The Student

The Second Chapter

We held a tiny funeral in Purgatory Park, which seemed fitting. It wasn't authorized or anything, but if we weren't allowed to say goodbye in person, this was better than not saying goodbye at all. It was kinda informal, but a bunch of people came. We had little plastic candles that I may or may not have acquired from my church's sacristy. I lit a match and we passed around the flame. The sun was setting, and it cast an eerie glow, the candles burning brighter the more the sun vanished. Snow was on the ground, everyone cuddled into giant coats.

Andie stood up in front of everyone, pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper from her coat pocket, her mittened fingers trembling.

"We'll remember Clare the way they were." Her voice broke. I could tell that she was having trouble reading. "As a human being. A real human being. Angel, can you read the poem?"

"Sure." I said. I took the paper from her. "Okay... Márgarét, áre you gríeving

Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leáves like the things of man, you, With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! ás the heart grows older, It will come to such sights colder. By and by, nor spare a sigh, Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you wíll weep and know why. Now no matter, child, the name: Sórrow's spríngs áre the same. Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed, What heart heard of, ghost guessed: It ís the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for. Gerard Manley Hopkins." I read. It seemed weird, words coming out of my mouth. I really hoped that we weren't going to get in trouble with copyright. Then I turned the page over. Another poem. This one was written by Clare. "These words don't come from me, but from Clare. 'Tears, are not for the weak. They're for the strong who admit/ they've done wrong. Love, is not for the weary. It's for everyone who cares enough/ to seek it. Strength, we all have inside, but barely shows through if you don't let it. Life, every second is a second less. Don't let time go. You've only just begun.'"

I handed the paper back to Andie, shivering. Later, it would almost feel trivial, having this funeral when the world is ending. But Clare was one of us. The freaks, the loners, the renegades without a home. But we had a home. It's all gone now. Clare's little brother stood up. I had forgotten all about him. I was crying about me while their brother was all alone, helpless.

"I will not stop believing that there is a better way." He said, tears frozen on his cheeks. "Until the day we all die, you've got to know that Clare deserved more. They were the kindest person. They shared their clothes with me, took care of me when my parents didn't give a damn. So please, please remember that Clare's life wasn't up. There are other choices. Clare may have chosen to leave us, but we have to remember, can never forget, that we have each other."

It almost seemed like he was reassuring himself, and not really all of us. He was so brave for a thirteen year old. I guess he had to be, now. It started to rain, so we all went under the pavilion, to the outdoor heaters, which was a relief. The benches were warm, and the candles had found holders in the middle of the tables, finding warmth in the darkness. Hail started to come down. Clare's brother didn't care.

"I will never stop fighting." He said to me, leaning on my shoulder. He was sleepy, but we were now trapped under the pavilion. "I will never forget Clare."

He stood up. Everyone looked at him.

"Oh come on!" He moaned. "Get up!" Everyone nervously followed his lead. "Clare would've hated this. This is the reason why we made our own funeral. My parents may not have known Clare, but we did." He took out his phone, got a wireless speaker, turned to the first song. It was by 'Sleeping at Last', per tradition. Hail the size of golf balls smashed and bounced around, but they didn't touch us. We danced until the rain stopped.

I remember that night so clearly. I danced with Andie, embraced in each other's arms. It was the first time we had danced together, never so close before. I remember fondly where she had gotten her name. Five years ago, I had been eating those mints, and she came up to me, and popped one in her mouth. At first I was angry, but she laughed. Held out her hand. I kept on forgetting her name, so I called her Andie, after the mint stealing fiasco.

Her real name was Patricia Michelle, but she wasn't too fond of it already, so she accepted 'Andie' with charm and grace. I remember the way she smelled. Lemons and something sweet, like fresh fruit. I knew she used strawberry shampoo, so maybe that was it.

She had whispered something in my ear, something I would take with me for the rest of my life, which wouldn't be very long. "If this is our last night on Earth, let's make it a good one." She said. I'm pretty sure she ripped off a TV show or movie or book by saying that, but it meant so much. Those words echoed in my head. And then she had done the impossible. She had kissed me. And for a second I forgot everything. I forgot the pain of being at our best friend's fake funeral, I forgot about the terrorism and bloodshed. For a few seconds, I was above all of it.

I stared into her deep brown eyes, that flickered with the candle light. I could see the dark imprint of tears under her eyes. 'When God closes a door, He opens a window'. That's what my Sunday School teacher had always taught me. I never really believed it until now.