The Same Love (An Eminem Fan Fiction) 2 of 2

Chapter 21

It was another tedious ride. I was impatiently waiting for us to arrive at the location of the funeral. All I wanted was to go home and stay there for a while. Marshall was in the drivers seat, quitely driving on the fairly empty highway in the light of the 8:30 a.m sun. Why the funeral had to be so early is a mystery. Maybe it was because my dad was susposively a morning person, and what better time than 9 A.M to hold his funeral?

We drove on, a silence settling into the car. I wasn't noticing. I was too deep into my thoughts. But I had jumped out of my trance at the feeling of Marshall's hand slipping on top of mine. I glanced curiously over at him.

"I suggest you drive with two hands on the wheel, you suck at driving as it is," I joked.

He rolled his eyes but had a small smile creeping upon his face. I tried not to smile as well, because if you couldn't already tell, his smile is as contagious as the common cold.

We approached the funeral home. Marshall slowled the car to a stop in a parking lot right infront. There was a crowd of my family standing in front of the home. He turned off the car, and his eyes looked over at me again. Our hands were still locked together, and he gave a small squeeze. I felt tired and not ready for this funeral. A part of me didn't want to go, but another part of my councious convinced me to go and be respectful.

"You ready?" he whispered. His eyes were tired and not as bright as they usually were.

I shook my head.

"Marshall, you didn't need to come. It's not like he really would've wanted you to come," I said rudely.

I couldn't help the way I spoke. I was in no good mood at the moment. But I was still curious as to why Marshall would come and pay his respects. The last thing my dad had said to him is that he didn't want me to be with him. What respect would Marshall have to show?

"But I wanted to come," he responded.

I'd never seen him dress fancy, never seen him where a button down shirt, even though he was lacking a tie. Not surprisingly he was still wearing sneakers and black jeans, but it was much more formal than his usual every day attire.

I had on a black, skin tight dress that reached my knees, with short sleeved grey sweater. I had on black heels as well; black was a depressing color so it's common to wear them to funerals.

"Marshall, why? He was an ass to you before he.." I didn't finish the sentence, but we all know what I was trying to say.

He sighed and looked down at his lap. His thumb circled on the skin between my index and thumb, and I patientely waited for him to respond.

"But he's your dad. I should pay my respects to him, let him know I mean no harm," he reached over and pecked my cheek before slippin out of the car. I did the same, putting a start to this long day.

I never understood why funerals had to be so pretty. They're typically covered in flowers, crosses, and pictures of God. I did no even believe in God, but my entire family did, which was news to me.

But there's my problem. Half the people there were unfamiliar faces. Who I didn't know, and didn't know me. All they knew was that I was one of the children, and they needed to pay respect to me for my loss.

As expected, Marshall was recognized easily. But he didn't flinch when people pointed or whispered. Nobody walked over either.

A line that formed in front of the casket after a priest said some stuff about how "God is taking care of him" and all that. Then said things about Jesus and confused me. It's all apples and oranges in my mind.

I was third in line; in front of me was Lelieda and John. Lelieda was in tears, her face streaming with mascara. She was a mess when she cried, and a terrible sight it was to see.

Marshall was next to me, we were gonna do it together. Afterwords we were finally allowed to go home, and there's no place I would rather be at that moment. Marshall had his arm placed perfectly around my shoulders, as John and Lelieda finished.

"I'll miss you," finished Lelieda, us all hearing her voice crack.

They walked off the small platform where the casket sat, opened. You could see right into it, and that's what I had feared.

Marshall pulled me a little to let me know we had to go say a few words. I slowly stepped onto the platform behind him, and we approached the body.

There he was, laying down so quietly in a suit. His eyes closed, looking pale as ever. No trace of pain or sickness. He looked peaceful.

"You start," Marshall whispered.

I nodded my head and hesitantly began. I had nothing prepared. I was just going with whatever comes to mind.

"I didn't really know you well, not until a few weeks ago,"

My mind couldn't wrap around the whole death. It had been days and I still couldn't process it.

"but you're my dad. And I...love you."

I continued to pause. I knew people were whispering behind me, saying things bad since I don't know what to say to my father. It wasn't my fault. I felt like I was at the funeral to a man I barely knew. I couldn't talk about our memories, I couldn't remember all the great times we had, all the advice he gave me. I only could remember him as the guy who walked out on me and insulted my boyfriend.

"I don't know what else to say," I whispered to Marshall.

He rubbed my back softly.

"I'll go then."

I moved over so that Marshall was in the center. He put his arms down in front of him and linked his hands together in a polite way.

"I don't know you anymore than your daughters do," he started,"and we didn't exactly leave off on the best terms, but here I stand to make one last statement clear."

I began feeling emotional again.

"Never would I ever hurt your daughter, would I ever put her in harms way. I love her more than you think," he continued in a whisper.

A smile creeped onto my face, and he put his arm over my shoulder, finishing with "I'll take care of her, I promise."

His speech was more for me than my dad, but it was a promise to him. A promise that stated he would never let me get hurt, not while he was standing by my side. He wiped a stray tear from my cheek as we walked off the small platform that held the casket.

"I want to go home," I said into his shoulder.

"We're going right-" Marshall had started.

He suddenly ran into a man no taller than Marshall was. The man leaned forward for a minute but straightened back up quickly. Marshall as well didn't fall but lost his balance.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," Marshall apologized.

"Don't worry about it, Marshall," said a familiar voice.

We both looked up at him, surprised that he knew Marshall's name. The man turned towards us, and it all hit me. The eyes, the hair, the tattoo. The scruffy and chiseled face. The man I feared for months, the man that hurt Marshall. In the flesh, in the pure daylight, a man who I had feared before and never thought I'd ever encounter again.