The Lilac People

by Milo Todd

And as the back door continued to bang against the wall, Karl frantically scooped every handful he could salvage of Oma and Opa. “Come on!” Sofie yelled, picking up two of the suitcases. “We need to run!” “I can’t leave them like this!” “You didn’t even know them!” “That shouldn’t matter!” With so much ash still scattered on the floor, with so much still hanging in the air, Karl finally admitted defeat and replaced the lid. He tucked the urn against his chest, dirtying his shirt in powdery gray smears. He picked up the third suitcase, and they ran out the front door to the old auto. They did not speak of Bertie. They did not discuss their need to bring all three suitcases to the ferry. The urn was much lighter than it used to be, and it would never be known how much of whom had been left behind, how much of whom had managed to go with them, how much had entered the lungs of bad people and how much would blow out the open doors into the freedom of the night air. It probably did not matter. For after so many years of waiting, of sadness and angst and helplessness, Oma and Opa felt they had finally done something in the name of their grandson.