A suicidal foodie

The enormity of the situation was... Well... Rather small and negligable.  Sitting in the cafe where she'd met him and where they'd continued to meet until they finally left with each other for other venues--the library, this great hot dog stand on the other side of town, the $2 theater around the corner near that raggedy little diner with the best cheesecake--she stared across at the now empty seat.  The vacancy extended around the seat itself and her face. It was, in fact, that vacancy of expression that had brought her to this moment.  How long had the two of them gone together for their little, underrated yet hipster-typical adventures?  Her dark brownish-green eyes were focused and unmoving on the slats of the chair's back as she considered.  Almost... Four months.  Yes, that was right, because tomorow would have been an anniversary.  Not that they were the kind to celebrate something so trivial as that.  Or so she had lead herself to think. "Your aloofness," he'd muttered with his hands around his cup of green tea, "this remoteness you've got going for you... I thought it was just because you were shy or had social anxiety or something."  He sighed when she gave him no response.  "You never laugh.  You never smile, not once in the time I've known you have I ever seen you so much as quirk up your lips for a split second like you were about to smile.  You don't get angry or upset, you don't argue with me on anything, you don't compliment or criticize me, you don't..."  He made a huffing sound and looked away from her out the window, unable to keep contact with her unblinking gaze. A few minutes of silence passed between them in which she idley sipped at her apple cidar, hating the taste of it but one would never know by looking at her.  She set the cup on its saucer quietly, making absolutely no sound whatsoever.  It was haunting just how silent she could be, even in the most noisy of situations.  His eyes followed her movements, two pieces of the sky moving over her like the universe, observing and displeased with the product it had come across.  His frown deepened and he stood suddenly. If she was startled, she showed no signs of being so.  "You're always so damned composed and it's... It's fucking disgusting!" He said angrily, trying to keep his voice down but still drawing attention from a few of the patrons who had been eavesdropping since the beginning.  He licked his lips and leaned over, hands flat on the table before straightening up again.  His jaw was set with determination and he walked away without another word.  The bell rang as he opened the door and there was a brief silence.  He was looking back at her, to check for a reaction.  Would she get up and run after him? The bell rang again and the glass in the door and the windows shuddered with the force of the door being slammed hard.  She would not.  She had no need to follow him.  She'd never requested his presence in her life, although she'd never denied him her time or her company. "Darlin', are you all right?" Came a soft, soothing voice.  She turned her head and looked up into the kind face of a concerned and elderly woman whose lids drooped over her eyes.  She had been beautiful once, the girl could tell. "Yes, I'm fine, no need to worry about me, or him," she said.  It was casual and effortless and emotionless.  The indifference she felt could be heard.  It struck the woman a little odd to receive such a response.  She hesitated a moment, thought of saying something else, then retracted said thought with a quick and tight smile before moving back on to her own table where a book lay waiting for her. Such strange creatures, always meddling in each other's lives and requiring much in return for their efforts.  Varying in behavior, cultures, skin tones... I see nothing worthwhile here so far...  They're still far to primitive for higher contact.  They are not ready for integration.  Set timer for... One thousand years.  Perhaps they will evolve further. End transmission.

Of course, this had to all have been the biggest secret.  If Janne's husband and kids knew what Titaia was doing with her small portion of the ashes left to her graciously by her most treasured friend, they might have a conniption.  But it wasn't really their business what she did with her bit, was it?  No, it wasn't.  And in any case, Janne had agreed and worked with Titaia that this would be the most glorious thing to be done to her after her departure from this world to the next. Titaia's amber eyes were red and swollen from crying over her friend's death.  It had not been painful, the doctor's had said, the impact had broken her neck and she'd died instantly.  But she was skeptical about it.  Pessimistic and miserable in nature, she always thought the worst of things but deep down hoped for the best.  She wanted desperately to believe that when the car was slammed in a head on collision that Janne had felt not one ounce of pain, that she had felt fear but had accepted in a split second that it was ok and everything and everyone she loved would be all right even after the shock and the tears and the denial and the anger. The only bit of real comfort Tataia took away from the loss of her truest friend was that the cum-stain whose mother should have swallowed instead of birthed had not gone so peacefully.  He had flown through the windshield and lay bleeding and broken and gurgling for air while his lungs filled with blood.  It was small penance but it would have to suffice. Holding her little shot glass of Janne's ashes wrapped in plastic wrap in one hand and carrying a medium sized box under her other arm she knelt down at the side of the large pond in the park.  It was closed for the night but she had not let a locked gate stop her.  Her bicycle rested hidden among bushes at the gate's entrance waiting for her to complete her mission.  