In an Instant(36)
Tomorrow is my funeral.
41
I didn’t realize I was so popular. I scan the room, taking in the large collection of mourners. The pews are full, and so are the aisles. The church is packed to capacity, overflowing with nearly everyone from my school—parents, teachers, students—hundreds of neighbors, teammates from a dozen years of sports, and miscellaneous family members from around the globe. Only half the faces are familiar, and less than a quarter do I know well.
Thankfully it’s a closed casket. I am done looking at my cold dead body and have no desire for anyone else to view it. It’s not my most attractive look. I’m also thankful my dad and Chloe aren’t here. They would hate this, being the center of attention at such a large spectacle and having their mourning on display. My mom hates it as well. She sits rigid in the front pew between Aubrey and Ben, her eyes fixed on my coffin as the audience scrutinizes her to gauge how well she’s holding up.
Her eyes are dry and her expression unreadable. She will not cry, not here in front of all these people. Only I know that this morning she sobbed uncontrollably, ghastly grief so violent I was afraid she would pass out and the sheets clenched so tight I was certain they would tear. No one here knows that. To them, she looks like an ice queen, expressionless as she waits for the service to begin for the unfathomable task of burying her child.
Her eyes stare at the sunflowers draped over the polished mahogany, my favorite flower and her choice for the bouquets. I’m proud of her for remembering and wish I could tell her, let her know I see them and that I’m glad she chose them.
Uncle Bob and Natalie are here. Aunt Karen is not—too hard for her or too hard for my mom, it’s impossible to know which. Either way it pisses me off, and I decide at this point she is no longer my aunt. I also decide Uncle Bob is no longer my uncle. I am dead. I have that right.
Mo is one of the last to arrive. Necks crane to look at her as her dad wheels her down the center aisle to a reserved space in front, the mourners leering with morbid curiosity at her bandaged hands and feet. After the service, she will return to the hospital. She has a week left before she can go home. Like my mom’s, her face is a mask, but Mo’s is formed into a perfect guise of humble sorrow, a wounded princess who steals the heart of each person who looks at her.
Only Bob is not infatuated. Mo’s eyes slide sideways as she passes him, the slightest shadow crossing over her features when their eyes connect, causing him to look away.
Charlie is in the balcony. He wears a maroon argyle sweater and a dark tie beneath a black jacket. He looks very handsome and very sad. I sit beside him for a while, liking the idea that I can be so close.
The minister is a small man with thin brown hair and a baritone voice, and he does a wonderful job talking about me, considering he never met me. When he is done, he introduces others for the eulogy.
Lots of people speak, and they all say lovely things. I especially like the speech my softball coach gives because he makes it about the pranks I was famous for, and everyone laughs.
Aubrey speaks on behalf of our family, and she represents us well. She looks at Ben a lot, and I know that is how she gets through it. When she talks about me as a sister and my relationship with Oz, a lot of the audience cries.
Then Mo talks. Unable to put weight on her fragile toes, she is wheeled onto the platform and given a handheld microphone. She is dressed in black but looks like an angel. Her hair gleams golden under the church lights, and her skin is luminous from her weeks in the hospital without sun.
She holds the microphone between her bandaged hands and steals the show, the audience swooning with emotion as she regales them with story after story about our lives—a dozen Lucy-and-Ethel, Laverne-and-Shirley, Tom-and-Huck moments—each adventure so hilarious and splendid that anyone would be envious of the grand friendship we shared.
As I listen, my gratitude and admiration for my brave friend grows, every ounce of fortitude drawn upon to make this moment one of celebration rather than sadness, knowing it is what I would want. This morning she could not eat even a bite of toast, her emotions overwrought from knowing the day she faced. Her hands trembled so badly as she applied her makeup that finally her mom needed to do it for her, a thick layer of foundation to cover her bruised, hollow eyes and blush lipstick just light enough to be bright without being happy. She changed it three times, not smiling once. But now, she puts on a show for the audience and for me and perhaps a little for my mom, who she looks at often, reminding everyone who I was and the remarkable life I lived and letting them know how much I was loved. It makes me miss my life terribly and miss her even more.
I don’t want to be dead, desperately I don’t, and no matter how long it has been, I can’t get used to it. Gone. Forever. Permanently. The world going on without me. Mo and I never able to have another fantastic, wonderful adventure again.
When Mo finishes, there’s not a dry eye in the house, the audience united in their love and their sorrow, and I have to remind myself it is for me, that I’m the one who died and that this is their goodbye.
42
The doctors think Chloe is doing better. She eats now and goes to the bathroom on her own. She even talks to her new shrink, an ancient woman who forgets a lot but who at least talks to Chloe like an adult. Only I know the truth. Chloe has a plan, and being catatonic doesn’t work because then her meds are given intravenously. Now that she is eating, her painkillers and antidepressants are given orally. The ones given in the morning, she swallows; the ones given at night, she palms until the nurse turns away, and then she stashes them in the lining of her suitcase.