It felt so weird, attending my best friend's funeral. The hearse got stuck in traffic, so it was late. It was ridiculous. She hated being late. She always came thirty minutes early to anything. She always said that she would waste time if she was late. I could just imagine how mad she'd be.
I wanted to laugh when I saw the outfit she was burried in. The fucking stupid yellow dress we got. I still can't believe she wanted to let herself get burried in that awful thing. It was still stained from the last time she used it, too. So fucking stupid, but she loved that dress.
She even wore the doll shoes I lent her a month ago that she never gave back. I remember continuously bugging her about giving those stupid shoes back, but she was always so damn stubborn, said that she looked best in them. I was crying so hard, I had to close my eyes so I could get past the eulogy without breaking down.
And god, I heard her aunt say she looked like she was sleeping. Sleeping. Absolute bullshit. She was the most restless sleeper I've ever known. She moves a lot, wakes up in the middle of the night, rolls out of bed. She drooled, too. It was weird to see this still, pale, cold body of my friend be described as 'looks like she's sleeping.'
My throat is still sore from singing. She hates anything resembling church music, and these songs were the churchiest. Maybe she wouldn't mind it, but I doubt that. She didn't believe in a god, or heaven or hell. She saw nothing after death. Only relief.
I can barely remember my eulogy, but it was so fucking long. I think I made it as if she was listening, because I know she was. She likes long, flowery speeches with a lot of metaphors. I could only try my best, but I remember what it all boiled down to.
"I miss you. I'm sorry." I bet it sounded fucking pathetic.
And there were so many people, too. I couldn't help but wonder if they knew how she died. If they were there for her, but she never knew. God, if only there were this many people who were there for her when she was alive. It hurts to think that all these people could be here when she didn't need them anymore. It makes me sick.
My moms had to bring me away from the coffin when it was being lowered. I couldn't stand it. I was in denial, they say. I wouldn't acknowledge that in that box, six feet underground, is my closest friend. I feel so selfish. She'd tell me I'm selfish. I think her family felt it, too. I was angry. Why couldn't they help her? Why couldn't I?
I helped her family move her things out of her room. I helped clean the blood from the headboard, pack up all her clothes, and stripped her walls of all the pictures she's taken. Aside from this, her room was so empty. She shoved all of her other things, her books, her school supplies, and all her other stuff into a trunk under her bed. She fucking tried to make it easier for us.
I gave back all the stuff she lent to me, but they told me I could keep them. I found all the things she forgot to give back to me. My favourite scarf, my testbooks, some paints, and a jacket. I just couldn't take them back. It didn't feel right.
They had to donate the money we were saving for 'important things.' Five years worth of five dollar bills that we were planning to use on buying nice cars, pretty clothes, college, trips all over the world. How could she have forgotten all of this? I know it sounds mean, but holy fuck. I remember all those sleepovers when we'd plan on what places to go, and what to use them on, and how to weasel money out of our parents, and what small jobs we could take. She was so passionate about it, she was a total zealot.
She's gone. She really is. I keep forgetting that. It feels so much more barren without her. So bleak. I miss her, so fucking much. And she's gone. I'm having trouble coping with it. I really wish this was some awful dream. She's gone. She'll never come back. She's dead.
