Best Friends

The rain was pouring off the aluminum window coverings and beating down on the withering shrubs below. The growing heat of summer days always brought with it the fury of late afternoon thunderstorms. Liz stood behind the screen door leading to the back porch, her head resting against the doorjamb. She watched intently as the dark clouds rolled across the sky. The great masses of cool air colliding with stale heat were marked by thunderous booms. Lightning streaked through the sky and flashed over the trees that lined the creek bank in the lower pasture. A chill ran up her spine as she wondered if Steven Burgess had seen the bolt of light coming for him like a fiery arrow. Had he been too far out in the field to reach shelter? She didn’t know the circumstances, only that the result had been fatal. Liz tried to force herself to pray for his grieving mother and father but her heart and mind could only think of one person.

Wyatt had been Steven’s best friend for years. She’d seen them often since the dance last fall but could never bring herself to speak, only to smile shyly and hurry past. Liz was sure Wyatt had passed her off as a silly schoolgirl crush and nothing more. But at the funeral tomorrow, she intended to make sure he knew that she was interested in much more.

In a small town like Weedowee, Alabama, everyone knows everyone, and a funeral can seem like a family reunion. Bear Creek Methodist Church was filled to capacity. The service was difficult and the Pastor’s voice could hardly be heard above the sobs of Mrs. Burgess. Liz and her family sat near the back of the sanctuary. She craned her neck trying to pick Wyatt out of the crowd but she could hardly see over her aunt Molly McManus’ big black hat with it’s purple plume sticking out of one side. Why anyone would wear something so gaudy to a funeral was beyond Liz’s understanding. It’s not an Easter picnic for goodness sake, she thought as she settled back in her chair with a sigh of frustration. Hmph!

As the Pastor signaled the beginning of the procession to the graveside, Liz finally saw Wyatt. He was the third pallbearer on the left-hand side, serving along with John’s younger brother, George, and several cousins and uncles. She watched Wyatt as they passed her row. His jaw was firmly set and his lips were drawn tightly in a narrow line. He was fighting to control his emotions. In contrast to the tension over most of his face, she could see that his eyes were soft and moist with tears. A quick prayer rose in her heart. Please give him comfort, Lord. Then she added subconsciously, use me to comfort him, Lord.

The twenty-third Psalm was read and the Pastor spoke a final prayer then shared a personal word of encouragement with Mr. and Mrs. Burgess. The crowd of supporters left in small clusters as the family members made their way to the fellowship hall for a meal prepared by the ladies of the church. Eva Rampy was head of the benevolence committee and would remain at the church until the meal was finished. Liz knew that her mom would be calling on her for kitchen help soon but she had to talk to Wyatt first.

He was still standing at the graveside, staring at the ground that would soon be home to the body of his friend. Liz hesitated to break into the moment. Instead, she walked casually between the grave plots, glancing at the headstones as she went. Generations of Rampys and McManuses, her mother’s side of the family, had been laid to rest in this cemetery, so she neither felt nor looked out of place.

After a few moments, Wyatt looked up from the ground. His cheeks were damp with tears and Liz recognized her opportunity. Slowly and purposefully she approached his side. He never looked her way. Not when their shoulder’s touched or when she slid her slender fingers into his palm. Not even when she gently declared, “I’ll be your best friend now, Wyatt Harrington.” She knew that she belonged beside him and the tightening of his fingers around her hand assured her that he knew it, too.

Amie Sexton
Copyright 2002