The Heartbroken Bear

The sky was grey, and the air was sharp. The winter bit at his hands, causing him to stuff them into the pockets of his wool jacket. The January winter froze every living thing outside. The snow covered the usual lush green lawn. The trees held a melancholy look that fit the depression that filled his void.

He walked the familiar path to his destination. Snow crunched under his weight. The place he goes to once a year. His long legs made it there in no time flat.

He glared at the slab of granite in front of him. Bushy eyebrows pressed together in a firm stance. His dull green eyes fixated on the stone in front of him, almost as if he were trying to memorize every piece of rock crushed together to form the memorial in front of him. His broad shoulders covered the stone in front of him.

He concentrated at the engraving on the headstone and read the name and dates repeatedly. He would never forget it. He set his jaw tight as he felt his eyes betray him with the sting of tears threatening to spill.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to smash the headstone in front of him. He wanted someone to blame. He wanted answers to his pain. He didn’t have the answers, and he didn’t know how to cry out his pain.

Bjorn was a man. Men do not cry. His father always taught him that men do not. He resented his father for that teaching. It’s what killed his brother.

He noticed a young girl walk through the cemetery alone. Her long dark hair was tied back from her face. She wore a mid-length black dress covered by her wool jacket. Bjorn noticed she was dressed smartly for such a young girl. She held a single flower in her hand. The look of determination was written plainly across her pale face. He watched as she walked up to a tiny headstone and stood in front of it.

“I miss you, stupid idiot,” he heard the little girl say to the headstone. She threw the rose down at the headstone in a fit like manner. “I started fourth grade this year,” she stated the headstone proudly. “I’m almost the same age as you were, you know, before your accident,” her voice cracked. Bjorn felt his heartbreak for the now sobbing girl. “Why did you have to leave me here, abandoned? Why did you have to leave me alone with mom and dad? They won’t leave me alone,” she scolded the headstone. Bjorn watched and listened to the little girl talk. He wanted to go over to her and talk to her, but he was rooted to his spot.

The weeping girl perked her shoulders up as she felt someone staring at her, thinking it was a ghost she jumped back and turned. She saw Bjorn staring at her in curiosity and empathy.

“Who are you visiting?” the girl’s voice made Bjorn snap out his on looking.

“My brother. Who are you visiting?” he confessed

“I’m visiting my big brother!” the girl exclaimed with a sense of almost excitement. She was relieved to have finally met someone who also lost a brother, as she was the only one at school who did.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked. Bjorn was taken aback by the girl’s braveness to talking to a mere stranger.

“I’m Bjorn, what’s your name?”

“My name is Althea; I’m nine years old. How did your brother die?”

His heart sunk at the question. He didn’t know if he should answer Althea truthfully. He didn’t know the etiquette of talking to a child about death. He swallowed the discomfort in his throat and replied, “He decided he wanted to die.”

Althea’s head cocked to the side as she heard the answer.

“My brother was killed by a bad man. Mom and dad won’t tell me how, or why. I just know a bad man wanted him dead for some reason. How old was your bother?”

“My brother was seventeen.”

“Mine was fourteen!” she was almost excited at the closeness in age.

“How old are you Bjorn?”

He chuckled at the random question, “I’m twenty-three.”

“Bjorn, Bo, BB. I’m going to call you Bo,” Althea decided. “The kids at school think I’m weird because my brother died, Bo.” She confessed with a pang of sadness in her voice. He furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing how to deal with the raw emotion the girl possessed. He envied the nine-year-old for being able to display her emotion in front of a stranger without shame. Bo felt his eyes sting, and his throat closes up. “You’re not weird Althea. I lost my brother too. We’re the same.” He assured the little girl.

She felt her tears roll down her cheeks and make her feel the January chill kiss the moisture on her face. Finally, she had a person who related to her; she felt normal after a year of being an outcast.