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Description
Dis-Closure

     Closed-casket was probably best, what with the mutilation his body had gone through.  Most of the people there, myself included, probably wanted to remember him the way he was—lively, energetic, and happy—and not the embalmed and made-up way he would look for an open-casket funeral.  Especially in death, there’s something very fake about the way makeup looks on a human body.  None of us wanted that.
     But at the same time, the closed coffin posed a lot of questions.  As soon as I stepped into the church—probably the third time in my life I’ve ever gone into one willingly—and saw the mahogany box up front, I started asking myself what he looked like inside, what I had made him do to his body.  The tears, which had finally stopped two or three days before, came back full flood.  I regretted not having worn a more opaque veil; Ky’s arm was around my shoulders before the first tears had dripped off of my chin.
     “You okay?” she asked me quietly, probably trying not to bring too much attention to my emotions.
     No, I’m not fucking okay, I wanted to reply.  What the hell kind of question is that?  Am I okay?  I killed him, you realize that?  I should have swallowed my fucking pride and done something.  Then he wouldn’t have been at the party.  He wouldn’t be DEAD.  But I didn’t say that.  I just nodded.  No words would come out.  I forced a smile and we sat down in the front row of pews, Ky on my left and my mom on my right—my dad hadn’t come.  My mom saw me crying but didn’t say anything.  She probably knew from the experience of her own parents’ deaths that there really are no words to be said.
     My eyes were glued to the coffin; I studied every inch of it through my tear-blurred vision.  The polished wood panels, the brass molding, the brass plaque on the lid.  I thought about how comfortable the plush satin lining inside must be.  I looked at the photo in the silver frame, the senior portrait that Chase and his family decided was the best of the bad lot they were given by their photographer and that he hated.  Several bouquets of flowers, the kind you get for twenty bucks at the grocery store, decorated the altar, giving the whole thing a very generic feel.
     “Holy shit, the whole school must be here,” Ky whispered to me after a while.  I looked around.  There were at least a hundred people in the room, mostly kids I recognized from school—friends of Chase and people whose parents wanted them to learn a valuable lesson about irresponsible partying.  Most of them were in their street clothes, not even having enough respect to dress for a funeral.
     “Great,” I muttered.  “Instead of a funeral we get a fucking public service announcement.  ‘Look kids.  Don’t let this be you.’”
     “Don’t worry about it,” she told me.  It doesn’t matter who’s here.”
     “Yeah.”
     Finally the service started.  The pastor began the usual schtick:  “Friends, family, loved ones, we are gathered here today to remember...”  I tuned out for a while.  We were only at the church because Chase’s parents went there.  He himself didn’t even go on a regular basis, only when they dragged him along.  I tuned back in every once in a while, caught some of the “...taken from us...” and “...whole life ahead of him...” and “...joining our Lord in heaven...” that the guy was yammering about.  All generic.  Pulled right out of the “funeral speech” script book that religious leaders hide in their offices.  We, the common people, aren’t supposed to know the book exists, and hopefully I won’t go to hell for spilling the beans.
     Looking back on it, I’m realizing that I missed almost all of what he said.  It just didn’t mean anything to me.  Who the hell does this guy think he is, I caught myself thinking.  He didn’t know Chase.  They saw each other, what, once a month?  Talked once or twice a year?  What right does he have to lead this service?  I didn’t say anything about it, though.  I just let the guy go on, waiting for him to finish.
     When he was done, Chase’s parents spoke to the group.  Rather, his dad spoke while his mom cried.  He talked about fond memories of Chase for a bit, then abruptly switched subjects to irresponsibility and consequences of actions, and how he invited all the students there so they could see, rather than hear about, what can happen when a person isn’t responsible.
     Finally it came to my turn.  I had specifically requested that Chase’s parents let me speak, and they were cool with it.  I fished my three-by-five notecards out of my purse and headed up to the podium above the coffin.  Passing by the casket I could feel Chase’s presence and the sorrow came back once again, my eyes filling with tears that I quickly dabbed away.  I saw melted eyeliner on my tissue, but didn’t care.  My fault for wearing the stuff in the first place.
     At the podium I took a moment to gather my notes and my wits.  Chase’s dad came over and asked if I needed a minute to get ready, but I shrugged him off.  “No, I’m ready,” I told him, and turned to the microphone.
