can I face Mike and all of them? They practically killed Spud!
How can I carry my best friend’s casket? How can I face everyone?
I have to. Damn, I know I have to.
Chapter 8
The heat certainly hasn’t let up, suffocating the masses still, as we’re all gathered
at the funeral home in Marseilles. Besides all of the family and relatives, there
are many friends. Everyone liked Spud. There was even a separate wake last night
just for school kids, and then, of course, there’s the usual one for close friends
and family. It’s crazy stuff.
Somehow, I have managed to get off my bed, put on the required clothing, and do what
I’m supposed to do. I’ve moved along like a robot, a puppet doing what I’m told to
do, but now around all the people again, I’m feeling a tad more human.
The latest I’ve heard, 376 deaths is the newest total. Well, I’m adding Spud. 377.
The one- hundred-plus degree day is evident on all the sweating bodies, matted hair,
running makeup, and of course, we have to be dressed in black. On the way over, the
guy on the radio declared more deaths in the area from the heat. It’s mostly the
older people, and there have been drownings, too. It’s awful.
The solemn voice on the station relayed news of a group of teenagers in Chicago who
got into a scuffle with the police because these kids illegally opened fire hydrants.
As they cooled off and splashed around in the spraying, flowing, refreshing burst
of water, they also threw rocks at the cops who tried to get them to stop and back
away. Obviously, it’s illegal, and also with hydrants flowing, water pressure in
the homes suffers, but what else can these kids do, especially in poor areas where
they don’t have AC in their homes? I mean, dang, you gotta do something to survive,
but that’s such a problem, and they even said that over three thousand hydrants had been opened, so I guess they need to crack down. We don’t even have three hundred
of them around here. That’s a crapload of wasted water, but it keeps my mind occupied.
Everyone’s suffering. There needs to be a break. A big storm to come through, wet
us down, cool it off. In addition to the ridiculous temperatures is the drought,
and if people don’t get caught up in heat stroke, exhaustion, or the like, there’s
always the fires from the dryness, heat lightning, low water pressure, and on and
on. It’s the worst, and the ones dying off are older, lonely, and have nobody to
look after them. They just keep finding bodies in these poor neighborhoods. People
with not enough money for AC, no way to get to a cooler building, like a library.
It’s so sad. And then, then… there’s people who drown.
Trying to avoid any sort of conversation, I have gotten by so far by wandering aimlessly,
keeping an eye out for when someone is coming too close so I can jet. I know people
want to tell me they’re sorry, give me hugs, and too many already have, but what
good does that do? So what if they’re sorry? It won’t change anything.
So, I figure if I stay too long in one spot, I’ll be approached more and more and
have to come up with more than the casual hello that I’ve gotten by with. Of course,
when these visitors do come up to tell me they’re so sorry, I do thank them, but
then make an excuse to be at another spot, make a restroom run, check on my whatever.
You know the drill. I appreciate their concern, but I know I’m going to cry if I
try to talk much. I so want to be back in my room with Kelly Kapowski and my safe
white walls, away from all this.
The funeral home is like an actual home, set to feel comfortable and inviting, but
the main viewing room reminds me of a church, and there are all sorts of flowers
and posters with pictures of Spud and family and friends from birth to the present.
The place looks nice but feels fake to me. I saw a picture of us from last New Year’s
Eve at Ned’s party, and I had to take it. I want it framed in my room. Spud, another
cousin Jay,
How can I carry my best friend’s casket? How can I face everyone?
I have to. Damn, I know I have to.
Chapter 8
The heat certainly hasn’t let up, suffocating the masses still, as we’re all gathered
at the funeral home in Marseilles. Besides all of the family and relatives, there
are many friends. Everyone liked Spud. There was even a separate wake last night
just for school kids, and then, of course, there’s the usual one for close friends
and family. It’s crazy stuff.
Somehow, I have managed to get off my bed, put on the required clothing, and do what
I’m supposed to do. I’ve moved along like a robot, a puppet doing what I’m told to
do, but now around all the people again, I’m feeling a tad more human.
The latest I’ve heard, 376 deaths is the newest total. Well, I’m adding Spud. 377.
The one- hundred-plus degree day is evident on all the sweating bodies, matted hair,
running makeup, and of course, we have to be dressed in black. On the way over, the
guy on the radio declared more deaths in the area from the heat. It’s mostly the
older people, and there have been drownings, too. It’s awful.
The solemn voice on the station relayed news of a group of teenagers in Chicago who
got into a scuffle with the police because these kids illegally opened fire hydrants.
As they cooled off and splashed around in the spraying, flowing, refreshing burst
of water, they also threw rocks at the cops who tried to get them to stop and back
away. Obviously, it’s illegal, and also with hydrants flowing, water pressure in
the homes suffers, but what else can these kids do, especially in poor areas where
they don’t have AC in their homes? I mean, dang, you gotta do something to survive,
but that’s such a problem, and they even said that over three thousand hydrants had been opened, so I guess they need to crack down. We don’t even have three hundred
of them around here. That’s a crapload of wasted water, but it keeps my mind occupied.
Everyone’s suffering. There needs to be a break. A big storm to come through, wet
us down, cool it off. In addition to the ridiculous temperatures is the drought,
and if people don’t get caught up in heat stroke, exhaustion, or the like, there’s
always the fires from the dryness, heat lightning, low water pressure, and on and
on. It’s the worst, and the ones dying off are older, lonely, and have nobody to
look after them. They just keep finding bodies in these poor neighborhoods. People
with not enough money for AC, no way to get to a cooler building, like a library.
It’s so sad. And then, then… there’s people who drown.
Trying to avoid any sort of conversation, I have gotten by so far by wandering aimlessly,
keeping an eye out for when someone is coming too close so I can jet. I know people
want to tell me they’re sorry, give me hugs, and too many already have, but what
good does that do? So what if they’re sorry? It won’t change anything.
So, I figure if I stay too long in one spot, I’ll be approached more and more and
have to come up with more than the casual hello that I’ve gotten by with. Of course,
when these visitors do come up to tell me they’re so sorry, I do thank them, but
then make an excuse to be at another spot, make a restroom run, check on my whatever.
You know the drill. I appreciate their concern, but I know I’m going to cry if I
try to talk much. I so want to be back in my room with Kelly Kapowski and my safe
white walls, away from all this.
The funeral home is like an actual home, set to feel comfortable and inviting, but
the main viewing room reminds me of a church, and there are all sorts of flowers
and posters with pictures of Spud and family and friends from birth to the present.
The place looks nice but feels fake to me. I saw a picture of us from last New Year’s
Eve at Ned’s party, and I had to take it. I want it framed in my room. Spud, another
cousin Jay,
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