I'll Die Later...

The cemetery was dark, rain pouring down.  A huge mob of people gathered around the center of the grim place.  Kids from school, coworkers, random people of the street and my family.  We were all here, wearing the black clothes that somehow were meant to honor the dead.

The pastor stood at the front behind a podium, gazing out into the largest congregation of people he probably had ever seen.  He was old and frail, his skin paper thin and wrinkled.  Black robes with a white scarf were his choice of wear and he held a small, pocket-sized edition of the Bible.  His words were raspy but the words he spoke carried through the silenced crowd like they were on a river, “…Life was short and filled with many experiences for this young lad.  May the Lord cradle him in the heavens above.  Amen.”

I heard a whimper and I turned my head.  Mom was sobbing into a handkerchief, resting on Dad’s shoulder.  Her brown hair had been curled, bouncing as she rocked her whole body with her silenced cries.  She looked like a toothpick next to Dad, with his inhuman bulging muscles underneath the XXL suit.  He had combed back his black hair and was trying to comfort her.  However, I could see a tear in his eye.  Suddenly, I felt a lump starting form in my throat.  It was a squeeze on my left hand that gave me strength to hold it in.

I turned over to see Amy giving me a sympathetic stare.  My best friend and my girlfriend had kept her blonde hair straight.  She wore a long black dress and gloves.  Tears welled up in her sea blue eyes and she laid her head on my shoulder.  I squeezed her hand and whispered, “It’s okay, Amy.”

The pastor broke the cry fest, “Keith, I’m sure you would like to say something.”

Nodding, I let go of Amy’s hand and slowly stood.  My heart sped a thousand miles an hour as I walked up to the closed casket.  Letting out a tear, I kissed my hand and placed it on the oak casket.  I smiled sadly and whispered, “Rest in peace.”

Then, tenderly I walked up to the podium.  The pastor stepped aside and sat in a folding chair and left me alone among the sea of people.  I took a deep breath and started talking, “You know?  I’m not much of a speech person.  I prefer standing behind my camera than being in the spotlight.”

I looked over to the casket, “But I’m doing this.  For Blake.  For my big brother, for my best friend.”

The lump filled my throat, again, but I swallowed it down and kept on talking, “But, I wouldn’t be doing him justice in talking about how great he was just over the last few days.  I have to start from the beginning…”

It was November 25, 2011.  3:21 a.m. a time when a sophomore in high school should be asleep in bed.  But, that was the day Fate had decided to start a new plan for the Henderson family.  I was awoken by an unnatural earthquake in my bed, not a very pleasant way to wake up.

“Keith, Keith Henderson wake up!” Mom said forcefully.

I mumbled, “C’mon, Mom… five more minutes.”

Wrong answer, the sheets were the punishment.  Off they went as fast as lightning.  That got my attention, I rubbed my eyes and rolled over.  My heart sank as I looked at Mom, “Is everything okay?”

Mom had been crying for a while.  Her eyes were red rimmed and her hair was a rat’s nest.  She was wearing a pick robe and she spoke softly, “It’s Blake, dear.  Something’s happened.”

An ambulance wail made time freeze in the room.  No, oh God no.  I thought to myself as I bolted out of my room.  Dad was helping some people lifting a stretcher out of the front door.  On the white board was my brother, Blake.  The sight of him made my heart stop beating for a minute.  His face was twisted in pain, his muscular frame tightened in agony.  His tanned skin had sweat beating down on it, making him shine in the spinning red and blue colors.  His usually pointy black hair was a mess.