Rubbing hard at her face and taking a deep, shaking breath to control herself, Titia set the shot glass carefully on the concrete edging.  Putting a bit of space between her feet and the glass so as not to knock it into the water, she opened the box.  That soft sound of cardboard on cardboard seemed a thousand times louder in the quiet stillness of the summer night. Not even the cicadas seemed to be alive in the area, as if the whole park knew that death had occurred and it would be most inappropriate and impolite to sing and make music.  It was much more peaceful than the wake had been, what with Giffard acting like a woman causing a scene, wailing and carrying on.  He blamed everything and everyone from God, Jesus, the Devil, then finally to Tataia.  It had been she who had caused Janne to leave the house, they were meeting up for dinner for the first time in two weeks when Titaia had come home from a visit to her father a few states away. Titaia had been careful and quiet during his tantrum that no one could really blame him for but were still a little judgmental.  Of course, the same judgement had come upon her as well.  She hadn't made a sound.  She didn't shake hands with anyone.  Her only comfort had been to the children, who sniffled and shuffled about and were sullen, of course, but accepted her hugs and her colds hands in theirs without words.  She'd offered no prayers of good will to anyone and once the service was over had left without so much as a "goodbye" or "take care".  Where Giffard was boisterous and loud and rightfully so to grieve in his own way, Titaia was quiet and reserved and torn apart on the inside and held together on the outside.  Her tears were her business, her privacy, her privilege, and she would share her enormous grief with no one. "I hope you like the music I picked out, Janne, nothing else really seemed... Seemed to fit the sit-"her voice was thick and caught in her throat-"situation." She finished with a sharp intake of breath.  She lifted the small, simple wooden boat out of the cardboard box.  A Viking longboat, with the sail having been replaced with a black rather than a white one.  "Glad it's not windy, I don't wanna lose whatever pieces of you I've got," she said with a sad laugh, licking her lips as her tears blurred her vision. "I was gonna give this to ya, y'know, to show how much I appreciate your friendship... Now's as good a time as any, right?"  She reached into her left front pocket and pulled out a long silvery chain with a little stone on the end.  "It's small, you know, 'cause I'm too fuckin' broke to get anything big and nice, but... It's still pretty and I think you'd have liked it," she whispered as she held the little gemstone up in the fading light of the day.  The deep purple of the tiny alexandrite stone sparkled slightly.  It felt heavy although it couldn't have been two ounces at best but Titaia was shit for science and math so that didn't mean anything to her. She fumbled with the claps for a minute, cursing when her thumbnail slipped, and then slid the pendant off the chain.  Crushing her lids together to clear out the tears she sighed heavily and picked up her shot glass, unwrapping the cellophane as carefully as possible. She gave a quick thanks to anyone and everyone who wanted a little credit for there being no wind, not even a breeze, as she carefully poured the ashes onto the deck of her little Viking ship.  The ashes turned a slightly darker color, the wood of the model having been soaked in kerosene.  She had to make sure the thing would burn quickly, and if any rangers or park caretakers happened to see it, well, it would be too late to stop the fire and it wouldn't do any harm to anything around. Tears and breathing under control, Titaia put the little gemstone on the boat in the deepest mound of ashes, watching as it seemed to be cradled there is such a loving way.  It made her choke back a sob with a squeaking sound, bringing her hand up to her mouth as if the sound was a tangible thing she could catch and restrain.  Regaining what little composure she had left, she turned and pulled her iPod dock out of her back and set it up.  'What a wonderful world' played quietly, sung by the one and only Louis Armstrong, as Janne had wanted.  She picked the boat up and set it gently in the water. Pulling a pack of matches out of her back pocket and striking one, she stared at the flame for a moment before tossing it into the boat which was slowly floating away.  The roar of the thing catching fire, the ferocity of it, warmed Titaia slightly.  She stayed there on her knees, feeling the breeze now coming onto her skin.  The wind had stilled itself and waited for its proper moment to assist in this goodbye.  It hurt.  Titaia knew it always would.  But she had at least fulfilled a promise to the only person who had never wanted anything more than her ridiculous company. She waited until the song had ended and the fire-boat was falling apart and sinking in the middle of the pond before gathering up her things.  The last thing she did before departing for the gate and her bike, for her now-to-be-mostly quiet life with no one to talk shit with, was pull out the half-empty bottle of rum she kept in her apartment for Janne and take a large swallow then pouring out a good mouth full into the water.  "For the road, y'know?" She whispered. Titaia did this every year, buying a new bottle when she ran out of the original, and she would tell Janne all the stupid shit people did over the year, and tell her how good her kids were being and helpful and what a twat-waffle her husband could be sometime, but that he vowed never to re-marry and how he kept that vow all the way until he joined Janne.  Of course, out of kindness, Titaia gave him the same honor as Janne, because she knew it was the right thing to do.  And she added an extra shot of rum for the whiny baby.