The gravel crunched beneath his heavy boots as he walked across the almost-too-neatly raked graveyard.

  His steps were slow, heavy, drawn out. He didn’t want to. But he had to.

  In his hand was a battered book. He held on to it tightly, it being the only thing available for holding-on-to.

  He wandered around lost for a long while, reading the names on the gravestones. Finally, he saw the right one. He stopped dead in his tracks, terrified.

  How was he supposed to face him now, after over a year?

  Finally he pushed himself to take the last steps. He fell to his knees in front of it, the book falling to the ground.

  Clenching his hands into firm fists, staring down at his knees, he took a deep, trembling breath. Then he looked up.

  In Loving Memory of

Blaine Anderson

1994-2013

The most loving Son

 anyone could ever ask for

Kurt felt tears stinging in his eyes and bit the inside of his lip. No crying. He’d promised himself that. No crying.

  He sat still for another minute, collecting himself, thankful for the chilly October wind; it made his heart feel less empty.

  There were fresh flowers in a vase, standing rested against the black stone, though a few leaves had fallen over his little rectangle of dirt, where someone had planted yellow flowers. Cleaning away the yellow-and-orange leaves, he saw another stone, resting against the foot of the headstone. It was gray and naturally flat, and instead of gold lettering, the text had been written in black sharpie. It read,

The best addition to the group we could’ve asked for 

and we’ll always be mad at whoever it was that decided it was time for you to go.

Kurt choked on his breath, eyes stinging, and though he managed a smile, it was bittersweet; they’d all been here already, and not him. And from the look of it, that sharpie and been refilled a few times, so someone still came here, refilling the letters whenever needed. He guessed it was Quinn, but couldn’t be sure. 

  He reached for the stone and took it in his hand, running his fingers over the smooth but slightly uneven surface. Of some reason he turned it over, only to see more text written on the back.

And even though Kurt isn’t here right now, we know that he’d agree with us when we say that we all love you very much

Hope you’re having fun in hell, Frodo, and we’ll all see you in a couple of years

He was sure he’d start crying then, but the tears didn’t come. He was glad for that. He’d been crying so much for so long now, he wished for few things more than for it to stop.

  He wanted to say something. He’d planned on saying something. But he couldn’t remember any of it anymore. It was harder than he’d though, actually. Because where Blaine’s face should be, there was only a slab of stone with his name written on it.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come to your funeral.” he said at last. “I just… I wasn’t ready yet. But I should’ve been there, I know. I should’ve taken care of your mother and I should’ve helped her and Mrs. Smythe arrange everything. But I… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry.”

  He fell silent again, sitting quietly for several minutes, staring down at his hands, which were still knot into fists, lying stiffly on his lap.

  “I need –” he said then. “I need your help. Blaine.” His voice was unsteady and his heart beat hard in his chest. “I can’t – I can’t remember you anymore.” he said, then having to stop, [shipping] for breath.

  “I can’t remember your smell or your different kinds of smiles or the special color of your eyes. Or the way you’d sound when you’d laugh at me when I did something weird, or how your hands felt on me, how it felt when you whispered in my ear or held my hand.” He looked up at the sky, breathing through his mouth, refusing to let his eyes get teary.

  “And I’m – I’m starting to forget your voice.” A strange sound escaped his lips, something between a gasp and a whine. “I don’t want – I can’t forget your voice. I just… I need it, okay? I need it there to help me, to guide me. I can’t forget it. Just… just say something else and remind me how beautiful it sounded I can’t handle losing the sound of your voice I can’t.” He was speaking quickly, stumbling over the words, but it didn’t matter. “And your face will be next. Oh God I don’t want to forget your face, Blaine. The details are already getting – getting… fuzzy and I… fuck. Fuck. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much sometimes I think it’s going to kill me.” 

  He was starting to get nauseous, his sight getting wobbly and his insides trembling. He pressed his right thumb against his wrist, covering his tattoo.

  “I got a tattoo,” he said quietly, looking down at it. “It was a couple of months ago now, but… Yeah, it’s there now. I like it. Helps me remember.” 

  It was a semicolon. The one from Blaine’s note, that exact one. Kurt’d gotten it inked right over his wrist artery, as a reminder to himself. But, most of all, as a memory, honoring and remembering Blaine for the rest of his life. A promise to never forget, not completely, not ever. 

  “I’ve finally moved, by the way,” he said after another long while. “Yeah, never thought it’d happen either. But it did. It’s another one-room apartment, and in the same building as Quinn’s. And hey, guess what? I’m the one paying my rent this time. 

  “I’m done with Kat. I tried talking to her a few more times, but now that she’s not paying for the roof over my head and I’ve gotten past the shock of her actually being alive, I’ve kind of realized what she did to a fuller extent and what an awful person she is, and how mad I am at her.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I’m childish, I don’t know.”

  Again he felt so insanely empty and alone; before, this would’ve been when Blaine would say something really smart and make things better. But now, instead, there was just silence and a tombstone. 

  “Lucy – Quinn’s daughter – she’s growing so fast,” he said then with a faint smile. “turned one the other month. She’s really amazing, Blaine. You’d love her. 

