I glanced impatiently out the window, hoping to see the familiar blue Holden pull into our driveway. What was keeping him? Peter was never late, not even by five minutes. I turned towards the clock on my desk. The iridescent numbers read 8:10.

Nervously, I ran my fingers through my hair. Pacing the room, I began to imagine all sorts of reasons why he could be late. Maybe he had a flat tire. The traffic could be hell at this time of night too. Yes, that was it.

I ran to the window as I heard a car pull round the corner of the street. Far away, I could hear the faint buzz of a siren. I shuddered to think where it was heading. My father’s car rolled into view, finally pulling to a stop outside our house. He got out, wiping a hand across his brow. Suddenly, he looked up. I caught his eye and waved. He didn’t. The front door slammed shut. Muttered whispers flowed up the stairs, vanishing before I could hear them. Then they stopped. I heard a cry of surprise followed by my father’s soothing voice. Two pairs of footsteps echoed down the hall, stopping at my door. Someone knocked quietly. They entered, standing stiffly in front of me. Mum had tears streaming down her cheeks as she reached out towards me.

I could tell that something wasn’t right. Just what, I didn’t know but I had never seen them look so upset. The silence was shattered. I heard the rise and fall of the siren again. I looked out the window and then back at mum. Millions of possibilities flew through my head. I could cope with any of them – except one. Mum lowered her eyes.

“Peter.”

I stared at her. No. Peter was just running late, I told myself. The siren had been for someone else and nothing was wrong.

“No,” I whispered.

She nodded and wrapped her arms around me. I fell into them, praying that it was all a lie.

“The other driver didn’t see him. Couldn’t stop in time,” my father mumbled.

I turned to face him, ready to argue that he was wrong. One look at him told me that he wouldn’t lie to me. His eyes were lowered and he was wringing his hands, a sure sign that he was upset.

“He’s gone,” dad whispered, choking back his own tears.

I closed my eyes tightly, hoping that when I opened then, it would all have been a dream. I would wake up and Peter would be standing in front of me. He never came.

I dreamt about him that night. We were standing on South road, staring at each other from across the street. I called out to him. No answer. I wanted to join him, hold him tight and never let go. There was a streak of light, a car I think. I called out again and this time he turned. Cradled in his arms, was a bunch of roses. I raised my voice, trying to get his attention. He ignored me, delicately setting the flowers down on the footpath. He glanced up, before turning and slowly walking away. I screamed out to him but he moved faster, hurrying off into the distance. I woke up, a scream already on my lips. I cried out for my mother. She ran to my side, cuddling me against her soft body.

“He’s dead!” I screamed.

The sound was muffled but she heard my words. Mum in turn stroked my cheek and tried to console me.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here with you now.”

It was a miserable, cold winter’s day. The small graveyard site was bursting with Peter’s friends and family. They were all gathered around, gazing at the polished wood of the closed casket, crying for the life that had once filled its occupant.

I clung fiercely to my mother, forcing myself not to fall into the same dull eyed stare other faces held. My wet cheeks stung from the wind whistling through the trees. It sounded like a lost soul, crying out for help.

I looked up into the swinging branches of the closest tree. I imagined that I could see the crouching figure of a young man. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend that it was him, watching us all far below. He would flash that cheeky grin that I loved so much. The slightly dimpled one that let me know he was thinking of me.

It all disappeared as an inhuman wail filled my ears. It took over my senses, blocking out everything else that surrounded me. It was his mother. Supported by her husband, she was doubled over. Her breath was coming in quick gasps, almost as fast as the words were rolling off her tongue.

“Why Peter? Why my beautiful, baby boy?” she cried out.

She fell to her knees, her hands stretching up towards the sky as if expecting an answer. Maybe she needed one. Everyone stood still, watching her outpour of emotion. I could see the pity in their eyes. No one felt comfortable seeing a bold display of grief like the one they had just witnessed. It embarrassed them all.

I covered my ears, wishing I could disappear into the safety of my mother’s arms. My own tears fell silently down my cheeks as I tried to shut out everyone and everything. I felt my chest tighten with a sharp pain. Inside my body, I could picture a nasty little troll, squeezing my heart within his cruel hands. With each breath I took, it hurt even more.

The service continued, but I ignored it. I didn’t want any part of what was going on. The only thing I wanted was to have Peter back. My mother’s arms tightened around me. I could feel her lips warm against my ear as she softly whispered, “do you think that Peter would want you to cry over his death when he loved life so much?”

I paused. Deep down, I knew she was right. Peter loved life and everything that went with it. He even laughed at the bad times. I shook my head. Slowly, I turned around.

I focused on a bunch of red roses, placed lovingly across the closed casket. A ray of light took over my soul and I smiled through my tears. I remembered the first time Peter had bought me roses. I could almost feel the velvety softness of the petals as he placed them in my arms, embracing me at the same time. “With all my love,” he had whispered. “Forever and ever.”

Later, I ran my fingers gently over the velvet petals. Placing one hand on my heart, I sat the other softly on the casket. I knew that the strength and love that had been Peter’s soul would always be a part of me. It would stay with me until the day that I died. Ignoring the people curiously watching me, I knelt beside the casket and kissed the roses.

“With all my love,” I whispered.