Waiting For Superman

Sunsets

     We walked silently through the crowd of people standing outside the main viewing room. There were some people laughing, some crying, and some standing there looking off into space. I recognized several of Ryan's relatives from birthday parties I'd attended throughout the years. I could tell Trevor did, as well. As we passed, he flashed a smile toward an aunt I remembered seeing at Ryan's last party. 

    Trevor held my hand tightly as we walked into the room. Chairs lined rows facing the large casket in the front of the room. The second I stepped into the room, I was overwhelmed by the smell of a variety of flowers. Pictures of Ryan were propped up along the window sills, and I could hear the faint sounds of sniffles. Trevor's hand squeezed mine tightly before letting go. He smiled at me, nodded, and we moved in different directions. I joined the others, sliding into the seat between my mom and Mia that they had saved for me. I stared forward, my eyes on the casket. From where I was sitting, I couldn't see his body, his face. I knew it was there, though. I knew this would be the last time I'd ever see him in person, and I couldn't even hear his laugh or get that hug I so desperately wanted. 

   A line of family members and friends wrapped around one side of the room. Each studied the pictures as the moved toward the casket as the line progressed. When they reached it, some just stared, some cried, and some knelt down to pray. I knew I wanted to go up there, to do the same, but I didn't have the strength in me right now. My hands were already trembling from just the thought of it. 

    As if she knew what I was thinking, Mia leaned over, resting her hand on my knee. She kept her voice low, and she moved her mouth to my ear. "Do you want to go up there?"

    I nodded, still looking forward. I put my hand over the top of hers. 

   "I'll go with you, if you want." 

    I nodded again, but I still didn't look over at her or make an effort to get up. I could sense her confusion, as my words contradicted my actions. My mom must have noticed this, too, as she put her hand on my shoulder. 

    "Do you want your dad and I to come or stay here?"

    "You can stay," I whispered. 

    She nodded, and I took Mia's hand in mine, standing up. She followed me in line, and we bent down to look at the pictures. The first one in the row was Ryan in his baseball uniform from when he was around 5. He had his goofy smile, even then, but he was missing a few teeth. He clutched his bat and his hat was a little too big for his head, tipping sideways slightly. I moved forward as the line did. My heart started to beat faster, and tears pricked my eyes, and I crouched down to look at the picture sitting beside the first. Ryan and Trevor stood tall, proud, holding a trophy of some sort. Ryan's arm was wrapped around Trevor's shoulder, and he was holding up one finger. They had won first in something. They couldn't have been older than maybe 13. 

    I looked over my shoulder, my blurred vision struggling to settle upon Trevor. I wiped the tears from my eyes, scanning the room. I found him sitting across the room with whom I assumed to be his parents. He didn't notice me, and I looked back to Mia. She smiled, brushing her hair from her face. I could see her eyes were watery as well. While she didn't know Ryan very well, she'd certainly had her fair share of being around him. In the midst of grieving myself and helping Trevor, I forgot Mia was suffering too, as were my parents. Ryan had spent so much time at our house growing up. I was sure they were struggling to accept he wouldn't be around for dinner, asking for seconds, then thirds, then fourths. 

     I smiled back to Mia, hoping I could comfortable her in some way. I had always been the one to be there for her. When her grandma died a few years back, I stayed up all night, sitting on the bathroom floor with her sprawled out in my lap, sobbing. I held her hair back when she cried so hard she threw up. I went with her to the wake, the funeral, the memorial service at her house after. I helped clean and set the table before, I helped clean up after, I held her hand when we sat around telling stories about her grandmother. I was there when her dog got loose, and we spent hours driving around yelling his name. I was there when she broke up with her boyfriend, smoothing her hair as she cried on her bed for hours. I supported her when he wanted to get back together a day later, even though I knew he was never any good for her, and I laid with her and watched a funny movie when he broke up with her again less than two weeks later. 

    I didn't hesitate to do any of these for her; she's my best friend. It was, however, exhausting when I was always the one she would call first to take care of her when she had a boy problem, when she was stuck with homework, when she was sad. I wouldn't trade any of this for anything, especially now that I knew I'd never have the chance to help Ryan with those math problems he always struggled with. 

    Up until this point, watching her eyes water as we took a few more steps closer to the casket, I had felt it was my turn to fall apart. I was allowed to be sad, to be broken, to need her instead. I realized how wrong I was, though. She was hurting too. I stepped forward, pulling her into my arms without warning. 

    "It's okay, Cass."

    "I know it is." I was smiling. "We've got each other." 

    When she pulled back, she was also smiling. "I'll be here for you." 

    "I know you will, but I'll be here for you, too. This must be hard for you." 

    "It's no where near as hard for me as it is for you, Cass."

    I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. It's hard for all of us. I'm here for you, too."

   She smiled, reaching down to squeeze my hand. We moved onto the next picture, and she held my hand tighter as soon as we noticed it was a picture of Ryan and I that I hadn't seen in years. We were no older than 10, and I was reaching up for something Ryan was holding over my head. We were both laughing, and our smiles were so genuine. I closed my eyes for a minute, taking in a deep breath. 

    "We're next," Mia whispered. 

     I reached down for my purse, pulling out the picture of Ryan and I that I had tucked safely into it this morning. I wanted to tuck it into the casket, burying it with him. It would show our friendship will last forever; It won't die. 

    I looked over to Mia, my heart pounding. "I don't think I can do this."

   "I'll be with you the whole time." I nodded.

   We moved up to the casket, and I couldn't help but gasp at the sight. Bruises covered his beautiful skin. I had only ever seen him bruised and broken once, when he ran to my house after he had gotten into a fight when we were 15, wanting me to clean up his cuts and put some of my makeup on him so his parents wouldn't notice. I remembered his whimpers as I pressed the warm cloth over the cut on his cheek. I remembered my heart breaking at his squirms and sounds. At that moment, I would have never even thought to wish I could hear even those sad noises coming from him. 

    I reached across his lifeless body, tucking the picture next to a few other pictures and small items others had added. Mia rested her hand on my shoulder. 

    "Mia, can I have a minute alone?" 

    She nodded. "I'll be right with your parents if you need me."

    "Thank you. I love you." 

    I waited until she walked away before I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the front of the casket. I kept my voice quiet as I spoke.

    "Ryan," I started, "you're so dumb. You're so stupid. Everyone loves you so much. Look how many people are here, Ry. You should have been going slower, Ryan. It's not fair. This isn't fair. I miss you. I need you. What am I supposed to do without you?" 

     I paused, wishing more than anything that he'd open his eyes -- those pretty green eyes I'd loved for as long as I could remember. I used to ask him to trade eyes with me. I hated my brown eyes when I was little, thinking they were such a boring and plain color. 

     Then, one night, Ryan and I were lying in my backyard, spread out in the grass as the sunset above us. He turned and looked at me. "Your eyes look like this sunset." 

    "They do not." I rolled my eyes. 

    "They do," he whispered, and I felt as though his eyes were looking into my soul. "The way the sun is shining on them. They're gold, and pink, and orange, and they're beautiful. Mine are just green."

   I only rolled my eyes again, laughing.

  "Cassie, I never want to hear you complain about your brown eyes again. They're gorgeous." 

  And I never complained about them again.