Samantha Brittain

December 11, 2006

Brenner

Fiction 1

"See You Later."

It's always fitting for it to rain on the day of a funeral, but this was fucking ridiculous. It had been pouring for two days prior, and roads were flooded. If you were outside for more then ten seconds, you came in soaked to the skin. The heat didn't help. It was so sticky and humid that it was as though you were living in a pond, trying to breathe. If you weren't soaked in rain water, you were bathed in sweat. Amy would have hated this weather.

We were at the funeral parlor, in our Sunday Best, each of us carrying sodden umbrellas. We had come to day our goodbyes to Amy Golden, which was ironic, because in Amy's short lifetime, she never said goodbye.

"It's always 'See you later'," she had told me once. "I never say goodbye unless I never want to see that person again."

I remember asking her, "But what if the person is dead?" Looking back on that now, I wonder why I asked her that. So strange that I said it.

"Then you definitely don't say goodbye," she had said quietly, "because it's not the end. If you really love that person, you'll see them again." But what I whispered over her coffin as I knelt in prayer was not her customary "See you later", but "Goodbye" and "I love you." I would never see her again. She had been taken from me, and nothing could bring her back.

The rain, angry at being left out, had made its way into the chapel. Several buckets were placed around the room, catching water that was leaking through the roof. As random friends and loved ones filed past Amy's coffin, as drip developed right over the deceased's face. The rain water dripping down Amy's cheek gave her the appearance of crying. Upon seeing this, Amy's mother broke into a fresh wave of sobs, burying her face in Martin, Amy's father's, shoulder. An employee of the funeral home in a tidy black suit disappeared and came back with two other men, each looking as though they could bench press several hundred pounds.

I heard him say in hushed tones, "Move the girl closer to the podium, it's bad enough for her family without water dripping in on her damn face." The two men did as they were told. They didn't seem to have much difficulty moving the casket. The metal coffin probably weighed more than Amy herself did; she had always been slight. The funeral director, wearing a strained smile, carefully wiped Amy's face with a pristine handkerchief. Her father nodded politely at the man as he made his way back to his position near the door to smile serenely at entering mourners. If the love of my life hadn't been the one in the casket, it might almost have been funny.

Amy's friend Janet walked in, looking almost as bad as I did. Black trails of mascara stained her cheeks; I wondered absently why she was wearing it. No one wears mascara at a funeral. She approached me slowly, stepping carefully as though each step could jar something inside of her, something she was afraid of breaking. I wondered if seeing my face awash in tears upset her as much as seeing her upset me.

"Hey, Daniel," she said quietly, finally having reached me. I responded with a nod of my head; I wasn't sure I could speak past the lump in my throat. "N-nice place," she said, her voice cracking. I knew she couldn't think of anything to say, just as I couldn't. She stared slightly off to my left, refusing to look me in the face. This was far from normal, Janet always looks you in the eye. She brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand, wincing when she realized she had just smeared mascara both on her cheeks and her knuckles.

"I wore this damn mascara because I figured it would keep me from crying. I would think to myself, 'I can't cry, my mascara will run.'" She laughed without humor. "I didn't even make it here. I had to pull over for a few minutes because I couldn't see a thing past the tears. And I didn't want to get into an accident. . ." Realizing what she had just said, she clamped her hand over her mouth.

"It's ok, Janet." I had said softly. "You can say it. There were car accidents before Amy died, there will be more afterwards." This sounded stupid even to my ears, but Janet nodded as though it was the wisest thing anyone had ever said to her.

"I…I'm gonna go say goodbye to her, Danny." She sniffed. "You take care of yourself, ok? If you need anything. . .well, you know where to find me." She caught me in a one-armed hug, afraid to do anything more than that. In the three years since I'd known Janet, I think that's the only time she ever touched me. Janet avoided physical contact like the plague. She stepped away without giving me a chance to respond, and I let her go. What else was there to say?

