Fox Wiley (todd_wiley) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2010-02-27 21:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | fox, thread |
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Who: Fox
When: Mid-morning through afternoon
Where: Farmville, VA
What: The funeral and memorial service
Fox had stood in the back of the crowd, not wanting to draw attention to himself at the funeral. Most people there were fellow officers that had served with Joe, some of the University faculty that he worked closely with, and a fair amount of townspeople that Joe was friends with and dedicated his life to protecting. Nearly everyone there that knew Joe had heard of the young man with spiky blond hair, hard brown eyes and a love for motorcycles. The same young man Joe Bronsky had considered his son. Perhaps if Fox had been thinking clearly, he would have known that Joe would not have minded Fox sitting in the front row that was reserved for family. And that everyone there had been expecting it. But Fox did not want the recognition, to be the center of all those stares and pitying glances. So instead, he sat in one of the back rows and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, given he was in nothing better than a pair of dark jeans, a black tshirt and his favorite black leather jacket. It wasn't the best of outfits, but it was clean and better than a monkey suit. Joe wouldn't have expected that anyways.
There wasn't to be a burial, but a cremation, so this service was nothing but a combination viewing and funeral. The ashes were to be scattered and a bench erected on the campus in memory of the officer who had served there. Fox had heard mutterings from people that everything was already set up in the will that this was what Joe had wanted, so that's what was happening. Fox didn't care either way, or so he told himself.
The sermon given by the pastor was mercifully brief. The majority of the time was spent with people coming forward to tell some story or other about Joe. Something he had done for them, the humorous way they'd met. No one mentioned the man sitting in the back row, the man Joe Bronsky claimed as son. And Fox didn't stand to tell people about the way he was saved, about a man who cared more about a scared, beaten kid than the tires on a motorcycle.
A reception was announced to follow the service and Fox stood, making his way out of the doors. He wanted to leave before the rest of the horde descended. Talking to people was not on his big list right now. As Fox stood outside, he phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn't bother to look to see who it was or what they wanted. He didn't care. Sliding on a pair of dark sunglasses, Fox started to make his way down the hill the funeral home was perched on, heading towards his bike.
"Are you Todd Wiley? The guy everyone calls Fox?" The voice came from a younger man, not much older than Fox was himself. Turning around, Fox took in the sandy mop of hair, the green eyes and the black monkey suit. The dude could have passed for another mourner, except for the black briefcase in his hand.
"Who wants to know?" Crossing his arms over his chest, Fox adopted a bored look while wondering what sob story this man was here to tell.
"I'm Mark Rutherford and I work for Blessings and Bell," he began, stating one of the local law firms. "Joe Bronsky set up his will with us and I am to deliver this to Todd Wiley." The man held out a plain white envelope with Fox's name scrawled on the front in black ink. "The reading of the will is going to be tomorrow at one in the afternoon, at our office. Sunday is not normally a business day for us, but Joe had requested that if you came, we did it the very next day. You should be there."
Fox nodded and took the envelope. "Fine. I'll be there tomorrow." He could see this Mark character wanting to say something else, as his eyes had softened to give the typical apology. "Don't," was all Fox could say. Quickly, he turned and stalked towards his bike, shoving the envelope into his jacket pocket. He'd read it later.
***
Later that afternoon, there was a memorial service at Longwood University with the speaker being one of the more well known professors on campus, Dr. Larissa Smith. As she spoke, Fox stood in the back and quietly opened the letter he had received that morning. Inside were two pieces of paper. Both had Joe's broad font on it and Fox fought back a sudden tightness in his chest. Glancing down at the first page, he read silently.
Fox,
I'm writing this while laying in bed, thinking of you, and knowing that I'm going to leave you soon. I'd say don't be angry or upset, but I already know you will be. I didn't tell you about the cancer because there was nothing that could be done. By the time I found out, I was already dying.
Know that I am proud of you, and what you have become. I consider you my son. I have two regrets: that I couldn't make it legal, and that I have to leave you so soon. I'm always going to be there for you, in spirit. Just like I have been when you've been off becoming a man. I am so proud of you. Know that, and never forget it. You are nothing like Chase Wiley; don't let anyone tell you different.
Something that you may or may not know by now is that, in my will, I've left everything to you. You know my wife and daughter died years ago and I have no living heirs. So it's all yours. My lawyer will contact you soon, if he hasn't already to make things official. Right now, it's all in bonds, stocks and the bank. He'll make sure you know what's going on.
You're my son, Todd, and I love you.
-Joe
P.S. I wrote a poem for you when I found out. You know it's one of my loves, and I couldn't help but try to share how I'm feeling with you.
Fox cleared his throat softly and had to squeeze his eyes shut to hold back the burn he felt. He hadn't cried yet, and he wasn't going to. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to take slow breaths until he felt the urge pass. Breathing normally again, he glanced around at the crowd. There were people weeping and sniffling into tissues, both staff and students. Dr. Smith was still speaking, and Fox listened with half an ear while he pulled out he second page to read it.
Life and death
Birth is a beginning
And death a destination
But life is a journey
A going -- a growing
From stage to stage
From childhood to maturity
And youth to age.
From innocence to awareness
And ignorance to knowing;
From foolishness to discretion
And then perhaps, to wisdom.
From Weakness to strength
Or strength to weakness
And, often, back again.
From health to sickness
And back we pray, to health again.
From offense to forgiveness,
From loneliness to love,
From joy to gratitude,
From pain to compassion,
And grief to understanding --
From fear to faith.
From defeat to defeat to defeat --
Until, looking backward or ahead,
We see that victory lies
Not as some high place along the way,
But in having made the journey, stage by stage.
A sacred pilgrimage.
Birth is a beginning
And death a destination.
But life is a journey,
A sacred pilgrimage --
Made stage by stage --
To life everlasting.
((OOC: I couldn't find an author for this poem, but it's not mine. I wish.))
As much as he wanted to, Fox couldn't hold back the twin tears that escaped the corners of his eyes. Gripping the sheets of paper tightly in one hand, he used the heel of the other to wipe his eyes free of the excess moisture. "Hold it together, Fox," he muttered to himself. Once he'd calmed himself again, he glanced back down at the letter and poem in his hand that he'd crumpled. Carefully, he smoothed the papers out as much as possible against his chest, folded them and slipped them back into the plain white envelope. It was too much to take in right now, but he knew he didn't want to lose the last piece of Joe he'd been gifted.
At that moment, the memorial service ended and students began to disperse. Fox folded the envelope in half once and slid it into his jacket pocket. Later. He'd reread it later.