am fully known...” His gaze went up to Micah, “And now... now these three remain... faith, hope, and love... But the greatest of these is love.”

Micah laid the urn on the ground, and pried the lid off gently. It was hard to imagine their mother, the vibrant Castillo glue, be reduced to a few pounds of sand-like material, encased in an urn, the exterior’s shade of ethereal white being tinged with purple. “You guys want to add anything else? Before... we-”

“No.”

Tess shook her head, and dug out another Camel filter.

January winds bit as the three siblings stood on top of the cliff, ocean breeze blowing through the fringes of their hair, and caressed their faces the way their mother did, with palms and fingers made of sea-salt. A storm had passed through, and left in its wake, grief, loss, and pain, hazed in streaks of deep magenta.

And now these three remain.