Robyn

I stand in the grotty bathroom of the diner, applying my makeup. Though my heart is not in it. My hands shake, and I have to breathe, slow, patient breaths to steady myself. I am exhausted from my travel. My legs throb. My back aches. It takes all my energy just to stand. But I stand. Tall and proud. I stand for Robyn.

Penelope and Fiera are beside me. Fiera grips the basin tightly, doing her best to keep down her breakfast omelette. Penelope dabs at their eyes with a piece of toilet tissue.

We went to the bathroom as a pack. It didn't feel safe to go on our own. We had all felt the stares as we had first entered the diner with Ms. Donovan.

I spritz myself with some perfume and take stock. I look … … … presentable. Robyn wouldn't have cared. She would have laughed and said we were going way OTT. But I want to make a good impression.

I nod to the others. With another deep breath, we are ready.

*********

We make our way back across the diner. Ignoring the stares. A couple of guys make rude, crude comments about us. We ignore them.

Assholes.

Part of me wanted to confront them. Just as Robyn would have. But... … … the words won't come out. So we keep on walking.

Ms Donovan... Geraldine is in the booth, drinking her coffee. Opposite are Magda, Evette, Franco, and Ivan. They are listening intently, but there is pain on their faces.

"I told that boy going away would bring nothing but trouble. I told him, and he wouldn't listen." Geraldine shook her head.

"... … …"

"So, how well did you know my nephew?" Geraldine asked, scrutinizing them all.

"… … She … She was my wife," Franco's voice was weak, holding back the tears. "Two years. And was the stepmother to our two wonderful little boys. Perry and Sydney."

"Listen, boy. When you meet Trevor and Elene, well … they aren't as open-minded or as worldly as I am. So you make sure not to mention this alphabet stuff to them. Simon was their son... … … They've been hurt enough by all this … … … I am sure you wouldn't want to hurt them any more than they have been already, now, would you? That goes for all of you."

"... … …"

"... … …"

"... … …"

"Mmm … … …"

"It's funny. A flood. One wouldn't expect such a natural disaster in a city. You would expect them more out here. Twisters. Tornados. That kind of thing."

"N... no one expected it. We lost so many good friends. Family."

"You want to talk about it?"

"I... … …"

"Alright, here is the pecan and pumpkin pie as ordered. It's on the house, Geraldine."

The waitress, Harriet, sets down a piece of pie in front of Geraldine. "

Hey, are you folks friends of Simon? The Donovan boy?"

"Yes."

"I was in high school with him. Weird kid. Queer kid. Nerdy. With an obsession with comic books. Still, we were all sorry to hear what happened."

"Thanks."

Harriet leaves.

I look at Franco. He is barely keeping it together. And every mention of Simon brought him that much closer to his breaking point. Magda takes his limp hand under the table and gives it a comforting squeeze.

My hand goes to the cross around my neck.

"The … the last time I saw your niece alive … … … she was helping get us all to the roof of our building. She was a firefighter... A first responder. Saved many lives that day... … …" I say, ignoring Geraldine's flinch at the word niece.

"Must have been horrific. I've seen my fair share of weather phenomena. Lived through a twister or five in my time. Stuff of nightmares."

"It was. The boys haven't slept in days. And if they do, they cry out for her in their sleep. They don't understand. They're three and five, they think she will come back one day... … … I'm … I'm grateful my parents were able to take them, so we could make this trip. I was scared I would have missed it."

"We wouldn't have let that happen, Franco," I say as we take a seat at the table closest to the booth. Me, Fiera, and Penelope have been hovering for far too long.

"You all lived in the same building?"

"Most of us. Yes. Penelope and Fiera didn't. They were friends of Robyn's from Salsa. And Magda knew her from the shelter. She would volunteer every Saturday. Cook. Clean. Her coffee was awful. Tasted like mud. But she made a mean red velvet cake. She said it was a family recipe."

"It was. He learned it from his mother. Who learned it from her mother."

"And Evette was our landlady. She ran the building."

"Your niece was a much-loved member of the community. I hope that brings you and your family much comfort."

