Missingaries among the leaves, watching winds carry away more than the piles can hold. Swept away, riding aloft into the sky. Believed trailing after the unfortunate few forsaken. Lifted by the heat and stretching toward heaven's hold screaming out 'piles are for burning.' Finding forever for having been lost.
***
Out into the cold dark world, away from the comforts of home she traveled one day. Would he ever understand? He reminded himself, fathers too often choose not to. So that he might, he went looking for her soul among the ashes spread on the street by her friends, by her love. He found himself, living in the shadow of her light- mourning the loss of all reason.
"Mr. Meir" the voice called softly, "Eran. Wake up." He rolled over and peered directly into the beam pouring down on him from the open doorway, leaning his head into the darkness cast by the figure before him. "What time is it Aeolus?" he managed to scratch out from his dry throat. "Nearly 11," the woman sang back in her richly sweet voice, "nearly, nearly... We almost..." her song fell short not for forgetting, but remembering.
"It's ok Mrs. Porter, I love the song as much as I loved her," he said with compassion enough for everyone, "As much as I love them all."
He wondered if there were ever enough tears.
***
Mahal
A child of privilege, Mahal Gadal grew up wanting for nothing. Even though he died the same way, wanting for nothing- he was a child of the wind in his last days. Is fifteen years enough life- is forty, what ever is?
"It's ok Mama Porter." Mahal insisted. She looked up at the skeleton before her trying not to show her any of his sadness, "Don't call me Mama," she grunted.
He laughed a loud hard ha and began coughing uncontrollably. Bent over from the pain and force of the wind, he heaved and sputtered. "Stay one more night." She pleaded as he held a hand aloft for her to stay back.
Eran walked into the room wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Gadal. Gadal. Mahal Gadal!" he proclaimed as if in celebration, clapping his hands once and holding them aloft as if for a hug but more for prayer. Instead, he stood staring at the ceiling while the teenager continued to cough and wheeze. Finally, he said, "Son, it's not time yet! You owe us ten minutes."
"Don't call me..." Gadal whispered forth looking up, "...son." Then the boy smiled, coughed a clearing cough and straightening himself up to look Eran in the eyes. "Papa Meir." he stopped, "Let me call you papa just for those ten minutes."
Eran choked back the tears welling within the depths of his being to say, "You needn't go." But he knew the boy's answer before he said it, "I am a child of the wind." They embraced and the sorrow within the man poured forth as he realized this one would soon be scattered as well.
"I made tea, hot hot Earl Gray with honey," Aeolus whispered, "Let's sit down."
As the ginger spice and sickening sweet clashed in his mouth, Eran thought, 'if only.' If only Mahal hadn't cancer, he might live longer. If only his parents hadn't been on that particular bus on that particular day when a bomber got on too, then they might be alive and he might have been treated. If only someone, anyone, him had taken this boy in. If only...
If only Yarah never left, she might still be at home. He missed his daughter and now he knew he'd miss this new son. Life isn't lived in 'if only' he thought, as he whispered aloud, "...only ifs." He received an assuring nod from Mahal.
Eran looked across the table at Mrs. Porter, a woman he'd known for only three weeks. A woman he now knew more than anyone and she smiled at him. He looked back at Mahal and grasping for the right words found some that would suffice, "Yarah hated Earl Gray Tea."
"Me too Papa," Mahal proclaimed with glee. Mama Aeolus frowned only to keep up the play. "It tastes like dog pee," he went on. "Have you tasted dog pee!" the old man responded. "Yes! Yes! She hated that part too Papa! She said you always said that and got mad when I did it too." Mahal laughed and then looked all too seriously toward the father.
"Do you think we'll be together?" the boy asked. Eran looked into the deep grey eyes of the corpse before him and prayed, "May you always be." With that the boy stood to his feet and the round old woman sternly crossed her arms. "Goodbye Mama." - "Don't call me... Goodbye..." she jumped to her feet proclaiming in tears, "...son!" She grappled his neck and he immediately began to pry at her hands.
As Mahal stepped to the door, he looked back at the pair. "Eran," it was the first he had called him by his name the man thought, he nodded back. "Do you still believe..." the young man wondered. Answering for himself as much as the others the father said, "I have too, it's an only if."
The boy looked down for a moment thinking and then smiled nodding, "You're right Eran. God and our Christ are only ifs... I believe." looking up deep into the man's eyes, "Just now I truly believe as you do... As she did."
Mahal stepped out of the little house set awkwardly against the urban night and strolled off into the darkness. His body was found in the morning near an outside cafe in midtown just ten blocks away. They went together to claim him, scattering his ashes on the winds of the next night among his friends. There they found more only ifs.
