Shame

here.
    Because it was impossible to run fast enough when what you were running from came from inside.

    ‘Hi, it’s Mamma. Just wondering what time you’re going to pick me up. Call me as soon as you get this.’
    The message was on her voicemail when she turned on her mobile phone on the way to the parking lot. It was ten past five, and she had agreed to pick her up twenty minutes from now. Why she had to call and agree on the time again was a mystery to her, but not doing so would be a bad choice in this situation.
    ‘Yes, hi, it’s me.’
    ‘When are you coming?’
    ‘I’m on my way, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’
    ‘I have to stop by Konsum and buy some new candles.’
    ‘I can do it on the way if you want.’
    ‘All right, but buy the 110-hour ones this time. The last ones you bought burned down too quickly.’
    If her mother had even the tiniest clue about how these constant visits to the cemetery tortured her, she wouldn’t pretend that it was because of some kind of stinginess that the candles she bought didn’t last as long as promised. She would gladly buy candles that burnt for a whole lifetime if anyone made them. But they didn’t. The 110-hour candles were the most you could get. And since her mother had sold her car because she didn’t dare drive anymore, it was Monika’s eternal assignment to ferry her to the cemetery and light new candles as soon as the old ones had burnt out.
    Twenty-three years ago. He had already been dead longer than he had been alive. And yet he was the one who took up the most room.
    Who took up all the room.

    There were a couple of cars in the lot but the cemetery seemed to be deserted.

    My beloved son
Lars
1965–1982

    She never got used to it. His name on a tombstone. His name belonged at the top of the list of results from some sports competition. In some newspaper article about the most promising young hockey players. When she couldn’t impress someone any other way, she could always mention that she was Lasse Lundvall’s little sister. He would have been forty this year, but to her he was still her big brother, two years older, the one his pals looked up to, the one the girls all chased, who was always successful in everything he tried.
    His mother’s pride and joy.
    She wondered how things would have turned out if their father had stayed and lived with them all those years. If he hadn’t already left the family while Monika was in her mother’s belly, and her mother had been spared all those years of loneliness. Monika had never met him. Sometime during her teenage years she had written him a letter and received a brief, impersonal reply, but their plans to meet had fizzled out. She had wanted him to be more eager, wanted him to be the one to urge them to meet. But he hadn’t done it, and then his pride took over. She certainly didn’t want to make a fuss. And then the years passed and he slipped back out to the periphery.

    The candle, as expected, had burnt out, and she saw her mother’s displeasure at the thought that it had stood there extinguished on the grave. She quickly took the matches from her pocket, cupped her hand to protect the flame, and lit another candle. So many times Monika had stood here and seen her mother’s hands lighting the match, watched the flame growing stronger in the plastic holder until finally it found its way to the wick. Hadn’t her mother ever been struck by this thought? That it had all started with just such a little flame? That it had been the cause of all the destruction? And yet she had to keep coming here and re-light the flame as soon as it went out. It would burn here on the grave in triumph over its victim.

    They headed back to the car. With one last sigh her mother had turned her back to the grave and started walking. Monika had stood there a moment, read his name for the millionth time and felt the familiar helplessness. What does a sibling do who gets the chance to live her life, when the one who seemed to have the best prospects has lost his? What did she have to accomplish to deserve this chance? To justify the fact that she was still alive?

    ‘You’ll come over and have a bite to eat, won’t you?’
    ‘I can’t today.’
    ‘What else do you have to do?’
    ‘I’m just going to meet a friend for dinner.’
    ‘Again? I get the feeling you’re always out these days. It can’t be possible to do your job properly if you’re out running around like that in the middle of the