     I paused a moment, looking over the group, riffling through my cards, which I tossed to the ground, deciding that I’d rather wing it.  The teenagers were mostly in the back, fidgeting and not really caring what anybody had to say.  “You don’t fool me,” I told them through the mike, getting the attention of some of them.  “You might fool some of the other people here, but I know a lot of you really don’t care.  You wouldn’t have known Chase if you passed by him in the hall.  You probably didn’t even know he was dead until Brett called your parents to invite you to the funeral.  You’re not here because you care, you’re here because your parents are making you.  Today’s what, Saturday?  How many of you are gonna go party tonight, completely forgetting everything you heard here?  Don’t answer that,” I added when I noticed a few jokers starting to raise their hands.  “My point is that pretty much everyone in those back three rows is not going to take anything away from this building except complaints about how boring it was.  And maybe a Bible.  By the way, Pastor Barnes, I suggest you have someone make sure all the Bibles, hymn books, and whatnot are still back there before you let anyone leave.”  The discomfort in the back was obvious, and I thought I saw someone pull a Bible out of his jacket pocket and put it in its slot in front of him.  “I know sermons can be boring to you MTV addicts.  I know you don’t trust the words of anyone over forty.  But I’m one of you.  I go to your school.  I have classes with some of you.  The only difference between us is that I have something to say.  So listen for a bit.”
     Stopping again, I took a breath, letting my anger subside back to a tolerable level.  “For the rest of you, I apologize,” I turned my attention to the front of the room.  “When I heard that Brett wanted to use Chase’s death as a lesson to other kids who might have or consider having the same habits, I thought ‘What the hell?’ I don’t mean to slam you, Brett—it was a killer idea—but you just don’t know much about high school students.  They’ll only listen to thirty-second sound bites with song and dance attached.  But I’m gonna try to break that habit, at least temporarily.
     “I’m not gonna tell you about my favorite memories of Chase—those are between me and him.  But I was as shocked as anyone when I heard what happened.  I mean, I just saw him two days earlier.  I said some things I wish I hadn’t.  We had an argument.  One of those petty little spats that every couple has once in a while.  And now he’s gone, before we had the chance to set things right.  Murphy’s Law, I guess.  But I learned something.  I learned that you can’t always expect to have a chance to apologize.  Every day might be the last time you see someone important to you.  You just don’t know.  Look around yourselves.  The people to your left and right might die tonight.  Is there something you want to say to them first?  A confession to make, a question to ask, a thank-you to deliver?  This might be your last chance.
     “I exaggerate, of course.  The odds of that happening are so slim that you can be pretty sure it won’t.  But even with a one-in-a-million chance, there’s still that one.  Do you want to be the one?  I sure didn’t.  So while I have this chance—Mom, Dad, I know I don’t say it much anymore, but I love you.  Ky, thanks for always being there for me.  Brett, Mary, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you about Chase’s drinking.
     “Which brings me to another point.  If you know about something happening that you know shouldn’t, tell someone.  And not just someone, the right someone.  We might not be gathered here today if I, Sean, or someone else close to Chase had gone to his parents or school authority and said something about Chase drinking and driving.  Sure, it would definitely have pissed Chase off—everyone who knew him knows that—but what’s worse:  Betraying a friend’s trust and risking the end of the friendship in order to do the right thing, or sitting in church on a Saturday to remember that you’ll never see that friend again?
     “That was a bit longer than a thirty-second sound bite, but if you’ll let me keep going I have just one more thing to say.  Chase,” I turned slightly and looked down at the coffin, “I’m sorry for getting mad at you.  I’m sorry for being too proud to admit that I’d gone too far.  I know it’s too late for an apology, but I hope that, if you … can hear me,” by now I was crying again, but could still speak, “if you can hear me now, I … I hope you forgive me.  I love you, Chase.”  I crouched, kissing my fingertips, and placed the kiss on the coffin lid, where Chase’s lips were.  Before losing it completely, I grabbed the note cards from the floor, stood up, said a quick “Thank you” into the microphone, and rushed off to a bathroom a few buildings down, followed by what I took to be stunned silence.
     After dumping my note cards into the trash and locking myself in a stall, I sat on the toilet seat and just cried.  The door opened a minute or so later and I heard Ky’s voice:  “Em, you in here?”
     “No,” I answered.  I had hoped nobody would find me since I was several buildings away from the main hall where everyone else was, but Ky knew me too well.
     “You okay?” There was that question again.
     “Yeah.”
     “You sure?”