"I miss her." Franco wept.

"Come here, Frank," Ivan said, pulling Franco into a hug.

"We all do... … …"

"... … … I... It's okay. It's okay. Harriet. More coffee for the table. Make it strong."

To our great surprise, she patted Franco's spare hand.

"She wasn't even supposed to be working that night. She'd taken the weekend off. It was our anniversary. But when she got the call, well — she couldn't sit back and do nothing. She wouldn’t..."

"She never could switch off."

Ivan smiled, though it was agony for him.

"Was always the mother hen. Remember that trip we took to London? She spent the whole weekend making sure we had all our ID and meds."

"And the way she dealt with that guy from that dive bar? God, never saw her so angry."

"'If you touch a hair on her head without consent, I will rip off your balls and wear them as earrings.'"

"I was so proud of her."

"And now she's gone."

"No. Not gone."

Geraldine sipped her coffee.

"… … Well, perhaps it was a mercy. The Lord taking Simon into his bosom when he did. Before he died, some other way further up the line. In a fight. Or of some kind of infection brought about by some ungodly surgery... You don't have to say anything. I know what the boy was like. I dressed the wounds he used to get from the fights in elementary school. It's just a fact. God gives you one body, and you treasure it. It's your duty to do well by it. To treat it with respect and dignity."

Geraldine begins rolling up another overstuffed cigarette, spilling tobacco across the table.

"He makes you a boy, you dress in blue. He makes you a girl, and you dress in pink. None of this transgender, non-binary, intersex hogwash. You mustn't try and change it now. I'm sorry... but that's how I feel."

"... … …"

"How was your trip here?"

"L...long."

"Cramped."

"Shitty."

"Yeah."

Geraldine is not listening.

"That's us heading off now, Harriet. I've left you $20 for your kindness today."

She turns her attention back to us.

"You missed the open casket at his folks' house. He looked mighty respectable --- at least, after the morticians were through with him. Cut his hair. Dressed him in a suit. Even removed that god-awful flag tattoo from his collarbone."

"... But Robyn was so proud of that. That was Annabeth's first tattoo. Robyn had volunteered to be her muse."

I say, not even sure if she hears me.

Franco looks horrified. He is trembling with despair, with disgust, with rage. Ivan holds him firmly. He is muttering furiously.

Penelope and Evette exchange glances.

"You folks going to be in town long?" Harriet asks as she begins cleaning the table.

"No. We're just here for the funeral. After that, back to Seattle."

"Well, if you're ever in the area, do come back, there will always be a pot of coffee on for ya."

==============================
We pull up at the church and disembark from the large twelve-seater. It is nice weather for it. The sun is out. The birds are singing. There is light cloud, cooling us down. The birds are happy and cheerful.

I'm glad someone is.

Geraldine locks the door behind us.

"Please. Don't upset them. It's Simon? Okay?"

She reminds us as we make our way over to the other mourners who have already assembled under the large apple tree.

"Trevor. Elene. These are some of Simon's friends. From Seattle." She introduces us all to Mr and Mrs Donovan.

"Thank you all for coming all this way to show your respects. 'Ppreciate it."

"How do you do, Mrs Donovan?"

I offer my hand to Elene. She refuses to accept it. She looks at me as if I were diseased.

"The flood. It was God's judgment on a city of sinners."

Geraldine turns to us.

"The service is about to start. Why don't you all stand over there, at the back?"

We don't need telling twice. As we walk away, we can hear what they are saying about us.

"Geraldine. I don't want them coming back to the house for coffee and cake afterwards. This town's going to remember Simon as the god-fearing boy he should have been."

"That's not what I would call the most hospitable, Elene. They have travelled all this way. And they are leaving this evening.”

"Well, I didn't ask them to come."

*********

The service is a religious one. There are readings. Hymns. Stories about Robyn. Stories we have heard in passing.

Though, because they are so very different—sanitized of the toxic abuse, casual homophobia, and extreme transphobia she had been subjected to—they could almost have passed as a cute anecdote about a complete stranger. Almost.

