The Man Behind The Bull

The iron gate squeaked when I pushed, feet going from pavement to luscious green grass. I was surprised to see all the locals sat around the mound of earth. A bulls head made of flowers balanced atop the fresh grave. Bear looked around to me, “Hey, sit.” He patted the grass, so I did.

“Can’t believe he’s gone,” Rich muttered, pressing a whiskey bottle to his lips. I could only shake my head. I hadn’t come to terms with it.

The bottle was soon pressed into my hands, my eyes firmly affixed to the mound of dirt. I took a quick shot of the amber liquid, the burn running pleasantly down my throat. “I wanted to tell you my results. After all you did. All you helped.” I chucked the bottle back again, a large gulp going down my throat, a wave of anger at my friend bubbling deep within me.

“What you get, chick?” Hawk asked.

“B,B,C.” I passed the bottle to Bear.

“Off to uni then?”

I nodded.

“Dickhead.” Bear poured a generous shot on the grave. “You couldn’t even fucking stay for her to tell you could you? All those months discussing stupid sociological theory of Chicago zoning. All the psychology we read. AND FUCKING OTHELLO!” he bellowed.

“He made a stupid Lago anyway,” I muttered, feeling Bear’s anger.

“Shout it, he’s an arsehole,” Rich pronounced.

“Dickhead for leaving us,” Steven grumbled.

I took another gulp, my lips feeling looser, I screamed, “I fucking hate you!” I didn’t, I loved him like a father. He was father to the village, his pub the confessional, his stools the pews.

The bottle soon came back around, a few sips left, I rubbed my face, the alcohol in full effect as I passed the bottle to Bear, his leather jacket on despite the summer warmth.

“Thirty fucking six. Why him eh?” Hawk asked once the bottle was passed to him.

“Too young,” Steven muttered. “Too young.”

He was too young, he didn’t deserve to die.

“Why? What if I traded?” Rich sounded close to begging. I think anyone would have taken his place.

A new bottle opened and like the first, was passed around. I’d never dance with him again, I’d never see his cobalt eyes seemingly piercing, but the kindest eyes you’d ever see. I stood, albeit a little unsteady. “I want to dance,” I announced, the four men look at each other then Bear stood, nodding.

Wordlessly he took up my arms and led me clumsily around the graveyard. The three left on the ground start singing our song out of tune. I didn’t care; it’s still a beautiful melody. We almost fell over a grave, forcing me to grab Bear around his large waist. The thought of him never being there again turned the taps on and I cried. Bear stopped and loosely draped his arms around me. “I know,” he muttered, putting his bearded chin on my head. “I know,” his voice cracking.

“I miss him, I’ll always miss him.”

Bear’s arms tightened.

“He’s one of those men, he’ll always be in our hearts,” Steven stated behind me, his voice morose. We were all devastated; he was our landlord, our friend, our family.

The sun dipped behind the church, and slowly the daylight faded to night. The two bottles laid empty, my head spinning but I spread onto my back to await the stars. I heard the rustle and knew the others had done the same. “You think he’s up there?” I asked.

“Course he is, he’s watching us,” came Hawk’s reply. The silence engulfed the graveyard, even our breathing had seemingly died. My eyes scanned the emerging stars, searching for him. “There,” I peered around to see Steven pointing upwards. I looked back to the blanket of navy, a few wispy clouds passing over the clear sky. I saw it. “That’s him,” I could hear Bear’s small smile. We all gazed up to the brightest star in the sky, saluting the man we all had in common.