My mother bought me a dark dress for the funeral. I didn’t try it on until right before we left for the service, which was when I discovered it was way too big for me.
“Damn,” my mother said. “I knew I should have gotten a smaller size.”
“I’ll have my coat on,” I said. “No one will see it.”
“I wish you’d eat something before we leave. . . . God, I still can’t believe he’s gone—”
“He’s not gone,” I said. “Why do people always say that? Jimmy’s not gone. He’s dead.”
My mother looked at me. “Are you all right? I know how awful this is for you.”
“What day is it? Monday or Tuesday?”
“Tuesday.”
“That play Jimmy gave me tickets for,” I said. “It’s tonight.”
“Morgan, you’re not thinking of going into the city tonight—”
“No,” I said. “No, of course not.” But I couldn’t stop thinking about the play, and about two seats in the tenth row at the Goodman that would be empty that night.
I was okay for a while. I was okay during the ride downtown. It really was a beautiful day, clear and cold: a day for sledding or skating, not for burying my best and only friend. When we got downtown, we parked on one of the streets next to the church. We parked right next to my aunt’s car.
“Did I tell you?” I said. “She’s smoking again.”
“Who is?” my father asked.
“Aunt Lo. She started smoking again.”
“Well,” he said. “This is a hard time for all of us.”
“But she’s a doctor. She should know better.”
“Being a doctor doesn’t make death easier to cope with.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that. To me, I was the only one affected by Jimmy’s death, but as we walked to the church, I saw the others: his first dance teacher, actors who had worked with him in those summer musicals he did. I saw his grandparents and parents. Mrs. Woolf looked absolutely destroyed.
“I can’t go in,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” my mother asked.
“I’m going back to the car.”
“Oh . . . Morgan.”
“Jimmy wasn’t religious, and neither am I.”
“It would mean something to Enid, your being there.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just—I don’t feel very good.” I turned around and cut across the snowy yard to the street. I was cold and sweating, and with each step I took, my vision seemed to darken and narrow. If Jimmy had been by my side, he would have whispered something funny and inappropriate about funerals. Jimmy was the person who helped me through the rough spots. Without him who would I go through life laughing with?
The car door was locked. I figured my options: stay out in the cold or go inside to the funeral. I chose the cold.
“This is wonderful skating weather,” I heard my father say. “When I was your age, your aunt and I spent the entire winter skating down at Lake Ellyn. She used to be quite an ice skater—did you know that?”
I looked at the church. “I remember coming here with Jimmy once,” I said. “For Sunday school. They told us Bible stories and we had crackers and juice.”
I felt his hand touch mine. “Morgan . . .”
I looked at him. “I had to get out of there. I saw Mrs. Woolf and I couldn’t go in.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Here.” He handed me the car keys. “We’ll get a ride home with Loey.”
“I thought you came out here to talk me into going to the funeral.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” my father said. “Be careful, okay? The streets are a little icy.”
“I know it’s wrong to ditch Jimmy’s funeral. . . . I know I’m letting Mrs. Woolf down—”
My father gave my hand a squeeze. “Enid’s not the one you’re letting down, kiddo.”
I didn’t want to hear him. I got in and started the car. I knew he meant I was letting myself down, but how was going to the funeral going to help me? Jimmy was dead, whether I went to the funeral or not.