  “And Quinn’s amazing too. She’s handling being a mom – a single teen mom at that – so fucking well it’s almost weird. She seems to really love it too, even when she has to stay awake all night taking care of a crying Lucy, then has to go to work in the morning. She’ll just warn me that ‘Luc is a bit grumpy’ when she leaves her with me. She’s pretty badass.”

  He touched one of the yellow flowers, still blooming even if it was early fall. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes, nodding a little for no specific reason. He had so much to say. And he guessed that was it.

  “You shouldn’t have left so soon.” he said. “I just… we were only at the tip of the iceberg, as you said. Why did you… why did you die, Blaine? Why? I keep asking myself that question and I really can’t find an answer. If it was some kind of fucked up way for the Universe or God or whatever the fuck pulls the strings to punish me for something, this wasn’t… this wasn’t the way to do it. I just – shit. Fuck. There was so much – so much we never did, you know? So much we never said, that I never said.

  “I lo –” He choked, swallowed, and tried again. “I love you.” he said, finally saying the words he should’ve so long ago. “I loved you then and I still love you now and I should’ve told you and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Blaine – for everything. And I know you can’t really hear me and that this doesn’t matter because I’m just talking to your fucking – gravestone. But I still need to say it, and pretend like you can hear me. So pretend to listen, okay? Pretend to listen like you always did before.

  “I love you.” he said again. “I love you with my whole fucked up, piece of shit heart, and I don’t think it’ll ever really go away. It’s a part of me now, you know? And I hate that I can’t share it with you because I remember how wonderful it was to be loved by you. I hope you realized that I loved you back, Blaine, even if I was too stupid to see it myself and then too scared to tell you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” He fell silent yet again, throat a tight, painful knot.

  For another 10 minutes, he concentrated on the clouds in the sky and the wind blowing in the trees and the pain of the gravel digging into his knees. Then, finally, he picked up the book from the ground, and held it up for the gravestone to see.

  “Look what I brought,” he said, and his voice was a whisper. He hadn’t read any further than they’d gotten that last night by the lake a year ago. Yet he still remembered it all, and with it came the happiest memories of his life. He had refused to let the memories hurt him, had refused to make himself forget any of it. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “We never got to finishing it,” he carried on, smiling down at the book silently. “and with a book like this you gotta get to the end. I’ve heard it’s a movie now, too.” he said, then stood up, knees wobbly. He walked around the grave to the grass behind it, sat down and leaned his back against the cold, black stone, opening the book.

  He started reading, silently, voice unsteady at first but then getting steadier as he got consumed by the book, and the image of Blaine laying on his back with that little smile on his lips found him.

  He read hour after hour, and in a way that was better than speaking more about his life. His life wasn’t anything worth mentioning. He’d gotten a new job, working as a cashier/assistant at the same grocery store as Quinn. The Lime Bean had gotten shut down, getting a whole page to themselves in the newspaper. Something about legal work and broken health regulations.

   He’d taken meds for almost seven months, and had just gotten off them. He’d changed therapist, now going to a man named Daniel Sherman, who Kurt actually liked. Mr. Sherman had listened and trusted him without hesitation when he’d said that he thought he was ready to stop taking the pills, so that had earned him a big gold star in Kurt’s mind.

  When he had time to spare, which was pretty often, he would go into town and sit down with his guitar, singing and playing, or just playing. It’d earn him some extra money, which he put away and saved whenever he could. 

  He had plans on traveling. Maybe not the world, but at least the country. He figured he’d just walk and hitchhike when the money for busses or trains ran out. Or he’d play his guitar some more and hope a generous stranger would give him a few cents. He just… he needed, and wanted, to get away. He’d take Quinn with him but he knew she wasn’t going anywhere now with her child and all. Not while she had an at-least-mostly stable life.

  He didn’t know too much about Blaine’s mom. She had gotten much worse after Blaine’s passing, he knew, and she’d sold the house. The last he’d heard of her she was living at a home, and hoped they would keep her there. He was too scared to contact her for a long time, and still got profoundly ashamed every time the woman entered his mind. Maybe he’d go see her some day in the future, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe it’d be best not to.

  It was getting colder outside, but Kurt refused to leave before the book was finished, just tugging his jacket closer around him and pulling up his legs to his chest, resting his head on his knees and holding the book by his feet.

  By the time he reached the epilogue, his voice was tireder and more hoarse than he could ever remember it being, a dull throb in his head. But he kept reading, and when he finally closed the book, tears were running down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the book or because now he didn’t have an excuse to stay.

  His chest was throbbing and for a moment he got overwhelmed by the feeling of just wanting to bury himself alive, right next to Blaine. At least then maybe they’d be together again. 

  He stepped back around the grave, facing the golden lettering once again. He stood still there for a moment, tears still running. He wasn’t really crying, but the tears were still there, dripping silently from his eyes and down his face.

  "It doesn't feel right to say goodbye to you, so I'll just skip that." he said silently, wiping his face on his jacket arm. "Hope you're having a good time in the afterlife, whatever that's like." he added, trying to smile.

  He closed his eyes then, seeing Blaine’s face in his mind, doing his best to remember everything that was him, and for a moment his smile grew big and real.

 He turned before the smile fell again, forcing his feet to move and walk away. He wanted the last thing Blaine saw of him to be his smile, as he’d helped him get it back.

  Because, if he'd be strong enough, Kurt had planed for this visit to be both the first and the last.

  It was time to move on.