the service

On the first Friday of every month, the Australian Writers Centre reveals a new set of story prompts. Writers have 55 hours to submit their best 500-word (or fewer) story.

​April 2021

1. Your story must begin in some kind of queue.
2. Your story must include the words CROSS, DROP and LUCKY.
3. Your story must include a map.

 
Bec looked around for another exit (escape to be more precise), but to no avail. She was stuck in the barely-moving line. It was a blur of sad smiles, dark suits, hugs, handshakes, smudged mascara, used tissues. A queue of grief. She took another step forward. Another step closer to Rob and Steph who were somehow hugging people, thanking them for coming, remembering everyone’s names.
She caught snippets of quiet conversations – “… a lovely service…”, “… hard to believe… ”, “…beautiful music…” – culturally appropriate restraint.
But where was the swearing? The unbridled grief? The wailing? Bec avoided eye-contact, petrified that a primal scream might escape and engulf her. Consume her. Destroy her.
Another step. Another step closer to Rob and Steph.
The church was traditional, with the imposing cross, stained glass windows and hard-as-a-rock pews, yet strangely comforting. Bec was reminded of happy Christmases, candles, weddings. The string quartet played gentle music that was neither depressing nor uplifting. Nondescript. Comforting.
Another step. Another step closer to Rob and Steph.
Bec’s mum had insisted on coming, and viewed it as a weird sort of school reunion that she was allowed to attend.
“Rebecca, look. Isn’t that your old history teacher? Oh, and that’s what’s her name? I think you played netball with her?”
Another step. Another step closer to Rob and Steph.
“You spoke really well, Bec.” Li had been one of Bec and Emma’s best friends in school, but they’d drifted apart over the years. Bec smiled her thanks, but didn’t trust herself to speak. She spotted the ring on Li’s finger, remembering the engagement photo on Instagram a couple of months ago. She didn’t know the fiancée, but he looked nice enough. Li smiled in returned, and turned around.
Years of giggles, dares, sleepovers, chips, Tim Tams, all reduced to a sad smile. Unbidden memories of trying on makeup, straightening each other’s hair, formal-dress shopping…. Bec, Emma and Li. The Lucky Three.
Another step. Another step closer to Rob and Steph.
It was hot and stuffy. Her mum had concertinaed the order of service, and was fanning herself. Bec caught a glimpse of Emma’s picture, her face crinkled in the card.
Emma’s laugh had been contagious. She was a snorter since primary school, and Li had called her ‘Oinky Em’.  She would drop to the floor, belly aching, trying to stop the laughter.
Another step. Soon she would have to speak to Rob and Steph.
What would she say? Cliches like ‘sorry for your loss’ were hopelessly inadequate. She had spent so much of her childhood in their home, had swum in the pool, slept on the trundle bed.. But she was here now. And Emma wasn’t. She didn’t know how to navigate the grief. She needed a map.
And she was suddenly at the front of the queue. Rob and Steph took her in their arms. Not wanting to let go.
No words. Bec would be the closest thing they had to a daughter now.