him that God didn't really exist either, and that it really didn't matter if he wrote scary stories during church service? Part of him expected just this. Of course, he never said it out loud, not even to Doug or Barry, because if God was real, then thinking something like that was a sure way to get on His bad side. Timmy was more afraid of God than anything else in life, with the possible exception of snakes and Catcher. You could shoot a snake or a neighborhood bully or a mean dog with a BB gun.
But not God ...
And now, there was a new fallacy. “It looks like Grandpa's just sleeping.” The biggest fallacy of them all, because Grampa wasn't sleeping, he was dead. He was never going to wake up again. There would be no more walks or games or Saturday morning cartoons or long talks about things that mattered to Timmy, things his grandfather seemed interested in, too, because they were important to his grandson. His grandfather was dead, so why couldn 't his mother just say it out loud? Why did she treat Timmy like he was a little kid?
Next, would she tell him, “Guess what, it turns out Santa Claus is real after all”?
Of course she wouldn't, because it wasn't true. Santa Claus wasn't real, U'rown Goode was actually Timmy's own good, and...
Grandpa wasn't coming back again.
Timmy opened his eyes. Tears rolled down his face. He balled his fists at his sides and wept, and his mother and father held him between them, crying as well.
He cast one last glance at his grandfather's body, and then looked no more. He didn't have to. The image was burned into his retinas.
Grandpa wasn't sleeping.
After the viewing, there was a short break before the funeral service. Timmy's parents and some of the distant family members stayed at the casket, saying their final good-byes before the lid was closed. Timmy elected not to join them, and slipped away through the crowd. The other adults went outside to smoke, or mingled between the pews, talking softly. Timmy, Doug, and Barry wandered aimlessly around the church, ending up downstairs in one of the Sunday school rooms. Barry sat on top of the table, his legs hanging over the side. Timmy stood in the corner. Doug had found a Hot Wheels car, left behind by a younger child, and was running it aimlessly back and forth over the tabletop.
“You guys want to do something after this ... is over?” Timmy asked. “I really need to get my mind off things.”
“Sorry, man, but I can't,” Doug apologized. “My mom drove, and my bike's at home.”
“So? You could walk back to your house. It's not that far.”
Doug shuddered. "And go by Catcher's driveway? No thanks, man. It's bad enough when he chases me on my bike. No way I'm letting him go after me when I'm on foot. He'd kill me. Besides, it's raining outside. I'd get wet and catch a cold. Nothing worse than a summer cold."
“Wimp.” Timmy turned to Barry. “How about you?”
“I can't either, man. I've got to ... well, you know.”
“What?”
“I've got to help my dad with your Grandpa, after everyone else leaves.”
“Oh ...” He'd forgotten about that. It seemed weird, somehow, that his best friend would help to bury his grandfather. Fresh grief welled up inside him, and Timmy sighed.
Behind them, someone cleared her throat. The boys turned around. Katie Moore stood in the doorway to the Sunday school room. Timmy's heart beat a little faster, the way it always did when Katie was around. Sometimes, Timmy hated the way Katie made him feel. It was exciting, but scary, too. On Sundays, during the sermon, he found his gaze invariably drawn to her. Next year, she 'd be starting sixth grade, and would go to the junior high school with them. He wondered what that would be like, and if they'd see more of each other then, and if so, if the possibilities of them hanging out together more often would increase. Thinking about it made his stomach hurt.
“Hey Katie,” Barry said.
“Hey.” She smiled sadly. “Hi
But not God ...
And now, there was a new fallacy. “It looks like Grandpa's just sleeping.” The biggest fallacy of them all, because Grampa wasn't sleeping, he was dead. He was never going to wake up again. There would be no more walks or games or Saturday morning cartoons or long talks about things that mattered to Timmy, things his grandfather seemed interested in, too, because they were important to his grandson. His grandfather was dead, so why couldn 't his mother just say it out loud? Why did she treat Timmy like he was a little kid?
Next, would she tell him, “Guess what, it turns out Santa Claus is real after all”?
Of course she wouldn't, because it wasn't true. Santa Claus wasn't real, U'rown Goode was actually Timmy's own good, and...
Grandpa wasn't coming back again.
Timmy opened his eyes. Tears rolled down his face. He balled his fists at his sides and wept, and his mother and father held him between them, crying as well.
He cast one last glance at his grandfather's body, and then looked no more. He didn't have to. The image was burned into his retinas.
Grandpa wasn't sleeping.
After the viewing, there was a short break before the funeral service. Timmy's parents and some of the distant family members stayed at the casket, saying their final good-byes before the lid was closed. Timmy elected not to join them, and slipped away through the crowd. The other adults went outside to smoke, or mingled between the pews, talking softly. Timmy, Doug, and Barry wandered aimlessly around the church, ending up downstairs in one of the Sunday school rooms. Barry sat on top of the table, his legs hanging over the side. Timmy stood in the corner. Doug had found a Hot Wheels car, left behind by a younger child, and was running it aimlessly back and forth over the tabletop.
“You guys want to do something after this ... is over?” Timmy asked. “I really need to get my mind off things.”
“Sorry, man, but I can't,” Doug apologized. “My mom drove, and my bike's at home.”
“So? You could walk back to your house. It's not that far.”
Doug shuddered. "And go by Catcher's driveway? No thanks, man. It's bad enough when he chases me on my bike. No way I'm letting him go after me when I'm on foot. He'd kill me. Besides, it's raining outside. I'd get wet and catch a cold. Nothing worse than a summer cold."
“Wimp.” Timmy turned to Barry. “How about you?”
“I can't either, man. I've got to ... well, you know.”
“What?”
“I've got to help my dad with your Grandpa, after everyone else leaves.”
“Oh ...” He'd forgotten about that. It seemed weird, somehow, that his best friend would help to bury his grandfather. Fresh grief welled up inside him, and Timmy sighed.
Behind them, someone cleared her throat. The boys turned around. Katie Moore stood in the doorway to the Sunday school room. Timmy's heart beat a little faster, the way it always did when Katie was around. Sometimes, Timmy hated the way Katie made him feel. It was exciting, but scary, too. On Sundays, during the sermon, he found his gaze invariably drawn to her. Next year, she 'd be starting sixth grade, and would go to the junior high school with them. He wondered what that would be like, and if they'd see more of each other then, and if so, if the possibilities of them hanging out together more often would increase. Thinking about it made his stomach hurt.
“Hey Katie,” Barry said.
“Hey.” She smiled sadly. “Hi
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