When We Were Together

Chapter Four

After delivering the eulogy, several other friends and family members tell sentimental stories and commemorate Sage. Sara, our RA from college speaks about all of the times Sage was so helpful with planning dorm events. Weston Jones, president of the West Hartford Business Association, beams as he talks about how Sage was dedicated to revitalizing downtown West Hartford, always volunteering, donating sweets for events, and working hard to make an impact on her community. Everyone here has a story about Sage, something beautiful to say about my best friend, my chosen sister. She is... was so loved.

As the priest delivers the final prayer of the mass, I can't help but keep my eyes open when everyone else closes theirs. I don't pray, I'm not really religious anymore. We grew up in this church. Made our first communions, first confessions, went to Sunday school, but as time when on I became disconnected from this life. I'm a chronic sinner. I smoke, I drink, I have premarital sex, and lots of it. I curse, like a truck driver might I add. What can I pray for now? What I would pray for can never be answered. My best friend is gone. Praying won't make this easier or bring her back to me.

"O Lord, let your perpetual light shine upon Sage. May she rest in peace. In the waters of baptism, Sage died with Christ and rose with him to new life. May she now share with him eternal glory." I glance over my shoulder to see if he's still standing in the back. He's gone. Other mourners and members of the community have filled in the gap where he was standing.

My thoughts are interrupted by over 100 amens in unison as the priest closes the prayer. I say my amen a beat too late, acting as if I had been praying along with everyone else in the room, this earns me a soft slap on arm from my hyper religious mother.

Pew by pew we all file out of the church and into our cars. My parents opt to go home after the service. I follow the procession. The procession takes us back to Sage's childhood home about ten minutes away from the church where her parents decided to have a repass with all of Sage's closest friends and family.


Driving through West Hartford like this is weird. Whenever I would drive through my old town Sage would always be accompanying me in the passenger seat. I never imagined I'd be visiting her childhood home and she wouldn't be there for it. On the way to her parent's house from the church, we pass Sweet and Sage. All of the cars begin to beep their horns, alarming pedestrians and killing my eardrums. I don't beep with them, I just slow down and look at the beautiful business she created. The exterior created a cozy and European feel. It was clean and simple with a white foundation, but sage green and gold accents. Big windows took up the entire store front and Sweet & Sage was written in some gold cursive font on the right window. The patio was adorned with hanging plants, greenery, and green and white chairs and table.

Sweet and Sage had always been Sage's dream. She had gone to school for business but always had a knack for baking. Throughout the years of us living together I had sampled each confection she came up with. Sweet potato cinnamon rolls, strawberry milkshake cupcakes, lemon-blueberry-mint cake, smores cookies, pistachio croissants. Everything she came up with was so delicious, so carefully crafted, and uniquely Sage.

I wipe a tear from my eye and keep driving. Before leaving the church I didn't realize how hard this drive would be, I thought delivering the eulogy would be the worst part. I was doing just fine driving to the funeral, but now I am a wreck. Not only am I passing Sage's bakery which was her baby, but I'm passing our high school, all of the stores and boutiques we used to shop in on Saturdays, and the parks we used to play in growing up. All of our childhood and teenage memories are sneaking into my brain and tearing me apart. The number of tears that developed in my eyes during this ride definitely constitute reckless driving due to my blurring vision, and I cannot stop myself from letting it all fall out after holding it together all morning.