Sleep Well, My Friend

The warm slow breeze caressed my face and sent my hair across my cheeks and into my eyes. Despite the warm weather and the presence of the sun, I was cold.

I pulled my sweater tighter around me as I gazed across the land interrupted by slabs of marble and towering epitaphs marking the locations of decomposing lumps of flesh that used to be living and thinking human beings.

I was vaguely aware of the pastor speaking, an act that seemed unnecessary to me, and a sharp pain filled my gut, twisting my insides. I wished I could share a mocking glance with Brandon. You can’t share anything with the dead; they wouldn’t offer anything in return.

I balled my hands into tight fists, digging my nails into my palms. How dare they expect me to stand here in silence as a stranger spoke scripted words about a life he knew nothing of? A life I spent 16 years in. And how fucking dare Brandon expect to be able to extinguish himself from this life without taking a part of me with him? Hot tears slid down my face as I glared, but I didn't bother to wipe them away.

As the pastor finally shut up, I caught sight of Brandon’s parents with their arms around each other. Brandon’s mother, Irene, was a short, thin, delicate-looking woman with a narrow nose, thin lips, and eyes that seemed to take up almost half her face, giving her the appearance of an anime character. It might have been funny if those eyes weren’t swimming in tears, streaking mascara down her high, angular cheekbones. Her husband, David, made her look smaller than she actually was. He was tall, around 6’5”, with broad shoulders, large hands, and perfect posture that made him seem intimidating, though I knew better. His dark eyes were hidden by Irene’s curly brown hair as they embraced. I wanted to go to them, but I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I carried myself over on leaden feet and wrapped my arms around the both of them, offering silent comfort. A few moments passed before we let go of each other, wiping tears from our faces.

I had known Brandon’s parents since I had met Brandon when I was four years old. They were a second family to me, and now I was all they had left. We exchanged no words. No condolences would ever bring Brandon back, and words mean nothing anyway. No casserole would fill the suddenly gaping void in our lives.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets, briskly crossing the grassy cemetery to my beat-up old Chevy. Three weeks ago Brandon had been alive and happy, laughing with me as we watched Monty Python in his dorm. Then his fucking douchebag roommate had sent an email that spread across campus, publicly outing Brandon before he was ready for the world to know he was gay. I blinked hard, bringing my knuckles into focus, turning white from the force with which I was gripping the steering wheel. I turned off the ignition, unaware of when I had even turned it on.

“Hey Val, I bet you can’t recite the alphabet backward while standing on your head!” Brandon had dared, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly.

I stumbled over to the wall, still clutching the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and promptly fell over, causing Brandon to erupt into a fit of girlish giggles.

“It usually helps if you put the bottle down first,” he told me in a mock-condescending tone.

“I know,” hiccup, “I just,” hiccup, “needed to get here first.” Three more hiccups had Brandon laughing all over again, rolling on the floor. I tried to glare at him, but couldn’t contain my own laughter.

Suddenly, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I hit the steering wheel, unbuckled my seatbelt, and then reached under the passenger seat until I found what I was looking for. Climbing into the backseat, I kicked off my shoes, pulled my feet onto the seat and leaned against the door.

I regarded my treasure without actually seeing it before breaking the seal and bringing the bottle to my lips. The amber liquid burned a path down my throat to my stomach as I swallowed again and again. It wasn’t long before I finished it, tipping my head back to catch the last remaining drops. It wasn’t fair. Brandon was supposed to be drinking this with me for his birthday this weekend. Crown Royal was his favourite, not mine. I should have been celebrating with my best friend, not drinking alone in the backseat of a shitty car in a fucking cemetery parking lot.