001
afternoon sun slunk between the tufts of clouds, warmth from a being meanders in the sky stretching the grey overcast’s fabric, affections touch in gleams through the gales laced through shriveled up trees. ‘97 honda prelude, bevelled coupe with a soft sloped roof, long wedged hood ,wide square neckline carved a valley between rectangular teardrop headlights slung on broad shoulders. atmosphere thrust through the blue vistas glimpsed in the windows of homes behind wood split rail fences and shrank down into places we cannot enter in those fields now radiating green, tinting cirruses that from far away look like the bountiful forests that once sheltered the grasses here. up in those boughs precious gems of sunlight seared the aches in our eyes, engulfing our tired limbs so that we could believe this pastoral was here.
airy floes stamped by the dark panes of strip mall windows, entombed in brick and mortar distinguished in cornice ledges. glints of the sun flooded the interiors until the shops opened, fluorescent light stunned them into their morning shifts. kaleidoskopic candies checkered the shelves below the register counter of convenience stores, faux wood grain banded the white tables of fast food restaurants. places where the outside world shrank into a single frame that only intermitted these breadths of life. from the backseats of uncle harlowe’s ‘92 mitsubishi galant, his slow drive made these glimpses into these shops linger before we see another picture, these disparate individuals connected with the heft and rocking of the sedan.
coming back to the cemetery by 2:30 p.m, i pulled the honda past the black gates.throwing it down to second gear, my foot on the brake pivots out to kick the throttle rousing the h20 motor attacking the light curve, causing me to veer in my seat as the coupe dipped down, front tires held onto the asphalt, swinging the car into a parking spot between a subaru outback and a tesla model 3. seat belt catches me from that tumult until i am as still as the car, reminding me to act a little more formal, like a doting friend making sure i'm smoothed and crisp. ignition off, no longer immersed in the embrace of the bb6’s pulse, i surface in a silhouette that steps out to make a brisk walk onto the damp grass.
graves surround me, short grey obelisks flat at the top, and others arched at the middle almost like the shadows of chateau hotels. while we stare at their portraits on headstones, hopefully the dead live it up in the afterlife, photos of buildings wrapped around grey blocks like cities in old ps2 games. burning paper cars and houses for him back in hong kong, he was well provisioned, driving bmw's down the long, shaded boulevards in paradise. offerings i bought from the tnt supermarket rustle in the plastic bag. oranges roll on the styrofoam box of roast pork. before uncle harlowe’s headstone, my mom, and dad stood in silence with my relatives under a single tree. leaves plucked by the wind thrashing within the branches, heedless of the rights on earth. nodding to me, my mom reaches for the bag but i only turn away to bring out the food onto the metal tray in front of the grave.
much of my family worked in banking, or managers at large companies: manners; dress-shirts, and polos; handshakes that made guests feel a part of a polite society; commotion from employees around them that seemed like genteel manners from their good mornings, thank yous, and welcomes. just life happening with earnest efforts that can one day grant large houses, and nice cars from the warm hearts of the busy. some said we were a clever people, realizing the happy endings that supposedly hard working people never reach. the less charitable said we were deeply naive. somehow, this made many members of the family correct themselves further in the face of those who scoffed at them, embodying a kind of incorruptible folksiness that urged we were just common people. everything else was just the past, only something that we’d know. losing uncle harlowe was one of those things as we gathered ourselves among the living who knew nothing at all but to live.