     I thought I’d be able to keep my cool throughout the entire service, but Kylene hounding me pushed me right over the edge.  “No, I’m not fucking okay!  I haven’t been okay all week!” I opened the door and stepped out of the stall, catching my face in the mirror while I ranted.  I looked like hell with my makeup smeared as much as it was.  “My boyfriend died because I was too proud to admit that I might have been wrong.  I should have called him, Ky.  I should have told him that I was sorry.  I should have talked it out with him, told him why he shouldn’t go.  I should have told a counselor.  Or his parents.  God, his dad’s pissed at me, you know that?  Says I should have told him about Chase when I found out; if I really cared about Chase I’d have done that to make sure he was safe.  I fucking did—do care about Chase.  That’s why I didn’t tell anyone.  I wanted him to be happy, no matter how much it scared me.  I wanted him to be happy and look where it fucking got him!  Us.  Where it got us.  He’s in a box about to be stuck in the ground and I’m bitching out my best friend just because she fucking cares enough about me to make sure I’m all right!  How fucked up is that?  Here I am, needing a friend more than ever, and I’m spitting in her face.”  My rant sunk in a moment later after I heard what I had just said, and I sunk.  “Fuck.”
     “Em—”
     “No, don’t say it.  ‘It’s okay, you’re just upset.’ No shit I’m upset.  But that’s not an excuse.  There is no excuse.”
     “Em,” Ky said calmly and firmly, in that tone she always gets when she thinks it’s important to listen to every word she has to say.  “Would you just shut up and listen for a sec?  What you just said out there, that was beautiful.  Mr.  Foster isn’t pissed at you; he’s actually happy you managed to get the kids to listen.  You had everyone’s attention.  Even Chase hasn’t had that today.”
     “Great,” I muttered, “so everyone saw me lose it.”
     “Your boyfriend died a week ago.  You’re upset.  Everyone understands that.  And nobody cares if you cry.  This is a funeral.  That’s what people do at these things.”
     I don’t even remember saying this next part, but Ky told me that I seemed to have gone into a panic.  I had started shaking, was crying out of control, and allegedly I even said, “I’m gonna kill myself.  I don’t want to live without—”
     “Emily!” she shook my shoulders, bringing me back at least part of the way into reality.  She said she felt like she was angry at me.  “Don’t say that!  Don’t you fucking say that!”
     I was sobbing even harder now, and my face was so scrunched into itself that it was starting to hurt.  “Why do you care?”
     Ky took my face between her palms, held it steady, and stared directly into my eyes.  “Because you’ve been my best friend since we knew what friends are.  Because I’m always here for you even if you don’t want me to be.  You’re stronger than you think, Em.  You can get through this.”
     “No, I can’t.”  I had calmed down a bit, and was sitting on the floor against the tile wall, dabbing at my eyes with a paper towel I don’t remember picking up.
     “Yes, you can.”
     “Why bother?  I’m gonna die eventually.  Why not today?”
     “Because you’re not a hypocrite, and you don’t expect me to be one.  You’re right, you know.  I’d rather never see you again but know you’re alive and okay than go to your funeral.  And I bet Chase, wherever he is, wants you to live a happy life.”
     I cried in silence for a few moments, mulling this over in my mind.  Ky knelt near me, watching and waiting for me to say or do something.  “Yeah,” I finally said, and repeated it.  “Yeah...”
     “It’s gonna be okay,” Ky told me, pulling to my feet and hugging me.  “We’ll get through it.”
     “We’d better.”  I plopped back down when she would let me, looking up at her.  “I’m gonna stay here for a bit.  You can go back, but don’t tell anyone where I am.  I just wanna be alone right now.”
     “That’s cool,” she said, heading to the door.  “Come on back when you’re ready, yeah?”
     “Yeah.”
     She left without another word, but I heard her in the hallway talking with my mom, who was looking for me.  Ky said she had no idea where I was, and their voices left together, leaving me alone.

     I don’t know how much time passed, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before I felt Chase in the room with me.
     I love you, he told me.  I smiled and told him that I love him too.  I couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from—it seemed to be coming from inside me as well as everywhere around me.  Like the narrator in a dream, if anyone besides me has narrated dreams and can understand what I mean.
     How you been all week?  he asked as if he had just been away on vacation.
     “Shitty,” I replied, my voice echoing quietly off the tile walls of the empty room.  “I miss you.”
     I miss you too, Em.  But don’t be in a hurry to come see me.  We’ll see each other again eventually, and in the meantime you’ll find happiness again.
     “Yeah, right.”
     Just wait and see.
     “I’m sorry,” I tried apologizing again while he could respond, but the voice started to fade.  It seemed like it was about to say something, but it disappeared as I opened my eyes, which had felt like they were already open.  Had I fallen asleep in the bathroom and dreamed the whole thing?  Part of me said that that was the only logical explanation, but another part wanted to believe that I talked to Chase.  Or was I just losing my mind?
