Greenline

22

Sunday, July 3rd. 9:46 am.

Isaac would have thought his funeral was lame. I could imagine him telling me such a thing even to this day, complaining about everything from the carpet to the photos they chose to display of him around the room.

"They have to know that chartreuse does not match yellow. They have to," he'd insist, gesturing sporadically between the two colors. "And did they really need to put a sprig of rosemary on the coffin? They know that doesn't actually do anything for me, right?"

What I wouldn't give to have a conversation with him once again, especially on that day. I didn't want to go, but I didn't want to not go. I was stuck in an in-between state in which I had paused but the world kept surging onward.

The service before his burial was dull. Family that Isaac had never spoken of claimed how much they would miss him, and I wondered poisonously if they even knew what he was like in his last few months. My thoughts were filled with venom towards almost everything I saw that day.

I was grateful that the dark casket stayed closed the entire time. I didn't think I could handle seeing him without life. I still have to convince myself that it was better that way, for the last time I saw him to have been full of wonder and love before we were ripped away from each other for our stupid mistakes.

It didn't feel real. It felt like something I had imagined while trying to be okay with the thought of his death. I would never be okay with the thought of his death.

When the service was over, I went to put a single white orchid that had been passed out to me on the casket where the other flowers lay. I almost wished I had grapes at the time, though it probably would have seemed odd and downright rude to any onlookers. He would've loved it.

"No, I wouldn't, idiot," he'd tell me. "I'm dead. I can't tell if there are any damn grapes or flowers on my coffin."

When I was finally able to turn myself away, I saw his parents. His mother was dressed head to toe in black lace, his father in a pitch black suit. They had fashioned a glare upon me that I did not expect.

"You have the nerve to show up here," His mother spat, catching me off guard and apparently her husband as well, as he reached forward to stop her. Still, she attacked me with words. "This is your fault. If you hadn't convinced him to stop his treatments, he'd still be here!"

I kept as straight a face as I could, although I'm sure my lips were turned down and my eyes were watering, because her words cut me worse than any knife ever could. I didn't even know what exactly she was talking about, because Isaac never told me that much about his ailments. But I supposed that if I could do one thing for the Kingsleys on that day, it was to give them someone else to blame.

My parents led me away after that, knowing already how hard the day was going to be for me. I'm grateful for it now, but then, I would have preferred falling into myself. I'm sure the idea crossed my mind to hurl myself into the very hole my boyfriend's coffin was about to rest in forever.

Dad offered to take us to the diner for breakfast and I declined quickly. They didn't know why. I never told them why.