chapter 14

“What am I supposed to wear?” I can’t believe that I’m doing this. Getting dressed to go to the funeral of someone I never met because someone I don’t like told me I should. I’m not even sure why I’m going. I don’t particularly like Alisha, either.

“Just something clean and not skanky.” Buffy giving me fashion advice.

“Have you ever seen me wear something skanky?” I dress in what’s comfortable. Jeans, T-shirt, sweater. I don’t think about it much. I like to keep covered up. My body’s no one’s business but mine.

“No. Guess I was thinking about Alisha.”

“Nice. Especially today.” My voice is all muffled by the sweatshirt I’m pulling over my head. I sniff it as it comes down past my nose. Smells clean.

“I wasn’t being mean. Alisha likes to look sexy, is all. She likes to show off her boobs. Wish I had a pair like her.” She looks down at her chest, which I have to agree isn’t too impressive. I don’t look at mine, because I don’t care about the size of my body parts, especially those ones. In my experience, other people are way too interested in them, so it’s best to keep them out of sight.

“Well, I doubt she’ll be feeling too sexy today.”

“Yeah. It must be so awful to know your mom is dead. I mean, I don’t really ever see mine or anything, but at least I know she’s alive. Somewhere.” Buffy looks at me, kind of sad eyed.

“Sure. Whatever.” I kind of shrug.

“What about you?”

“What about me what?” I know what she wants me to say.

“You never talk about your mom or dad or whatever.”

“No, I don’t.”

“It helps sometimes, you know. Just to talk about things and get them off your chest.”

“I don’t need to talk about anything.” Please go away now!

“Whatever. Sandi’s probably waiting for us downstairs. You better hurry up.” She kind of stomps out of the room, like she’s mad at me for not spilling my guts to her. Why do people always say that talking about things makes you feel better? It doesn’t. Things should be kept safely locked up inside of you. Talking about them lets them loose and then you can’t always catch them and put them away again.

I run my fingers through my hair and pull my sweatshirt down over the waistband of my jeans. I put my running shoes on and head downstairs to face whatever I’m facing today.

Buffy’s right for once, and Sandi is ready and waiting. She looks different to me, all dressed up like a real adult. She has on a skirt and jacket and shoes with heels. A big change from her usual jeans and T-shirt. A skirt and heels wouldn’t be such a good idea around here, when you never know when you might have to have a spontaneous wrestling match with a whacked-out grouphomegirl. She stands up, taller than usual, and looks down at me. She opens her mouth as if to make a comment on my clothes, but she swallows it. Good thing, because if she says one word, I’m out of here.

The ride to the church is a quiet one. No one can think of anything to say, I guess. Not that Buffy and I ever have anything particularly interesting to say to one another. She’s such a weird kid. I guess her—what did Alisha call it?—kiddy porn freak show might account for it. I guess I know what it feels like to have everyone think you’re a liar. I had a couple of pseudomoms who blamed me for everything that happened in the house, even though most of it was caused by their own biokids. Biokids are treated like they can do no wrong. Maybe pseudoparents take in fostergirls so that they can have someone to blame for their biokids’ screw ups.

We get to the church too fast for my liking. I’m really wishing that I could just wait in the car. I still can’t believe I’m here. Anything would be better than this, even sitting at home watching G-rated movies with the Ks and Sarah. Sandi pulls into the parking lot, which is mostly empty. Guess Alisha’s mom wasn’t too popular around here.

The church is ridiculously big. Endless pews fill it up from front to back. The windows make the sunlight come in all different colors through the stained glass. Everyone seems to have splotches of color on them, like they’re the losers in a paintball war. The ceiling is so high you have to practically do a back walkover to see it. There are pipes going up the back of the church from floor to ceiling, ready to fill the place with the deadly church music that makes you want to tear your ears off and sit on them.

I know that I used to go to church. Mrs. Sampson definitely made me go, but I think a couple of other pseudomoms did, too, when I was small. Not sure exactly when or where, but I have blurred memories of using the time in the pews to catch up on my sleep and being elbowed and poked quite a bit by other kids either trying to wake me up or trying to get me in trouble. Probably both.

There are only a few pews filled with people near the front of the church. I really, really want to sit at the very back where I can be invisible, but Sandi leads us right up to the next available seat, about five rows back from the front. Close enough to see all of the action. Great.

Alisha isn’t anywhere to be seen. That’s even more great. I’m here and she decides to skip the whole deal. That would be exactly what she would do. So selfish. I open my mouth to say something about it to Sandi, but just then the obnoxious church music starts. It’s crazy loud, coming from all those pipes and rising up to the ceiling. There aren’t enough people here to absorb the sound, and it pounds us down into the seats. I wonder how much it will hurt when I have to rip my ears off.

Everyone stands up, struggling out from under the music. I stand up, too, even though I don’t know why. It’s as if someone’s holding up a cue card telling us what to do. Sandi turns her head toward the back of the church. Now I see what’s going on. I might have to take my eyes out, too. I think it’s time to go home. Really.

