The Way I Feel

1. Smile Like it's Your Funeral.

Ok, so it kind of goes without saying, but anytime we're in Nick's POV, just be aware that there will most likely be some off handed comments about him not enjoying life and not-so-subtly mentioning how he doesn't want to live. There isn't much, but I just thought you should be aware anyway.

—=— NICK —=—

"My mom hated funerals." Jack pauses, his notes all crumpled as he tries and fails to straighten them out. He glances at me, damp blue eyes full of need for something I know right now only I can give him. Reassurance. Reassurance that the pain he's feeling-the pain that is unbearably potent in this stuffy, overcrowded church-is just that. Pain. And pain can be remedied.

But as I see him standing up there now, I hate how scared I am that I can't. That the reassurance will soon turn sour along with all the other things that used to come so easily. I can feel it now, the capability I have of doing just that-giving him that reassurance-slowly slipping away. I ignore it for now though, knowing it's too late to change any of it, giving him the encouraging half smile anyway, and he sighs, visibly losing tension.

"Doesn't everyone though? You wouldn't really think that was a very special thing about her, but to me it was. I can't stop thinking about it now, how whenever we had to go to one of these, she'd always be the last one out the door. We could all tell she never liked going. More than someone usually hates going to funerals I mean..." my brother sighs, running a hand down his face, the other clutching the podium so harshly his knuckles are turning white.

Mine do too as I clench my fists, trying and failing in one single moment to ignore the irony of it all. Of where we are. Of what my world has come to.

Clearing his throat, my brother continues, sounding as robotic and empty as the oldest son of our dead mother should rightfully feel after having her ripped from his life so suddenly that if you were to look closely, it's almost like she's still here. Almost like nothing has changed. Because there was no time to change. She was here, now she isn't. It's an unforgiving reality. One that would drive me mad, if I wasn't already.

His eulogy is something I've heard at least twenty times already, each time being a different version of it. This one was the only one dad agreed to. It's the shortest and least emotionally draining of the seemingly endless selection. He knows as well as everyone who knows my brother inside and out, this is something he shouldn't have volunteered to do. But he's doing it nonetheless, and part of me wishes I was the one up there, but the more logical part can't help but remind me how I'd never be brave enough. And that eats away at me almost as much as Jack's watery eyes.

I try drowning out as much of it as possible. It's not easy, especially given how fucking quiet this church is apart from Jack's deep, monotone voice. His voice never bothered me before. I mean, why would it? But now, hearing that twinge of familiar stuffiness that hints at the tears pooling slowly behind his eyes.

That drawl in his gruff voice, usually exerting his stupid confidence, it scrapes along my eardrums and the most vulnerable parts of my mind like nails on a chalkboard. Pushing me further towards the brink of something that's consequence would likely result in another day like this. One where I'm present, but not in a way that counts.

"And uh...I know she's probably pretty pissed right now. I just hope someone up there, maybe grandpa, can manage to get her some mint chocolate ice cream. It always was her favourite. Her go to in stressful situations. I'm sure she'd love some now."

He finishes with the line I came up with for him. He'd been struggling finding something light to finish up with, and like the perfectly sane one he is, he turned to me. The perfectly un-sane one. I know. It makes zero sense to me too. But our mother was notoriously a freak of nature, and in perpetual freaky fashion, mint chocolate had always been her go to.