Nick Ritchie

Black Irises

Liam felt a creak as the middle-aged man collapsed onto the pew. The man, still catching his breath glanced at Liam who quickly returned to his study of the floor. The church lacked the hushed whispers, and conciliatory glances found in a warm family, leaving a palpable tension. Liam looked around at the well dressed, dry eyed room, then down at his patched jacket. 'How did you know Aunt Iris?', the man broke. Jarred slightly, Liam stammered 'I ah, I was her neighbor across the street', to whom must’ve been Arthur, Iris’s nephew. 'Oh yeah, get stuck hearing her drone on a bit, did you?', Arthur replied with a half chuckle, stuck between facetious humor and thinly veiled discontent. 'Oh no, we got on very well, I spent a lot of time...', Liam was cut off by the minister. 'Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to say farewell to Iris’, the minister started, sending a silence through the crowd. 'Unfortunately, I didn't get to spend much time with Iris. Although we all miss her, we may at least take solace in knowing that she passed gently and met death with an outstretched hand. She was a tough woman, always willing to let her thoughts be known. She was a worldly spirit, and she jumped to explore it whenever and with whomever she could'. Arthur scoffed under his breath and whispered something to his partner. Liam's eyes searched for anything that could occupy his attention to escape his repulsion of the man. His gaze caught the memorial leaflet, a middle-aged Iris on the cover, her mild expression in agreement over her nephew’s reaction. Liam recognized the photo, Iris was wearing her fluffy pink cardigan, sitting in front of to her terrace house in Melbourne. The photo had sat in the middle of her living room wall, a timeline of her life describing her adventures with her husband. They had met in Kyoto and lived around the world together for 20 years. The photo had been taken when she had returned alone and bought her first house back in Australia in her forties. Anyone who really knew her, and knew that expression on her face, would never have used that photo at her funeral. Liam knew why they had used it, it was the only photo on that wall without her Japanese husband. Realizing again the room he was in, made fresh cuts into Liam. To calm himself he imagined sitting in the living room of Iris's house, sipping her French earl grey, listening to the birds. After his parents had died in a car crash, he regularly spent time there. That day Iris had seen him struggling with groceries and had offered to help him. When he told her, he didn’t know how to cook, she had brought over a recipe and missing ingredients. 'I've always wanted to learn how to cook', she joked. That gentle support meant the world. Liam fondly remembered sitting in her living room, listening to her stories. Iris would always be jotting down in her leather diary as they reminisced on her adventures. Her university exchange to Japan where she met her husband. Her exciting trip to Morocco where she was arrested. The story always ended the same way, 'And that prison cell is where I learned to never rely on my family. Don’t trust the people in your life you didn’t put there Liam', she always said. Everyone slowly stood, startled Liam followed. The entire ceremony had passed while he was in his memories, but he thought it much better time spent saying goodbye to Iris than a sterile sermon. ‘How could such a loving, open-minded woman, be related to this family’, Liam thought. As her coffin was walked between the crowd Liam felt a pang of anger, they didn't deserve a woman who to Liam, had been like a mother. As the ceremony ended, Liam picked himself up, and moved for the door. A hand on his elbow stopped him. 'You must be Liam', an elderly woman's voice said. Liam turned around to see Iris's sister Mary. 'Yes, and you must be Mary, thank you for organizing such a lovely service for her, she would have loved it, especially the irises', he replied. 'I would have done some things differently, but Iris wanted this. I needed to let you know, the probate is tomorrow at 11am, at my house and apparently Iris requested you be there', she said, a chill in her voice. 'Oh, thank you, I'll be there’, Liam replied, off guard. 'See you tomorrow', Mary closed, and began slowly walking away. Liam turned and continued towards the door, incredulous at her matter-of-fact ness, and thankful the encounter was over. 'Be wary of Mary', Iris's voice echoed.