When I stood up, a hush fell over the people sitting behind me. I felt their eyes on me, heard their sniffles as I took a hesitant step forward. For the entire service, I kept my eyes locked on the floor but now I forced myself to look. I forced myself to stare at Noah’s face. A strange taste filled my mouth and I pulled my bottom lip against my teeth over and over again.
He looked like he was sleeping. Like he was taking a nap. All of the pain and doubt and sadness was erased from his face. They had managed to lessen the intensity of the circles under his eyes. I thought for a moment that if I touched his shoulder, if I just gave him a little shake, he’d open his eyes like it was all a big joke. My chin trembled and my teeth rattled together but I wasn’t crying and I wasn’t cold. The strange taste in my mouth grew stronger. I didn’t move from my place beside the casket. Noah. I placed my hand on his cold, smooth forehead and leaned over so no one could hear me. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I ran my thumb over one of his eyebrows and as I pulled back, as I attempted to move away and say goodbye, my stomach pinched and churned and the taste in my mouth became vile. I covered my mouth with my hand and swallowed as hard as I could. My throat burned and I could do nothing but cough and sputter as someone put a strong arm around my waist and escorted me from the sanctuary.
I threw up in a bush covered with cheerful pink blossoms. Sweat trickled down my temple as I heaved over and over. Despite the nearly suffocating early summer heat, the flashes of fire pulsing through my body, and the tie choking my neck, I was cold. I straightened up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. A small crowd of people gathered around me but none of them spoke. I didn’t look any of them in the eye. I brushed by them, ignoring the ones whispering my name, and walked until I reached the edge of the parking lot.
It didn’t seem possible that Noah could be dead, what with the sunshine and heat and life going on around me. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my cigarettes. I had just finished lighting one when Shannon stepped beside me, her eyes masked by a pair of black sunglasses. “Feel like sharing?” Her voice sounded flat and bored. I complied, handing her the cigarettes and my lighter. We stood next to each other, smoking our cigarettes in companionable silence.
“They’re watching us.” Shannon turned toward me with a wry smile. “The depressed musician brother and the girl who found Noah. What will they do now?” Her voice took on an amused, crazed tone. Sadly, I understood exactly what that tone implied: confusion, grief, desperation, anger.
I bit my bottom lip roughly as I searched for something to say. “Shan, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She dropped her cigarette on the pavement and ground it out with her shoe. “He wasn’t my brother. He was just my friend.”
“But Shan,” I tried to swallow the words I couldn’t stop from coming, “you found him. You…you cared about him.” I thought about how she must’ve looked when she realized Noah was dead. I thought about how her blue eyes must’ve dulled when the paramedics rolled the stretcher out of the house and into the ambulance.
She lowered her sunglasses and the look in her eyes made me flinch. She didn’t say anything, just looked at me until I felt like throwing up again. Then she linked her arm with mine and squeezed my wrist. I didn’t know what to say. Shannon was the only person who probably more fucked up than me. I ground out my cigarette and glanced over my shoulder at the crowd milling around outside the church. “I’ve got something to show you. In the limo.”
