When Bobby and I get back to the house, everyone’s in the living room looking at the clock, ready to get to the funeral parlor. We don’t take off our jackets, because as soon as we walk in, everyone stands up and puts theirs on.
Dad pulls me into the kitchen to give me my medicine and to tell me if I don’t feel up to it, I don’t have to go. I say, “I want to go,” and it makes him cry a little.
In the living room Mom is saying, “Bobby, why don’t you take Donnie and Amanda in my car and we’ll ride with your mom.”
Amanda sits in the back, even though I can tell Bobby wants her to sit up front. I hate them both and wonder if they’d let me ride on the roof rack. I get in the front seat as Bobby’s asking Amanda if she lives in Chicago. I turn the radio on before Amanda can answer. Bobby switches it off.
“Right outside.”
“I live in Chicago,” he says, knocking my hand away from the radio dial.
“Oh, really? I thought you went to college. You drop out?” Amanda keeps looking at me in the side-view mirror. I scowl at her.
“No. I’m taking a semester off. My band’s in Chicago. You should come see us.”
“Mind if I bury my best friend first?” I like her answer, so I lock eyes with her in the mirror and nod. She nods back.
“Jeesh. Don’t come, then. You wouldn’t like it anyway.”
“Hey,” Amanda says, clearly not impressed with Bobby, “were you the one that gave her mom the pot?”
I stare at Bobby. What’s she talking about?
“Yeah. It wasn’t mine, though,” he says.
“Like I care,” Amanda says, looking out the window.
“Did it help?” Bobby asks.
“No.”
“Oh. I thought her mom . . . I thought she gave it to you . . .”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
Amanda answers in a flat voice, “Right before I moved, when Karen and I were still . . . your mom got pot from Bobby and gave it to me so Karen and I could get high and she’d get the munchies.”
“That’s messed up,” I say.
“So, what happened?” Bobby asks.
Amanda shakes her head. “So Karen and I went for a walk, I lit up, took a hit, and offered it to her. She looked at me like I’d insulted her. She said, ‘I’ll get the munchies,’ and turned around and went home. I failed my drug test and wasn’t allowed on the soccer team at my new school.”
“It was good shit, though, right?” Bobby asks with a crooked smile.
Amanda and I both glare at him.
“I have some now if you want . . .” he says, reaching into the pocket of his coat.
“I’m trying to get back on the soccer team, you prick. And we’re going to a funeral.”
“All right, all right,” he says, cringing. “What about you, Donnie?”
Amanda smacks Bobby on the back of his head. “He’s on medication, asshole!”
“Jesus,” Bobby says.
I climb over the front seat and sit in back with Amanda. She puts her arm around me and pulls me next to her, the way Karen used to. We give Bobby the hairy eyeball the whole way to the funeral parlor.
“Oh, shit,” Amanda whispers when we get there. The parking lot is packed and it’s flooded with kids from the high school.
“Let us out in front and park the car,” Amanda says. Bobby rolls his eyes but pulls over.
The first thing we see is a sign with Karen’s name on it that says FUNERAL 11:00 A.M. I’m about to kick it over, but Amanda leads me in the direction the little white stick-on arrow on the sign is pointing. We enter a long room split down the middle by a black-carpeted aisle, with rows and rows of chairs on either side, all filled with people. Mom and Dad are in the front row. There’s a casket at the end of the aisle. My sister’s in there. I think we both see it at the same time, because as soon as I start to cry, I can hear Amanda crying next to me. She’s got my arm entwined in hers and she’s got me cinched to her side as we walk down the aisle. All the faces turn to look at us and most cry harder than they already were. They whisper “That’s her brother” and “Is that Amanda?” Maddie from the lake is here and we pause next to her seat so she can squeeze our hands and mumble something I can’t understand. I’m glad she is here. Bean’s and Chris’s moms are here too. They don’t look me in the eye, they look at Amanda instead. Our principal is here and so is the one from the junior high school, and some teachers too. I could look at these faces all day long. Because if I look at their faces, then I’m not looking at what’s in front of us.