     I got up and looked at myself in the mirror.  I was a mess.  My hair and face, fortunately, were partly hidden by my veil, so all I really had to do was readjust that and take a wet paper towel to my face.  The eyeliner came off of my cheeks with a bit of elbow grease, I dabbed at my dress to get a few tear smudges out, and called it done.  Ky was right, nobody was expecting me to be Miss America today.
     When I returned to the main room, the service was close to being over.  I stayed in the back of the room, leaning against one of the pillars behind the last row of pews with my arms crossed as I waited until the end of the service, when everyone could get up and wait in line to say their last goodbyes.  This was the point where most of the teenagers, not having any final words to say to Chase, went outside.  I stayed on my pillar, and my mom came by a few minutes later.
     “How long have you been back here?”
     “A while.”
     “We were looking everywhere for you.  You kinda scared us up there.”
     “Just got emotional.”
     “I’ll say.”
     “Listen, Mom.  I’d like to be alone for a bit, if you don’t mind.”
     “Sure, honey.  I’ll be outside when you’re ready to go.”
     “Thanks.”
     “What should I tell Kylene?”
     “I’ll call her later.”
     “You got it.”
     “Thanks, Mom.”  I paused, then added, “I love you.”
     “I love you too, Emily.”  She smiled and left.
     I waited until the room was more or less empty before approaching the coffin.  I wanted my last moment with him to be just between us.  “I guess this is goodbye,” I told him, resting my hands on the box.  “I’m gonna miss you.  I already do.  If you ever want to, you know, haunt me or something, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.  But don’t worry about me.  Ky’s right; I’m stronger than I think I am.  I’ll get through this.  I just don’t want to.”
     Was this what they call closure?  If it was, it didn’t feel like it.  I didn’t feel like I was over it, nor did I think it was even possible to get over it.  I’d get used to it, sure.  And eventually I’d be able to be happy again, if that voice was right.  But was the situation closed?  I didn’t think so.  There’s no such thing as closure.

     My mom was waiting out in the car in the parking lot when I had finished.  We didn’t speak; I just got into the backseat, staring out the window as she started the engine and we went home.
     “I’m never gonna see him again,” I finally said, half to myself, as we drew near the house.  “Never.”
     I think that’s what my mom had been waiting for.  She wanted to talk, but wasn’t going to be the first to speak.  I was, after all, taking it a lot harder than she was.  “You know what I remember most about him?”
     “Hm?”
     “I remember that first time he came over after school, when you were introducing him to me and your father.  You wanted to make such a good impression on us, so he got all dressed up.  And then you panicked when you realized that his fly was open.  It was so funny when you were trying to get him away from us so you could tell him.”
     “You noticed?”
     “Of course we noticed, Emily.  We never told you because you were always trying so hard to get our approval of him.  But all we cared about was that you were happy and that he would be able to take care of you if it got serious enough for that.  And that’s how it was.  He was a very smart, very capable boy, and you loved each other.  That’s all that mattered to us.”
     “Then why’d you always seem like you hated him?”
     “We didn’t.  We just distanced ourselves from him.  You two couldn’t enjoy each other’s company with your father and me babysitting you all the time.  Besides, you’re sixteen.  You’re getting to be old enough to make your own choices.  You proved that when you tried to stop Chase from partying and wouldn’t go with him.”
     “So why did he do it?  If he’s so great and all...”  I figured Ky had told my mom what happened the previous week, so didn’t bother asking.
     “Even the best-behaved people make bad decisions.  And every choice has consequences.”
     “Yeah.”  We were silent for the rest of the trip, until we started pulling up the driveway.  “Can you park in the driveway?” I asked her.  “I think I need to smack the drums around a bit.”
     She chuckled and parked in the driveway, letting me out to sit at my drum set in the garage.  I could play with the car there, but it gets cramped.  We’re one of those families that keeps so much junk in the garage that you can barely fit the car in, though my step-dad had been promising for years that he’d clean it.
     After my mom had gone inside, I slowly tapped random drums.  No real rhythm, just drumming.  It’s about how I was feeling.  I felt like I was in extreme disarray, nothing where it should be.  Witness me in a long black dress, still wearing my funeral veil, banging on my drums.  If my neighbors were looking out their windows, I wonder what they were thinking.
     No, I realized as I found myself repeating a simple rhythm.  There isn’t any closure.  I can apologize all I want, but I’ll never get the forgiveness I need to have closure.

