I knew it was going to be a sad day for all of us. My mother sat tight lipped in the car, her hands folded daintily on her lap, staring at the drops of rain outside the window. She was made up, wearing the same black dress she had worn to my grandfathers funeral, that smelled like cigarettes, mothballs and Alfred Sung perfume that I could smell, even from the back seat. My father sat in the back, next to me, his face was slack and expressionless. His lips sat, pressed together, forming a little slit, his suit crumpled from the long car ride, taking the form of the leather seat of my uncle’s van. Every now and then, he would lift up his back and pull the fabric tight before settling back down, looking slightly annoyed.
This was after they fought that morning. My father stood outside the bathroom door shouting, while my mother put on her makeup. I stood and stared at her not saying anything.
“Christian, I am going to kill your father. Today is already an emotional day for me. I don’t need his bullshit.” I smiled at her, not saying anything. His voice boomed outside the door.
“Christ Almighty, can we get going?”
“Yes George. Give me one minute. Just one minute” She said, holding eyeliner up to her face. Trying carefully not to screw up.
She turned to face me. Her eyes half done. Her mouth twisted into a frown “You look nice, honey,” she said, licking her thumb and brushing an eyelash off my face. “You excited to see Grandpa?” I nodded, running my hand over my cousins CD player, before flipping to the next song. She turned away again to look at herself in the mirror. Outside I imagined my fathers face; fat wilting. His teeth resting on his lower lip, the way they often do when he gets mad. They fought the night before too.
George, you should see your parents. They are buried in the same cemetery. It wouldn’t kill you.
“Jesus Helene, why?
“Because its Easter, you son-of-a-bitch.”
In the car they sat in silence. Rain buzzed across the windows in intricate patterns. Globs merged into each other, separating momentarily only to re-emerge; syncing up with the music. Beneath me the chassis of the car rumbled, adapting to the terrain under it, allowing me to drift off for a moment. Above all of this, was the sound of my Uncles Greek music and my dads heavy breathing.
“I remember, you take a right up here,” my mother said, tapping my uncle on the shoulder.”
“Helene, do you even know where the hell you are,” said my father. His face slouching more. His thick eye brows arching on his forehead.
“Yes, George,” She opened up her purse and pulled out a cigarette. Dark smoke filled the air. I flipped through songs, on my cousins, portable cd player, that i had to argue with him, to let me borrow.
"you'll break it, you break everything."
"But its going to be boring," I cried.

Outside the grey New York landscape slid by. Highways merged with new spring grass along the side, while massive cliffs, stood out, wearing red and yellow graffiti, while these same highway cut through them. This was followed by narrow streets and Italian Restaurants.
“See that corner right there Chris, that’s where I used to play stickball.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’d stay out until mother called me in...the neighborhoods gone to shit since.”
“That’s cool dad.” I said, turning away, shifting my headphones back onto my ears and watching as West Chester had opened up to us with its quiet stone houses and green trees.
“Another right up here. My mother said. My uncle nodded, while my dad looked annoyed. He sighed, shifting in his seat, pulling out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. The cabin got more smokey, while droplets of water dripped across my face.
“Dad, its cold can you roll up the window.”
“You’ll be fine. Relax.
“George, your son is cold, roll up the window.” my mother said, glaring at him.
“No. I cant smoke my cigarette with the window up. The boy has asthma.”
“Then put it out. We will be there in a few more minutes.”
“Why the fuck cant I smoke a cigarette Helene. You got one.
“Just put it out George, we will be there in a few more minutes.”
“I don’t want to wait a few more minutes. I want to smoke my cigarette.
“Then wait until I’m done with mine.” she turned around and glared My father said nothing, just let the glowing tip go out and waited
“George, you no should let Eleni tell you what to do. Maybe you give her your pants to wear.
“Thanks Sakis,” my father said with a half smile.
I sighed, listening to music. My father curled and uncurled his hands. Beneath us, I heard the low rumbling of the motor, and the swishing sound of traffic passing us on either side. Before long, there was nothing. Open fields, with green march grass, and rolling hillsides.
“Is a shame my son no be able to make it. he has baseball game” my Uncle said. “He really want to see you Kristos.” I said nothing. My father tapped me on the shoulder.
“Christian, your uncle is talking to you.”
“Huh?”
“I say, my son want to see you today. He say he give you his CD player. He tell me to tell you, that you no break it, or he break your neck.” My mother laughed, my father said nothing. His arms were folded tight across his chest, causing his tie to wrinkle. In the distance, the cemetery was a faint dot on the horizon. As we got closer, the rain began to lighten up.
“Good work Eleni” my uncle said with a smile, looking back briefly at my father.