The coffin is slowly slithering up the aisle, a couple of men on each side moving it along. The men look all serious and sort of angry to me. I wonder if they’re friends of Alisha’s mom or just guys paid to look annoyed at funerals. Behind the coffin comes the family. Alisha and a lady I guess is her nana lead the way. Alisha is not dressed skanky. She has a black sweater on and black pants. Her hair is pulled back into some kind of bun deal. She usually has it brushed out as full as she can, all wild and frizzy with red and blue streaks mixed into the black fuzz. She looks like an alternate version of herself today, a version from some universe where she’s some kind of normal person. Her nana doesn’t look anything like her. She’s a tiny little woman who looks like she might fall over if you blow on her too hard. No wonder she thought Alisha might be too much to look after. Alisha could eat her for breakfast and still be hungry for lunch.

Alisha isn’t crying or anything. She has the same look on her face as the coffin men. Maybe the funeral director teaches them that before they come in. She doesn’t look at us when she passes by. Her eyes are glued to the coffin where her mom is. Mine aren’t. I’m still thinking about taking them out and putting them in my pocket, along with my ears. I don’t want to look at the coffin and wonder what the woman inside looks like. Why do they do this, anyway? It seems kind of disrespectful to me. I mean, we know she’s dead already. We don’t need the whole box-in-the-room deal to make it more obvious to us. It seems like it just makes it more painful for the people who are having a rough time already. I never met this woman, and I don’t really even know Alisha, and I still feel like I want to look at anything except the front of the room where death is lying.

The service itself is long and drawn out. Lots of prayers and standing up and sitting down. The priest gives a speech about Alisha’s mother that makes her sound like some kind of angel instead of an alcoholic who couldn’t take care of her own kid. A few people are kind of sniffling by now. Buffy is crying into her Kleenex, and Sandi has her arm around her.

It finally ends, and the whole bizarre funeral parade moves back the other way. Alisha’s nana is crying now. Alisha walks beside her. She isn’t crying yet. She’s just kind of hugging herself and looking mad. She looks over at me as she walks by this time. She stops looking mad for a second and looks kind of surprised. I don’t know what to do, so I do a stupid little wave thing. She waves back and actually kind of smiles. Just for a second. Then her eyes go black again and she stares straight ahead as she joins the parade, a sad clown dressed in someone else’s clothes.

I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s over, and now we can go home.

“We’ll just stay at the reception for a few minutes and then go,” Sandi says to us. The reception? What the hell is that?

“The what?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know. Buffy looks at me like I’m an idiot, which is the way she usually looks at me. At least it’s something familiar.

“The reception. They have food and drinks so we can mingle and talk.”

“Mingle and talk? About what?” I thought they were taking the parade to the graveyard to put Alisha’s mom in the ground so she could have some peace and quiet.

“People like to share memories of the person who died or to share their condolences with the family,” Sandi says.

“I didn’t know Alisha’s mom and I don’t know her family.”

“But you know Alisha.” Sandi heads off toward the back of the church and leads the way to the reception. I didn’t know they served food and drinks at funerals; it’s like some kind of bizarre party. I don’t think I like the idea that people might have a good time at my funeral. Not that there will be any people at my funeral. Who would come? Why do I care? Why am I thinking about this? Maybe they have real drinks, and I can sneak a couple and forget this whole day while I’m still living it.

We’re just walking into the party room when I feel a tap on my arm.

“Sadie?”

I kind of spin around, surprised that anyone here knows my name.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Rhiannon, who is standing there with her mom. I hadn’t noticed them in the church.

“We’ve known Alisha for a while. We felt we should pay our respects.” Her mom’s voice is quiet but there’s something in it that makes me wonder if Rhiannon told her that we don’t hang out any more.

“Alisha lived with us when she was younger for a while. Her mom ended up getting her back and then things fell apart, but by the time she needed a home again, we were all full. She’s always been kind of upset about that.” Rhiannon’s voice is quiet like her mom’s. There’s something in it, too. I’m not so good at reading voices so I don’t know what it is. I just know something’s there and it isn’t great.

“I didn’t know that.” Kind of stating the obvious, but it’s all I can think of in the moment. I’ve been living with Alisha and hanging out with Rhiannon and neither of them say anything about knowing each other, even after the whole video store drama? More secrets.

“I guess it never came up.”

“Guess not.” Secrets don’t usually come up unless you want them to. We stand there in the doorway. Rhiannon’s mom has already moved into the room, along with Sandi and Buffy. All three of them are standing with Alisha and her nana. Rhiannon’s mom gives Alisha a big hug and kind of rubs her back, talking to her for a few moments. I stand there staring, feeling like an audience member watching a movie where I don’t really know the actors, and I’m wondering what’s going to happen next. Maybe they have popcorn. Rhiannon’s watching, too. I don’t say anything to her, because I don’t know what to say.

“I guess I’ll go talk to Alisha,” she says, not really looking at me. I watch as she joins the others. She comes up to where her mom is still holding Alisha, who seems to be crying by now. Wonder what Ms. Kerry said to her to make her cry? Rhiannon puts her arm around Alisha also, which is amazing on so many levels. Alisha trashed her last time she saw her and now Rhiannon’s acting like she’s her best friend. I guess that’s what it is though, acting. Everyone performing their role because they’re at a funeral and they have to do a good job for all the other actors. And the Oscar for Biggest Hypocrite goes to…

Me.

I can’t do this any more. Enough. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to eat or drink or hug or condole. I just want to go away.

I head out to the car. It’s locked, of course, so I just lean against the hood, waiting for the movie to end so we can go.