Description
Dis-Closure

     Closed-casket was probably best, what with the mutilation his body had gone through.  Most of the people there, myself included, probably wanted to remember him the way he was—lively, energetic, and happy—and not the embalmed and made-up way he would look for an open-casket funeral.  Especially in death, there’s something very fake about the way makeup looks on a human body.  None of us wanted that.
     But at the same time, the closed coffin posed a lot of questions.  As soon as I stepped into the church—probably the third time in my life I’ve ever gone into one willingly—and saw the mahogany box up front, I started asking myself what he looked like inside, what I had made him do to his body.  The tears, which had finally stopped two or three days before, came back full flood.  I regretted not having worn a more opaque veil; Ky’s arm was around my shoulders before the first tears had dripped off of my chin.
     “You okay?” she asked me quietly, probably trying not to bring too much attention to my emotions.
     No, I’m not fucking okay, I wanted to reply.  What the hell kind of question is that?  Am I okay?  I killed him, you realize that?  I should have swallowed my fucking pride and done something.  Then he wouldn’t have been at the party.  He wouldn’t be DEAD.  But I didn’t say that.  I just nodded.  No words would come out.  I forced a smile and we sat down in the front row of pews, Ky on my left and my mom on my right—my dad hadn’t come.  My mom saw me crying but didn’t say anything.  She probably knew from the experience of her own parents’ deaths that there really are no words to be said.
     My eyes were glued to the coffin; I studied every inch of it through my tear-blurred vision.  The polished wood panels, the brass molding, the brass plaque on the lid.  I thought about how comfortable the plush satin lining inside must be.  I looked at the photo in the silver frame, the senior portrait that Chase and his family decided was the best of the bad lot they were given by their photographer and that he hated.  Several bouquets of flowers, the kind you get for twenty bucks at the grocery store, decorated the altar, giving the whole thing a very generic feel.
     “Holy shit, the whole school must be here,” Ky whispered to me after a while.  I looked around.  There were at least a hundred people in the room, mostly kids I recognized from school—friends of Chase and people whose parents wanted them to learn a valuable lesson about irresponsible partying.  Most of them were in their street clothes, not even having enough respect to dress for a funeral.
     “Great,” I muttered.  “Instead of a funeral we get a fucking public service announcement.  ‘Look kids.  Don’t let this be you.’”
     “Don’t worry about it,” she told me.  It doesn’t matter who’s here.”
     “Yeah.”
     Finally the service started.  The pastor began the usual schtick:  “Friends, family, loved ones, we are gathered here today to remember...”  I tuned out for a while.  We were only at the church because Chase’s parents went there.  He himself didn’t even go on a regular basis, only when they dragged him along.  I tuned back in every once in a while, caught some of the “...taken from us...” and “...whole life ahead of him...” and “...joining our Lord in heaven...” that the guy was yammering about.  All generic.  Pulled right out of the “funeral speech” script book that religious leaders hide in their offices.  We, the common people, aren’t supposed to know the book exists, and hopefully I won’t go to hell for spilling the beans.
     Looking back on it, I’m realizing that I missed almost all of what he said.  It just didn’t mean anything to me.  Who the hell does this guy think he is, I caught myself thinking.  He didn’t know Chase.  They saw each other, what, once a month?  Talked once or twice a year?  What right does he have to lead this service?  I didn’t say anything about it, though.  I just let the guy go on, waiting for him to finish.
     When he was done, Chase’s parents spoke to the group.  Rather, his dad spoke while his mom cried.  He talked about fond memories of Chase for a bit, then abruptly switched subjects to irresponsibility and consequences of actions, and how he invited all the students there so they could see, rather than hear about, what can happen when a person isn’t responsible.
     Finally it came to my turn.  I had specifically requested that Chase’s parents let me speak, and they were cool with it.  I fished my three-by-five notecards out of my purse and headed up to the podium above the coffin.  Passing by the casket I could feel Chase’s presence and the sorrow came back once again, my eyes filling with tears that I quickly dabbed away.  I saw melted eyeliner on my tissue, but didn’t care.  My fault for wearing the stuff in the first place.
     At the podium I took a moment to gather my notes and my wits.  Chase’s dad came over and asked if I needed a minute to get ready, but I shrugged him off.  “No, I’m ready,” I told him, and turned to the microphone.