The lot was full of cars. All were mourning the dead the day after Easter. In the distance people dressed in long coats with bouquets of flowers, came out of SUV’s, small cars and mini-vans. We were no different. My mother grabbed her flowers and slid from her seat. My father sat, staring for a moment, blank faced saying nothing. She opened his door.
“We are going,” she said. He looked at her.
“Yeah, I know.” He slid out of the car, his hands in his pockets, while my mother and uncle led the way. The cemetery spread out before us. People stood solemn at graves, in Easter colors, blues, pinks, yellow. Much like the flowers we brought. Cool wind swept past us, as we walked. my uncles thick white hair blew, while the tassels of his suit jacket bobbed up and down, exposing the meat beneath the fabric; pouring out in all directions, fat and unhealthy looking.
"Christ Sakis, lose some weight." My dad said, smirking.
"You no look so good yourself George. your head look like a fat pigeon, sitting on a pile of shit." My Uncle said with a laugh.
"What the hell is wrong with you two. We are in a cemetery, cant you show me some respect." My mother said, turning around. her eye-liner already beginning to run. I said nothing. my headphones still on. "Christian, take those off your head."
The mud beneath us was thick making it hard to move. My mother struggled the most. Mud caked her heals and stockings. In front of us, was a sea of dead people we did not know, strangers who were visited by strangers. Amongst them, my grandfather.
“Eleni, I found it.”My uncle said, tapping my mother on the shoulder. She paused, the flowers swaying in her hand. She turned to see where he was pointing. The grave was shiny and new. The mound of dirt fresh, cutting through the grass. “Here” he said. she knelt down, not saying anything. The flowers were swaying in her hands.
“Well this is it.” My father said.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“Well, we came all the way out here. You got anything to say to him.”
“No.” She choked turning to look at me.
“Christian, say something to your grandfather.” I shrugged and walked over.
“Hi Grandpa, we all really miss you.” I said. My mother began to cry. My father turned his back and took a few steps away from us.
“George, do you have anything to say?”
“Not really.”
“Oh God George, can you at least try. Can you at least do that for me.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He walked over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Al, you were a good guy.”
“Good George, at least you try.” My uncle said.
“That’s not funny.” My mother whispered, wiping her face, as long lines of black makeup smudged across her cheeks. We stood there for a while after that silent and respectful.
“Alright, you ready to go?”
“No George I’m not ready yet.” His face went slack, his eye brows tightened.
“Christ Almighty.” He put his hands in his pockets and began to walk away.
“You only want to go because you’re a coward.” She said, looking up at him.
“What?”
“You’re a coward George, that’s why you want to leave.”
How the Hell am I a coward Helene? Tell me please.”
“Because you are too fucking scared to see your own parents George that’s why. How long has it been?
“You go see your parents grave George that’s what she want.” My uncle interjected.
“Thanks Sakis, I didn’t know you were a goddamn mind reader.” My uncle shrugged.
“I got no reason to see them. It doesn’t matter.”
“We’re here George, we are in the same cemetery. Its Easter, don’t you want to see them.”
“For what?”
“Because its Easter.” More tears slid down her cheek, making rivers in the grime caked on her face.
“Your Easter” he said, digging his hands in his pockets.
“I can’t believe this guy. He’s such an idiot. Your father is an idiot Christian. A damn fool.” I said nothing. I just ran my hand over the CD players smooth surface, wishing to be back in the car. My father turned to me.
“Chris, what do you want to do?”
“I guess it would be nice if you saw ‘em Dad.” His face tightened a bit.
“Fine, ok, you win.” He said, looking over at my mother. She looked away, running her hand through her wet hair.

My father led the way and we followed, listening to the mud beneath our feet. There were more flowers and more people paying their respects, milling about tombstones that looked cared for, even loved. Finally we found it. It sat old and mildewed looking. The names barely visible. A flower pot sat in front of it, empty and on its side. The dirt and the flowers long gone, the color faded to a dull pink. My father stood quiet. His teeth resting on his lips.
“How long it been George?” My Uncle asked.
“Twenty years, maybe more.”
“Do you have anything to say to them?” My mother asked looking over at him.
“No.” His posture softened as he dug his hands into his pockets.
“Ok...You could have visited them at least once ya know. Let them know you are ok”
“What and get stuck in traffic forever?” He wilted after he said this, slouching even more, his teeth pressing tighter on his lips. “Chris,” he said putting his hand on my shoulder, “these are my parents.” I smiled at him and gave him a hug. My mother put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it lightly, while my uncle stood, staring down at his feet.
We stood in silence after that saying nothing. While other mourners came and went. Finally I spoke up.
“Dad, can we go now?” He looked over at me.
“Yeah, I guess so.” His voice was hoarse and wheezy. My mother said nothing.
“I ready to go George,” my Uncle said in a low voice. My father nodded and turned to his parents.
“Bye bye.” he said, lifting his hand, giving a staccato wave, and rubbing his fingers under his eyes, to catch the falling tears. My mother turned and looked at me. She had started crying again. Her eyes were red, like her cheeks, while thin hairs fell into her face.

We walked in silence after that, feeling the cold rain fall on our faces, dreading the long drive back home.