I can't even look at Franco. I can hear him sobbing behind me. Poor guy. Poor poor guy. I want to hug him, but the priest is still going, reciting from Genesis.

*********

Afterwards, they all prepare to go back to the Donovans' for coffee, cake, and a wake.

Geraldine finds us and explains, politely, that we were not welcome back at the Donovans' house. But she would drop us off at the bus station on her way there.

This is fine by us.

She asks if we are ready. And I tell her we aren't. We have some things we want to discuss with Robyn. Some things to say. Alone.

She understands.

"Take all the time you need. I'll be in the car."

*********

We wait until she is gone. It is now us, standing around the headstone. We refuse to look down. It reads Robyn's dead name, in big letters.

I look to the heavens and sigh.

"Well, girl, here we are... … … Never thought it would be me standing here. I always thought it would be you. Thought you would outlive us all. It's nice to see where you grew up, though. It's pretty. Peaceful. Tranquil. If you ignore the glaringly obvious. Never been to Kansas before. Though... you already knew that. Your aunt seems … … … okay. Gave us a warmer welcome than your parents, though. But I was expecting that... … … Robyn... … … I don't even know what I am saying here. What I want to say. This just … doesn't feel real."

Franco steps closer to me and takes my hand in his.

I am grateful he takes over.

"… … I don't want to say goodbye. I can't say it. But … … … our kids will be all right. I promise. They will be all right. They will know that they were loved. That you — Oh, God."

Franco wails. Ivan just holds his brother tight. He sobs and sobs into his shoulder.

Penelope kneels beside the headstone and rearranges the plastic flowers that had been bundled untidily into the vase.

"I still owe you $1,500 from Poker night. Ha. Don't worry, love, I have big plans for that money. We got you something nice. We organized it back home in Seattle. Do you want to know what it is? It's a memorial plaque. A brass one. With your name on it and everything. The station helped us find the best place for getting it made and engraved. They have also added your name to the Book of the Fallen. You won't be forgotten, beautiful. You know that, right?"

"The people at the shelter miss you. They miss your smile. They miss your laugh. They miss your red velvet cake. They even miss your awful cups of mud. Ha. I made us all some red velvet. I have it here."

Magda opens a Tupperware box.  Inside is a cake. It looks delicious.

"You used to say that the red velvet cake you made was made with love. I said you were full of shit. It is buttercream. Love isn't a food source. And you just laughed and told me I was being too literal... And I was. And we would laugh. And laugh and laugh and … Oh... … … I would give everything … everything … just to hear that laugh of yours. Just one more time."

"We're going to miss your dancing girl. You were terrible. Couldn't move your hips to save your life... We'll see you soon. Yeah? Keep the place warm for us. We'll see you again soon."

"You didn't just save us that night…… … You saved us by coming into our lives. God, that sounded so dumb... … … You looked out for us. You inspired us... to do better. Be better. Be ourselves. I don't have the words to describe what being your friend is like. And even if I did. It wouldn't be enough."

"You were a friend."

"A wife. A mother."

"A hero."

"An icon."

"You weren't a barista... thank Christ for that."

"... … …"

"... … …"

"... … …"

"... … …"

"... … …"  

"... … …"

"... … …"

"Do you remember when we talked about funeral songs? And you said you already knew your one, and I called you a morbid fucker. Ha! Well... … … I guess it's time we play it—"

Penelope removes their phone from their purse and opens YouTube. The song is already there waiting for them.

"If you trust in your soul
Keep your eyes on the goal
Then the prize you won't fail.
That's your grail, that's your grail.

So be strong, keep right on,
To the end of your song
Do not fail
Find your grail
Find your grail."

One by one, we all join in. We light our phone torches and sway in time with the music.

"Life is really up to you
You must choose what to pursue, ohh yeaah
Set your mind on what to find
And there's nothing that you can't do"
You can't do

So keep right to the end.
You'll find your goal, my friend.
Find your grail
You won't fail
Find your grail
Find your grail."

We all fall silent.

Franco dries his eyes.

"Goodbye, Robyn. Thank you... for everything."

"To Robyn."

"Robyn."