After Janet had finished her goodbyes and found a seat, I found myself back to the coffin containing the girl I had wanted to spend my life with. I looked down at the familiar face. She looked beautiful, her auburn hair spilling over her thin shoulders in perfect waves, the ones she hadn't even needed to style. Her lips stood out against her pale skin, colored the bright red lipstick she had favored in life. Her nose was slightly too large, but I had never cared. The thing that was missing that day was the part I had loved most about her. Her eyelids were permanently sealed over the laughing green eyes that had so often looked lovingly into mine. I had the insane urge to pull up her lid and look at her eyes, but knew they would be stuffed with cotton. . .That thought made me sick and I had to fight to keep myself from being suddenly and violently ill.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the pastor from the church the Goldens attended was making his was to the podium. Amy had disliked church. Hell, in the last few years of her life, she hadn't even been a Christian. She had been a Wiccan, but had wisely decided to hide this from her die-hard Christian parents. They would have stubbornly refused to believe that Wicca was not devil worship, that in fact there was no devil in Wicca, that it was based on nature. If I was going to do this, I had one last chance.

The day after Amy died, I had gone to her house and spent some time in her room, which had become as familiar to me as the lacing of lines on my palms. I had gone for several reasons, one being to log into her AOL Instant Messenger and tell everyone she talked to that she was gone; another being to lie on her bed, smelling her scent, which I knew would fade from my memory all too soon. The last was to find what I had in my pocket.

I had had to search for it; Amy had more jewelry that anyone I'd ever met, most of it bizarre antique stuff that she and I had both loved. I had finally found it, the necklace that she had worn more than any other: an ornate pewter pentacle. That five-pointed star inside a circle had been dear to Amy, she had loved it. When I had found out that her parents were giving her a completely Christian funeral, I had resolved that my Amy would be buried holding the symbol of her faith. It was the least I could do for her. That and getting her Wiccan things from beneath a loose floorboard; her parents didn't need to question if their memory of their daughter was accurate. Amy had wanted that secret kept, and I was going to keep it for her.

Noticing something else in that drawer of her jewelry box, I pulled it out. It was a heavy silver chain, one that she had worn almost as much as the pentacle. I had been with Amy at the antique store when she bought it.

She had said to me, "If something ever happens to me, I want you to have this." It was like she knew what was going to happen, though she couldn't have. . .Could she? Had she seen something in her runes?

I clasped it around my neck and in the second I put it on, a wave of peace washed over me, as though Amy had appeared beside me and taken my hand. I stared at my fingers, disbelieving, but I could still feel her hand in mine. I could even feel the ring she usually wore. Tears began to run from my eyes and I lay down on Amy's bed, clutching her pentacle and smelling her pillow, which still smelled like her hair.

I drew the pendant from my suit pocket, and scanning the room to make sure, no one was watching, I moved one of her hands slowly. Her hands were clasped and her skin was cold, so cold that I immediately wanted to let go, but didn't. I owed Amy this.

Carefully, I slipped her pentacle into her cold hands, hiding it in her palm where it was obscured from view by her elegantly long artist's fingers. I smiled sadly, letting go of her hand. No one had noticed what I had done, I noted proudly. The pastor had stopped to talk to Amy's parents. I quickly bent and brushed my lips against Amy's rouged cheek. She skin was as soft as ever, and in my mind's eye, I could see her smile.

The pastor approached the podium and I reluctantly left Amy's side and took the seat my parents had saved for me. The service was long and boring; it was obvious that the idiot pastor hadn't really known Amy at all. He said something about her being an honor student, as though it was a greater tragedy that someone that intelligent was gone. As if it was worse than if she was just an average student. And really, Amy had never cared about grades.

The only part of the funeral I really paid attention to was when friends and family members were allowed to speak. Her cousin told an amusing story about when they were children, and her mother and father went up together and lead us in a prayer. But it was Janet who stuck out the most.

When she walked up to the podium, she had washed off all traces of makeup and her tan skin was abnormally pale. She picked up a boom box and carried it up with her. The assemblage looked at her expectantly. She set the boom box on the podium, then cleared her throat and began to speak.

"Amy Golden was the best friend I ever had," she began. "She was there for me every time I needed her, whether it was when we were six and I was stung by a bee, or when we were sixteen and I got my heart broken. Amy had a way of celebrating every day like it was her last.

On the day that was her last, she was as charming and sweet as she was every other day. She made me laugh, and she made me feel that there really was a point to things. I will never forget Amy as long as I have a heartbeat. And when that stops, as Amy said, I will see her again. I truly loved her. She was my sister.

When Daniel Royce came into her life, she was positively glowing." She locked eyes with me at that moment and spoke directly to me. "She loved you, Daniel. You were the only one she wanted. Please, no matter where you go, no matter who you love, don't forget my best friend." She resumed speaking to the crowd.

