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Authors: Sarah Martinez
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on a cold stone bench in front of a little fountain.
“I shouldn't even have to do this, this is too much. A week ago my brother was angsting over quitting writing, but he seemed fine, almostrelieved you know? I was relieved too, if you want to know the truth. I wanted him to quit being so unhappy. Now he's gone. How am I supposed to do this?”
“You don't, love. You can't.”
“Is it wrong to be mad at a dead person?”
Eric pulled me to the warmth of his solid chest. “Never stopped you from being pissed at your dad.”
At the mention of my father and the thought of how very different my feelings were for the two men in my family, I started crying again. Once I started up he just let me go, rubbing my shoulders and touching his head to mine. When I collected myself he said, “Glad to see you're letting it all out. You never cried like this for your father.”
“He didn't deserve it. I don't think I could ever get all this out. I'm crying, and it feels like the thing to do, but it also seems like I'm pretending. I keep expecting Tristan to slap me on the arm and tell me to stop bawling over him. None of this feels real. How could he do this?”
“He…I don't know, Viv.”
I studied the ground, the separate pieces of lush green grass. “Never thought I would have to throw down over some fucking song . So many stupid random things feel like life or death anymore. I have to be able to remember how his books were lined up, like something really bad will happen if I don't. I couldn't even get rid of his glasses and this gross Corona t-shirt he cut the sleeves off of. You'd think this shit had a life of its own.”
Eric's voice was gentle. “Why?”
“I don't know. I really don't. All I know is that the alternative feels like death. I will keep this crazy need before I will give in to nothing. My mother…all I've done for the past week is jump through these ridiculous hoops to keep her together.” Instantly furious with his open face, I took a breath and let it out, and with that breath went some of the hostility I needed to direct somewhere. “Anyway, it's not even about what I would want…you know my brother. He wanted this song for my father. Shouldn't that be enough? She knows that. She just doesn't want to look weird in front of all her snooty friends.”
Eric held up his hands.
“What? Just say it.”
After eyeing me for another moment, he said in a firm but understanding tone, “Funerals are for the people who are still alive. Get through this and you can listen to whatever you want.”
“The funny thing is that the thought of listening to music just makes me feel empty, like I know it won't work anymore. Nothing is going to feel the same after this.”
A car door slammed. Hushed voices drifted toward me. I wiped my eyes. The thought of my silent apartment, so far removed from all of this, gave me something to look forward to. He put his arm around me and stroked my arm.
We sat and listened to the heels clicking and keys jangling as people made their way to the church, then we walked together back inside. Just like Tristan would have done, Eric sat between my mother and me, with one arm around me, and let my mother hold his hand.
Leah did play “Fade to Black,” and my mother kept her lips tightly closed through the entire beautiful performance. Leah was also the first person to speak and the only one I listened to. “I was so impressed by how much he knew, how much he never said that he did know.” She took a look around. “He never bragged about the things he'd done, or where he came from.” She let her eyes rest on my mother then moved them to me before facing the audience again. “I don't think any of us could have imagined this for him.” She stopped and took a breath and looked around the room, smiling and giving a short wave to a guy in leather who sat three rows back from my mother and me. “When I first met Tristan Post, I knew there would never be anyone as smart,
“I shouldn't even have to do this, this is too much. A week ago my brother was angsting over quitting writing, but he seemed fine, almostrelieved you know? I was relieved too, if you want to know the truth. I wanted him to quit being so unhappy. Now he's gone. How am I supposed to do this?”
“You don't, love. You can't.”
“Is it wrong to be mad at a dead person?”
Eric pulled me to the warmth of his solid chest. “Never stopped you from being pissed at your dad.”
At the mention of my father and the thought of how very different my feelings were for the two men in my family, I started crying again. Once I started up he just let me go, rubbing my shoulders and touching his head to mine. When I collected myself he said, “Glad to see you're letting it all out. You never cried like this for your father.”
“He didn't deserve it. I don't think I could ever get all this out. I'm crying, and it feels like the thing to do, but it also seems like I'm pretending. I keep expecting Tristan to slap me on the arm and tell me to stop bawling over him. None of this feels real. How could he do this?”
“He…I don't know, Viv.”
I studied the ground, the separate pieces of lush green grass. “Never thought I would have to throw down over some fucking song . So many stupid random things feel like life or death anymore. I have to be able to remember how his books were lined up, like something really bad will happen if I don't. I couldn't even get rid of his glasses and this gross Corona t-shirt he cut the sleeves off of. You'd think this shit had a life of its own.”
Eric's voice was gentle. “Why?”
“I don't know. I really don't. All I know is that the alternative feels like death. I will keep this crazy need before I will give in to nothing. My mother…all I've done for the past week is jump through these ridiculous hoops to keep her together.” Instantly furious with his open face, I took a breath and let it out, and with that breath went some of the hostility I needed to direct somewhere. “Anyway, it's not even about what I would want…you know my brother. He wanted this song for my father. Shouldn't that be enough? She knows that. She just doesn't want to look weird in front of all her snooty friends.”
Eric held up his hands.
“What? Just say it.”
After eyeing me for another moment, he said in a firm but understanding tone, “Funerals are for the people who are still alive. Get through this and you can listen to whatever you want.”
“The funny thing is that the thought of listening to music just makes me feel empty, like I know it won't work anymore. Nothing is going to feel the same after this.”
A car door slammed. Hushed voices drifted toward me. I wiped my eyes. The thought of my silent apartment, so far removed from all of this, gave me something to look forward to. He put his arm around me and stroked my arm.
We sat and listened to the heels clicking and keys jangling as people made their way to the church, then we walked together back inside. Just like Tristan would have done, Eric sat between my mother and me, with one arm around me, and let my mother hold his hand.
Leah did play “Fade to Black,” and my mother kept her lips tightly closed through the entire beautiful performance. Leah was also the first person to speak and the only one I listened to. “I was so impressed by how much he knew, how much he never said that he did know.” She took a look around. “He never bragged about the things he'd done, or where he came from.” She let her eyes rest on my mother then moved them to me before facing the audience again. “I don't think any of us could have imagined this for him.” She stopped and took a breath and looked around the room, smiling and giving a short wave to a guy in leather who sat three rows back from my mother and me. “When I first met Tristan Post, I knew there would never be anyone as smart,
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