     I paused a moment, looking over the group, riffling through my cards, which I tossed to the ground, deciding that I’d rather wing it.  The teenagers were mostly in the back, fidgeting and not really caring what anybody had to say.  “You don’t fool me,” I told them through the mike, getting the attention of some of them.  “You might fool some of the other people here, but I know a lot of you really don’t care.  You wouldn’t have known Chase if you passed by him in the hall.  You probably didn’t even know he was dead until Brett called your parents to invite you to the funeral.  You’re not here because you care, you’re here because your parents are making you.  Today’s what, Saturday?  How many of you are gonna go party tonight, completely forgetting everything you heard here?  Don’t answer that,” I added when I noticed a few jokers starting to raise their hands.  “My point is that pretty much everyone in those back three rows is not going to take anything away from this building except complaints about how boring it was.  And maybe a Bible.  By the way, Pastor Barnes, I suggest you have someone make sure all the Bibles, hymn books, and whatnot are still back there before you let anyone leave.”  The discomfort in the back was obvious, and I thought I saw someone pull a Bible out of his jacket pocket and put it in its slot in front of him.  “I know sermons can be boring to you MTV addicts.  I know you don’t trust the words of anyone over forty.  But I’m one of you.  I go to your school.  I have classes with some of you.  The only difference between us is that I have something to say.  So listen for a bit.”
     Stopping again, I took a breath, letting my anger subside back to a tolerable level.  “For the rest of you, I apologize,” I turned my attention to the front of the room.  “When I heard that Brett wanted to use Chase’s death as a lesson to other kids who might have or consider having the same habits, I thought ‘What the hell?’ I don’t mean to slam you, Brett—it was a killer idea—but you just don’t know much about high school students.  They’ll only listen to thirty-second sound bites with song and dance attached.  But I’m gonna try to break that habit, at least temporarily.
     “I’m not gonna tell you about my favorite memories of Chase—those are between me and him.  But I was as shocked as anyone when I heard what happened.  I mean, I just saw him two days earlier.  I said some things I wish I hadn’t.  We had an argument.  One of those petty little spats that every couple has once in a while.  And now he’s gone, before we had the chance to set things right.  Murphy’s Law, I guess.  But I learned something.  I learned that you can’t always expect to have a chance to apologize.  Every day might be the last time you see someone important to you.  You just don’t know.  Look around yourselves.  The people to your left and right might die tonight.  Is there something you want to say to them first?  A confession to make, a question to ask, a thank-you to deliver?  This might be your last chance.
     “I exaggerate, of course.  The odds of that happening are so slim that you can be pretty sure it won’t.  But even with a one-in-a-million chance, there’s still that one.  Do you want to be the one?  I sure didn’t.  So while I have this chance—Mom, Dad, I know I don’t say it much anymore, but I love you.  Ky, thanks for always being there for me.  Brett, Mary, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you about Chase’s drinking.
     “Which brings me to another point.  If you know about something happening that you know shouldn’t, tell someone.  And not just someone, the right someone.  We might not be gathered here today if I, Sean, or someone else close to Chase had gone to his parents or school authority and said something about Chase drinking and driving.  Sure, it would definitely have pissed Chase off—everyone who knew him knows that—but what’s worse:  Betraying a friend’s trust and risking the end of the friendship in order to do the right thing, or sitting in church on a Saturday to remember that you’ll never see that friend again?
     “That was a bit longer than a thirty-second sound bite, but if you’ll let me keep going I have just one more thing to say.  Chase,” I turned slightly and looked down at the coffin, “I’m sorry for getting mad at you.  I’m sorry for being too proud to admit that I’d gone too far.  I know it’s too late for an apology, but I hope that, if you … can hear me,” by now I was crying again, but could still speak, “if you can hear me now, I … I hope you forgive me.  I love you, Chase.”  I crouched, kissing my fingertips, and placed the kiss on the coffin lid, where Chase’s lips were.  Before losing it completely, I grabbed the note cards from the floor, stood up, said a quick “Thank you” into the microphone, and rushed off to a bathroom a few buildings down, followed by what I took to be stunned silence.
     After dumping my note cards into the trash and locking myself in a stall, I sat on the toilet seat and just cried.  The door opened a minute or so later and I heard Ky’s voice:  “Em, you in here?”
     “No,” I answered.  I had hoped nobody would find me since I was several buildings away from the main hall where everyone else was, but Ky knew me too well.
     “You okay?” There was that question again.
     “Yeah.”
     “You sure?”