"I brought this song because it's perfect, and because Amy loved it. I want you to listen to the words and hear Amy singing them, as she so often did; on walks, in her car, in the shower. The music may give her back to you for a moment." Janet switched on the CD player and selected a song. The first drumbeats of "See You on the Other Side" echoed through the chapel.

"I was down but now I'm flying/ Straight across the great divide. I know you're crying but I'll stop your crying/ When I see you, see you on the other side. " Ozzy Osbourne sang in that indescribable voice that Amy loved. I remember Amy singing it as she drove, her melodic voice blending beautifully with Ozzy's in a way that you wouldn't have thought possible. Around me, Amy's friends smiled, no doubt remembering her in one of several Ozzy Osbourne t-shirts.

When the song finished, it was my turn. I had thought carefully about what I wanted to say. I walked to the podium as though I was being walked to the gallows. I reached it and stared out at the people I had known forever, gripping the podium with white-knuckled hands. In that moment, everything that I had wanted to say fled my mind. I began to speak, saying the first words that came to me, words I hadn't planned.

"Amy Golden was the person I cared about most. I loved her with all my heart, and I know she loved me." I turned to her family. "A few days before she died, I asked Amy to be my wife. She…she said yes." I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a box, flipping it open and showing them an antique silver engagement ring. "She didn't want to wear this until she got your permission. I was going to ask you for your blessing…" I dissolved into tears. Martin stood up and walked over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"You would have had it, Daniel. We love you like a son." He said softly, tears dripping down his face. He hugged me as only a father can and lead me back to my seat.

The rest of the funeral was a blur. I rode to the cemetery in the car with Martin and Jill, Amy's parents, and I lay a rose on her casket while everyone else lay carnations. We slogged through the cemetery, water getting into our shoes. The next thing I really remember was being at home in my apartment, still in my suit, but with my shoes and jacket off and the tie loosened. I was digging through Amy's CDs looking for something to listen to. Her parents had given me all of them. I looked at cover art and track lists, trying to find something I wanted to hear. I picked up a Barenaked Ladies CD, Maroon. Looking through the tracks, I saw the last one and my heart froze. The song was called "Tonight is the Night I Fell Asleep at the Wheel". Fell asleep at the wheel…Just like Amy…I put the CD into my stereo and selected the last song.

I didn't get very far into the song before I began sobbing. It was awful. I pictured Amy as the one behind the wheel of her Saturn Ion, the one flipping over and going off the highway. It is impossible to say whether my sobs were louder when they sang "I guess it's over now/ 'Cause I've never seen so much, never seen so much, never seen so much BLOOD," or when the lead singer crooned "And you, you're the last thing on my mind." Had I been the last thing on Amy's mind? Had she thought of me as she faded from this world? I would never know.

Listening to Amy's CDs, I felt worse than I had in my entire life. I thought of Amy as a teenager, thinking about the scars she had on her arms. She had gotten them from cutting when her depression had been at its worst. I thought of her cutting herself, remembering exactly how she said she'd done it. She had said that if you slid a razor horizontally across your skin instead of vertically, it would cut you. How she had figured this out, I never knew, but I trusted that it worked. If Amy said it worked, I knew that it did.

I remembered what she'd said when I'd asked about the cutting. She had answered "There comes a point when it gets so bad you can't handle it anymore. When the only thing you feel is pain. It's then that you cut, because there's no other way of letting the emotion out. You've cried yourself dry. And blood…that's the only way you have left to cry." This running through my mind, I retrieved my razor from the bathroom and stared at it and my own arm. Could I do this? I pressed the razor to my skin and drug it sideways. Lines of blood appeared, and I was pleased to discover that they bled heavily. This didn't hurt. This was almost nice.

I made more lines, the blood standing out against my fair skin, almost the way Amy's red lipstick had stood out against hers. I remembered her laugh, her smile, her kiss, the way her arms felt around me, and for every memory I made more angry red lines. Finally I released the razor from my vice-like grip and hunched over my arm, watching it bleed. I tried, but could not be horrified by what I'd done. I could not regret it. It had been the only way.

When I went to bed that night, the wounds I had carved into my flesh still stung. There was a kind of underlying ache, and it felt as though I had been burned. The cuts had scabbed over, but the pain was still there, pressing on my nerves. Amy had never described what cutting felt like. I wondered why I hadn't asked. Probably because I couldn't bear to think of her that way, making cuts across her lovely arms, across her stomach, her thighs. At that time, I couldn't think of what she had done. And now it was all I could think about it. Back then, had Amy wanted to die?