“Donnie,” Amanda whispers, tugging on my arm. I look in front of me and see that we are standing in front of the casket. Everyone’s gone quiet, watching us. They think I’m going to say good-bye to her with all of their eyes on me. I stay standing still. Amanda reaches out the hand that’s not squeezing mine and lays it on the casket. She closes her eyes and lowers her head. The fear that I’ll regret not touching that smooth wood, that I’m missing some connection to Karen that I’ll never have again, sends me lurching forward till both my palms and the right side of my face are resting on the casket. I think, Come back, come back, come back. I feel hands on my shoulders and know they are my dad’s. He doesn’t pull me away. He stands up there with me for a long time, until I feel myself lifting my face, and then a moment later my hands, from the casket.
Here is the funeral: People get up and say we are sad and she was a good girl and a good person and she is at peace now and she is in heaven and we are sad now but should get over it and here is a song that she used to love and she is missed by her family and her friends and listen to this poem read by one of her old classmates and she was so full of life and remember this funny thing she used to do and there’s the laughter through tears and I’m sweating in Dad’s suit and Amanda’s still got my arm and they say Karen is at peace, at peace, at peace.
When it’s over, people stand up slowly. I hear some sniffles followed by relieved sighs. Those are the people who got closure from the funeral. Other people are still crying, not getting up from their chairs, sobbing into tissues and being comforted by someone who rubs their back and looks around the room for a way out. Some people turn off their tears like a faucet, grateful the funeral’s over so they can stop squeezing water out of their eyes. Other people stand up but still have tears streaming down their faces and don’t even try to stop them. That’s us: my family, and Amanda. The group hug is accidental. We all reach for someone at the same time. There’s some overlap, and we all end up pressed into each other—Dad’s shoulder in my ear, Mom’s smooth hand on my face, Amanda’s hip bone in my stomach. Hands squeeze my suit jacket and pull me in closer. We have tied ourselves. It’s right then that I wonder what is going to happen to my family. What are we going to do?
I hear somebody behind us whisper, “They’re such a close family.” The knot goes slack and we are pulled apart.
There’s a line of people waiting to give us hugs on their way into the other room. In the other room are deli platters, coffee, and doughnuts. Snacks. Karen would think that was funny. Here’s how it works:
THEM |
ME |
Stand in front of me looking into my eyes |
Try not to look away |
Say, “Oh, Donnie.” |
Nod my head. Yes, that’s my name |
Pull me into a hug |
Tap my palms on their back three times and then pull away |
Say, “I am so sorry” |
Say, “Thank you” |
Look at Mom and say, “Oh, Diane” |
Look at Mom and then at the new person standing in front of me saying, “Oh, Donnie” |
After nine hugs I sidestep behind Mom and slip out of the room. I squirm away from the hands wanting to pull me close, and walk down the hall. Karen would know how to get out of this. There’s a door leading outside that’s propped open with an empty can of soda. I walk out.
“Put the can back,” Bobby says, hiding whatever it is he’s smoking behind his back. I put the soda can back.
It’s freezing out. My coat’s inside. Bobby takes off his hat and pulls it onto my head and down low over my ears. He eyes me for a second, then takes a drag off the joint and holds the smoke in his mouth for a second.
“Your friend thinks I’m a first-class asshole.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, I wouldn’t have given your mom the stuff if I didn’t think it would help. I don’t want you to think . . . I really liked your sister. She was a good kid, man.”
I nod and wish he would go inside. He holds the joint out to me and says, “First time’s free.”
I consider it.
“It’ll take the edge off. You can float through the day, not even be here. They can’t touch you.”
“What are you doing?” Amanda says, pushing open the door. “Did you get him high?” she asks Bobby, and then turns to me. “Did he get you high?”
I shake my head.
“What’s your problem, man? You’re not his mom. Let the kid do it if he wants. Donnie, do you want some?”
They are both looking at me. Do I want to get high? The answer is yes. Yes, I do want to get high. I want to get high enough to float up out of here and far, far away. Apparently I’ve said this out loud.
“You can’t get that high,” Amanda says.
“I could get you that high,” Bobby says.
“And what happens when he comes down?” Amanda asks.
Bobby shrugs and laughs. “Who says he has to come down? He can just go right back up again.”
They both look at me. Apparently I’m supposed to make a choice. Take the joint from Bobby’s fingers and pull the smoke deep inside my lungs, while he laughs and says, “Oh shit!” and Amanda goes inside, kicking the soda can and locking us both out. Or call Bobby an asshole and let Amanda lead me back inside to the room of snacks and hugs. I weigh my options, and walk away from both of them.