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I blinked again.
We were in his car and I frowned—not knowing how we’d gotten there. Why we’d gotten there.
Oh that’s right—
Brian.
*
Brian’s pastor said all the right things. He told us to remember Brian as he would want to be remembered. How his life had been, to remember his strength and to remember his happiness. We were there to remember Brian. We were there to remember those who had passed on, their memories we’d cherish, to say goodbye, and to gain closure.
Brian was in the front, in a casket, his eyes were closed and he was in a suit. Which was bullshit. Brian would never wear a suit, much less to his own fucking funeral. Brian would want to go out in a t-shirt and torn jeans, frayed at the ends, and he’d want to be barefoot. I’m pretty sure the shiny black shoes he was wearing had never been his.
I was numb inside as I listened to the pastor’s nurturing voice, a calm atmosphere surrounding him.
We were there for us, ourselves.
The dead have passed on.
Brian had already left, said his goodbye, I felt it in my heart.
Death is a harsh reality.
Some understand death, embrace it, others fear it.
It’s an inevitable stage in life, no one can escape. So all we can do is cherish the life we have remaining.
Embrace those surrounding us, our loved ones and try to live without regrets. Change to become who we want to be when we meet death.
I wanted to meet death head-on. I didn’t want it to take me in my sleep. I wanted to see it coming. I wanted to know what was happening.
Brian hadn’t been prepared, but then again, Brian was dead. I doubt he cared anymore.
We’re supposed to make ourselves spiritually ready. To make right with God. To make right with everyone else, with ourselves. With our souls.
I listened to the pastor. I heard every word, every nuance.
Geezer sat beside me. He looked sober, but from the sheen of tears in his eyes, I knew he’d be smoking the second he could leave. He used it to cover everything: his distress, his despair, his fears.
He held my hand throughout the ceremony.
I looked for Grayley, but he hadn’t come.
But it seemed everyone else in Pedlam came. Students from school—I saw Gentley in the back—and even the chief of police—Brian would’ve thought that was hilarious. But I could only give a sad smile.
And of course, Jace was there, sitting in the front next to his father.
I looked at Brian’s father and I saw the life of abuse had worn right through him. He wasn’t old, a mere forty-two, but he looked eighty years old. He had tears in his eyes, while he sat stiffly beside Jace.
Their mother had left a long time ago. Brian had once told me she never existed. He’d been ten then. When he was fifteen, he’d confessed that she’d walked out when they were kids.
I looked back at Jace. He sat there, looking straight ahead at Brian as the pastor continued. He looked like he had aged ten years since I last saw him.
And I think I hated him.
Because he was the only one in that fucking church who felt the same as me, but he was so unreachable.
Tray shifted beside me and leaned forward on his elbows.