I cried myself to sleep that night, lying under the fan which was trying its best to make the room cooler. I had shared this bed with Amy so many times…Why couldn't she be here now? I wanted to wake up with her beside me.

Late in the night I was jerked awake by someone grabbing my cut arm and holding it up to my bedside lamp, which was on, though I knew I had turned it off. I looked up groggily into Amy Golden's face. She was livid, her green eyes sparking, anger written in ever line of her face.

"What the hell is this?" she asked, her voice low and harsh, as it almost never was. "What did you do? Why would you do this?"

"Amy?" I whispered. "Amy, what are you doing here? I thought you were dead."

"I am dead, but I couldn't just let you do this. Why, Daniel, why?" She dissolved into angry tears and I pulled her against me. She felt the way she always had, warm and soft, and I smelled her hair. It still smelled like Garnier Fructis shampoo, the kind she had always used. "I don't ever want you to be like I was," She said into my shoulder. "You can't do this just because I'm gone. You'll see me again, I promise. I love you, Danny. More than anything else."

"Amy, God, I love you. Please don't go. If this is a dream, don't let me wake up. Take me with you." She just smiled sadly, pulled away slightly, and brushed a stray lock of hair out of my face.

"I can't stay. But please, don't ever do this again. Think about me every time you think about it. Think about me crying. I'll see you later, Danny." With that, she was gone. My eyes flicked open and I sat bolt upright in bed. It was a dream, she hadn't been there. But if she hadn't been, why could I smell her shampoo and her perfume on my clothes?

All thoughts of sleep gone, I changed into day clothes, grabbed my car keys, and headed out the door. I drove across town to another apartment that I knew well. Sonya would still be awake at 2 o'clock in the morning, she always was. Sonya was an artist who spent her nights painting. She seldom went to bed until five o'clock in the morning. If there was anyone who would be available to talk, it would be her.

When I knocked on the door, the music behind it switched off and I could hear footsteps. The door opened and light flooded into the dimly lit hallway. Sonya looked at me, a short, stocky lesbian in paint splattered jeans and a Rammstein t-shirt. She looked concerned, and I noticed that her eyes were swollen and red. She had been crying as well, grieving over Amy. She has always said Amy was like the little sister she never had.

"I thought I'd be seeing you tonight." Sonya smiled. "I made cookies. Come on in." I followed her into her apartment, past the easel with the painting she was working on, and into the kitchen. Chocolate chip cookies were piled on a plate on the table. I took one and sat at one of the rickety kitchen chairs. Sonya sat opposite me. When I stretched out my arm to get another cookie, she grabbed it and held it fast.

"I thought you were better than this, Daniel," was all she said. I winced and cried softly and passionlessly, tears running down my cheeks slowly. "She wouldn't have wanted you to do this. You don't deserve it."

"But she's gone, Sonya. I'll never see her again."

"Daniel, didn't you listen to her? Someone you love as much as her will always be with you. She's right here." She tapped my chest above my heart with two fingers. "She is always going to be right here. Any time you need her, all you have to do is look inside yourself. She lives on in you. Someone as special as Amy was will never die, not truly."

I smiled in spite of myself. "She was really something, wasn't she? The way she got mad and cursed, the way she could make you laugh at something totally stupid. The way she hugged you whenever you were having a bad day. Every little thing she did made her special."

"Yeah, I know." Sonya smiled. "I remember one day my car ran out of gas and we had to walk to the nearest filling station. Do you know what she did?" I shook my head. "She sang this silly little song she'd learned from a book the whole way there. We were both laughing."

"What song?"

"It was ridiculous. It went 'Ragg mopp. R-a-g-g m-o-p-p ragg mop doodley do." I started laughing.
"That was from her favorite book series, the Weetzie Bat books. She loved those things."

We talked all through the night until the sun came up and she had to go to bed. When I walked out the door, she hugged me goodbye.

"No more cutting, Dan. You come to me first." I nodded my agreement. "Are you going straight home?"

"No, there's somewhere I have to go first."

"Well, then, Goddess bless." I left the building and climbed into my truck. It was only then that I truly noticed that it was no longer raining. The sun shown through the trees, and it looked as though it was going to be the beginning of a beautiful summer day. I drove until I hit gravel, then turned into the old metal gates of the town's only cemetery. Parking my car, I made my way to Amy's freshly dug grave.

"Hey, Amy?" I said, standing in the slanting light. "See you later."