Just another scene, not like the other one, however. Just so you know, the title has NOTHING to do with the story itself. It was inspired by the song Plastic Bag from the American Beauty Soundtrack.

Losing someone means saying goodbye everyday. It means learning to live without them. And it means learning to forgive them for leaving you in the first place. Its not an overnight process. Even the strongest of people have a hard time with it. I choose to ignore it. I acknowlege that Chris is gone, but I ignore what he's putting me through. Really, its like he never even left. Just another hit at our game of forever messing with each other. But I guess this would qualify as a no tag back?

The casket is closed, as it should be. I don't think everyone would want to see the gaping holes in both temples. Not very flattering. But then again, I would want to see him one last time. If I see him, it'll be like he's still here with me. And this is just another one of his practical jokes. He'll pop up and laugh at our faces and then we'll go see a movie. Just another Saturday afternoon. But its closed and I can't see him through the glossy cherrywood. I doubt he's even in there.

I didn't go up to the alter and speak. What would I say? Chris knew how much you all hated him. He pitied you all and your stupid lives. He didn't kill himself. You all were slowly killing him. Letting him go when he couldn't barely hang on. You, Mr. Ericsson; with your fake grin. Tell everyone how you would always ridicule your son for the smallest things. How you'd hit him for never being the best. Or you, Mrs. Ericsson. Tell everyone how you just poured another glass of brandy and let it happen. How about you both tell everyone about the divorce you were dragging him through. Hello wrestling team! Don't think we don't know about the many times you tried to make a "man" out of Chris because he was too much of a "faggot." Oh Justin! I forgot about you! All Chris wanted was to be accepted by his older brother and you chose the heroin over him. Good job! And me, Andrew? Well he told me he loved me and I shot him down! Here's to you Chris!

No. I don't say anything. I sit in the pew behind his mother. I can lean in to see the shiny flask already in the palm of her hand. Its only 10:00 in the morning. Well you have to start sometime, right? I sit there wondering if this is what he wanted? The false praise, the free pass out of school. The temporary appreciation? Maybe. It was his life. Who am I to tell him not to do something? I was just another pawn in his fucked up life What did I matter to him? Obviously not much. This apathy is beginning to turn into bitterness. Let me get out of this church and stop thinking about him before I begin to hate him. That's not how I want to remember my best friend.