The day of your funeral.
I was overwhelmed.
I couldn't register any words or any part of the funeral. At one point I was coming through the main door of the church then sit right at the front. There were words exchanged. So many words. Your mother's sniffs. Your father's wretched expression. There were only your family, mine, Damian and the people in the band, Penny and her family, some kids I didn't know. It didn't matter. It was just the way you'd wanted.
In my hand were flimsy pages of eulogy I'd never thought I'd ever written or read. I was in my best suit which should have been worn for our graduation. I don't think I'd ever wear that suit again, Sam. It's still in my closet. For my graduation months later, I bought and wore a new one. Maybe I'll burn it later before I leave. I have time.
Penny walked up the steps. Telling a story of how you both had met. Some trickle of laughter came from the audience. I couldn't register any of it. Something about punching you in the face. I can recall what it is now, but right then I was much too numb to process anything. Luce's hand on mine felt warm and real, but I felt as though I was floating, like I was watching a movie of myself, like not any of it was real.
They must have called me, because Penny had already seated back down with her family and some people watched me expectantly. I remembered vaguely that I had to step up and read my eulogy. My father and Luce waited for me patiently and I felt myself looking at them back, then down to the papers in my hand.
I walked closer to your casket, where you lay pale and cold as if you were asleep. I touched your hair, your cheekbone. When I looked up, you were there standing before me, glancing down at your own body with no expression on your face. You said, “You don't have to, you know.”
“I don't?” I whispered, almost to myself, because even then I knew I was losing it. My sanity as you'd called it.
You looked back up to me with an apology on your face as though you heard what I'd been thinking. “No,” you replied softly, “You don't have to, Roo.”
So I stood straight back up, leaving the papers of eulogy in between your fingers, and walked calmly out of the church.
YOU ARE READING
Wearing My Smile | ✔
Teen Fiction"I wondered if you'd ever thought that the name your parents had given you felt like sharp knife twisting through your heart in its prayer. I'd never asked you that before, now I'd never get to." Having been together since forever, Roo struggles in...