     I thought I’d be able to keep my cool throughout the entire service, but Kylene hounding me pushed me right over the edge.  “No, I’m not fucking okay!  I haven’t been okay all week!” I opened the door and stepped out of the stall, catching my face in the mirror while I ranted.  I looked like hell with my makeup smeared as much as it was.  “My boyfriend died because I was too proud to admit that I might have been wrong.  I should have called him, Ky.  I should have told him that I was sorry.  I should have talked it out with him, told him why he shouldn’t go.  I should have told a counselor.  Or his parents.  God, his dad’s pissed at me, you know that?  Says I should have told him about Chase when I found out; if I really cared about Chase I’d have done that to make sure he was safe.  I fucking did—do care about Chase.  That’s why I didn’t tell anyone.  I wanted him to be happy, no matter how much it scared me.  I wanted him to be happy and look where it fucking got him!  Us.  Where it got us.  He’s in a box about to be stuck in the ground and I’m bitching out my best friend just because she fucking cares enough about me to make sure I’m all right!  How fucked up is that?  Here I am, needing a friend more than ever, and I’m spitting in her face.”  My rant sunk in a moment later after I heard what I had just said, and I sunk.  “Fuck.”
     “Em—”
     “No, don’t say it.  ‘It’s okay, you’re just upset.’ No shit I’m upset.  But that’s not an excuse.  There is no excuse.”
     “Em,” Ky said calmly and firmly, in that tone she always gets when she thinks it’s important to listen to every word she has to say.  “Would you just shut up and listen for a sec?  What you just said out there, that was beautiful.  Mr.  Foster isn’t pissed at you; he’s actually happy you managed to get the kids to listen.  You had everyone’s attention.  Even Chase hasn’t had that today.”
     “Great,” I muttered, “so everyone saw me lose it.”
     “Your boyfriend died a week ago.  You’re upset.  Everyone understands that.  And nobody cares if you cry.  This is a funeral.  That’s what people do at these things.”
     I don’t even remember saying this next part, but Ky told me that I seemed to have gone into a panic.  I had started shaking, was crying out of control, and allegedly I even said, “I’m gonna kill myself.  I don’t want to live without—”
     “Emily!” she shook my shoulders, bringing me back at least part of the way into reality.  She said she felt like she was angry at me.  “Don’t say that!  Don’t you fucking say that!”
     I was sobbing even harder now, and my face was so scrunched into itself that it was starting to hurt.  “Why do you care?”
     Ky took my face between her palms, held it steady, and stared directly into my eyes.  “Because you’ve been my best friend since we knew what friends are.  Because I’m always here for you even if you don’t want me to be.  You’re stronger than you think, Em.  You can get through this.”
     “No, I can’t.”  I had calmed down a bit, and was sitting on the floor against the tile wall, dabbing at my eyes with a paper towel I don’t remember picking up.
     “Yes, you can.”
     “Why bother?  I’m gonna die eventually.  Why not today?”
     “Because you’re not a hypocrite, and you don’t expect me to be one.  You’re right, you know.  I’d rather never see you again but know you’re alive and okay than go to your funeral.  And I bet Chase, wherever he is, wants you to live a happy life.”
     I cried in silence for a few moments, mulling this over in my mind.  Ky knelt near me, watching and waiting for me to say or do something.  “Yeah,” I finally said, and repeated it.  “Yeah...”
     “It’s gonna be okay,” Ky told me, pulling to my feet and hugging me.  “We’ll get through it.”
     “We’d better.”  I plopped back down when she would let me, looking up at her.  “I’m gonna stay here for a bit.  You can go back, but don’t tell anyone where I am.  I just wanna be alone right now.”
     “That’s cool,” she said, heading to the door.  “Come on back when you’re ready, yeah?”
     “Yeah.”
     She left without another word, but I heard her in the hallway talking with my mom, who was looking for me.  Ky said she had no idea where I was, and their voices left together, leaving me alone.

     I don’t know how much time passed, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before I felt Chase in the room with me.
     I love you, he told me.  I smiled and told him that I love him too.  I couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from—it seemed to be coming from inside me as well as everywhere around me.  Like the narrator in a dream, if anyone besides me has narrated dreams and can understand what I mean.
     How you been all week?  he asked as if he had just been away on vacation.
     “Shitty,” I replied, my voice echoing quietly off the tile walls of the empty room.  “I miss you.”
     I miss you too, Em.  But don’t be in a hurry to come see me.  We’ll see each other again eventually, and in the meantime you’ll find happiness again.
     “Yeah, right.”
     Just wait and see.
     “I’m sorry,” I tried apologizing again while he could respond, but the voice started to fade.  It seemed like it was about to say something, but it disappeared as I opened my eyes, which had felt like they were already open.  Had I fallen asleep in the bathroom and dreamed the whole thing?  Part of me said that that was the only logical explanation, but another part wanted to believe that I talked to Chase.  Or was I just losing my mind?
     I got up and looked at myself in the mirror.  I was a mess.  My hair and face, fortunately, were partly hidden by my veil, so all I really had to do was readjust that and take a wet paper towel to my face.  The eyeliner came off of my cheeks with a bit of elbow grease, I dabbed at my dress to get a few tear smudges out, and called it done.  Ky was right, nobody was expecting me to be Miss America today.
     When I returned to the main room, the service was close to being over.  I stayed in the back of the room, leaning against one of the pillars behind the last row of pews with my arms crossed as I waited until the end of the service, when everyone could get up and wait in line to say their last goodbyes.  This was the point where most of the teenagers, not having any final words to say to Chase, went outside.  I stayed on my pillar, and my mom came by a few minutes later.
     “How long have you been back here?”
     “A while.”
     “We were looking everywhere for you.  You kinda scared us up there.”
     “Just got emotional.”
     “I’ll say.”
     “Listen, Mom.  I’d like to be alone for a bit, if you don’t mind.”
     “Sure, honey.  I’ll be outside when you’re ready to go.”
     “Thanks.”
     “What should I tell Kylene?”
     “I’ll call her later.”
     “You got it.”
     “Thanks, Mom.”  I paused, then added, “I love you.”
     “I love you too, Emily.”  She smiled and left.
     I waited until the room was more or less empty before approaching the coffin.  I wanted my last moment with him to be just between us.  “I guess this is goodbye,” I told him, resting my hands on the box.  “I’m gonna miss you.  I already do.  If you ever want to, you know, haunt me or something, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.  But don’t worry about me.  Ky’s right; I’m stronger than I think I am.  I’ll get through this.  I just don’t want to.”
     Was this what they call closure?  If it was, it didn’t feel like it.  I didn’t feel like I was over it, nor did I think it was even possible to get over it.  I’d get used to it, sure.  And eventually I’d be able to be happy again, if that voice was right.  But was the situation closed?  I didn’t think so.  There’s no such thing as closure.

     My mom was waiting out in the car in the parking lot when I had finished.  We didn’t speak; I just got into the backseat, staring out the window as she started the engine and we went home.
     “I’m never gonna see him again,” I finally said, half to myself, as we drew near the house.  “Never.”
     I think that’s what my mom had been waiting for.  She wanted to talk, but wasn’t going to be the first to speak.  I was, after all, taking it a lot harder than she was.  “You know what I remember most about him?”
     “Hm?”
     “I remember that first time he came over after school, when you were introducing him to me and your father.  You wanted to make such a good impression on us, so he got all dressed up.  And then you panicked when you realized that his fly was open.  It was so funny when you were trying to get him away from us so you could tell him.”
     “You noticed?”
     “Of course we noticed, Emily.  We never told you because you were always trying so hard to get our approval of him.  But all we cared about was that you were happy and that he would be able to take care of you if it got serious enough for that.  And that’s how it was.  He was a very smart, very capable boy, and you loved each other.  That’s all that mattered to us.”
     “Then why’d you always seem like you hated him?”
     “We didn’t.  We just distanced ourselves from him.  You two couldn’t enjoy each other’s company with your father and me babysitting you all the time.  Besides, you’re sixteen.  You’re getting to be old enough to make your own choices.  You proved that when you tried to stop Chase from partying and wouldn’t go with him.”
     “So why did he do it?  If he’s so great and all...”  I figured Ky had told my mom what happened the previous week, so didn’t bother asking.
     “Even the best-behaved people make bad decisions.  And every choice has consequences.”
     “Yeah.”  We were silent for the rest of the trip, until we started pulling up the driveway.  “Can you park in the driveway?” I asked her.  “I think I need to smack the drums around a bit.”
     She chuckled and parked in the driveway, letting me out to sit at my drum set in the garage.  I could play with the car there, but it gets cramped.  We’re one of those families that keeps so much junk in the garage that you can barely fit the car in, though my step-dad had been promising for years that he’d clean it.
     After my mom had gone inside, I slowly tapped random drums.  No real rhythm, just drumming.  It’s about how I was feeling.  I felt like I was in extreme disarray, nothing where it should be.  Witness me in a long black dress, still wearing my funeral veil, banging on my drums.  If my neighbors were looking out their windows, I wonder what they were thinking.
     No, I realized as I found myself repeating a simple rhythm.  There isn’t any closure.  I can apologize all I want, but I’ll never get the forgiveness I need to have closure.