Everything I love is there inside; all these breakouts on the Oklahoma-Texas line.
New England in the fall sucks. I say, personally, that people who drive all the way up here to look at leaves are out of their minds. Why? Because, no matter what the weather man says, it's going to rain at some point during the day. Even if they say it's going to be sunny and wonderful and forty five, it still turns into a malestrom, regardless. Heedless of any events that might be taking place.
I was so glad I'd lost those heels I'd had to wear for the trial because I'd been forced to lace up my long-forgotten combat boots because they were black. And you need to wear black to a funeral. It wasn't much of a procession, though, it was just me. I twisted another wave of water out of my hair and was also glad that I hadn't bothered to wear any make up.
The priest stood there with his umbrella, throwing glances between the coffin and myself. He wasn't sure whether or not to start. We were waiting, I assumed, for Kara to show up with whoever felt compelled to come mourn their drug dealer. The weather kept right on battering the hell out of us two. As another volley of ice water struck down on the hollow coffin, a car that might have been silver at some point rolled up to the gravesite. Kara disengaged from the driver's side as I vaguely recognized the vehicle as Drake's. Justin the Metalface slid out from the back with another boy I didn't know. The figure in the passenger's side seat stayed still. I just looked back at the soaked coffin with its wilting flowers. We were now a funeral procession of four. Five, maybe.
Kara slid uncermoniously to where I was sitting. I glanced at her feet. She was wearing platorms. In the rain. In a graveyard. It was funny, I will admit. She made disgusted face at the soggy chairs before planting her bottom in one. Justin sat next to her, the stranger sat next to me. I saw Kara motion for the priest to begin. So he did. I'd like to say it was a beautiful eulogy, but it was pretty standard fare for someone as worthless as Drake. His parents weren't even there to mourn him, for crying out loud. The rest of the ceremony passed in series of clips. The priest ended his speech, we put flowers on the coffin and said our final goodbyes. I had stood there, looking down and wondering if this is what my death would be like. If I'd go relatively unnoticed.
I turned to leave, wringing out my hair again, when Kara called out to me. I turned on my heel to face her. I hadn't spoken to her since she'd called me with the news of Drake's death. She'd emailed me the information about his funeral (there was no wake) and then nothing more. She kept moving her lips, trying to say something, but it wasn't coming to her. I took a step towards her, hoping that maybe it was just the rain that was drowning her out, but she still said nothing. She just placed a hand on my forearm and looked at me pleadingly. Whatever it was, she couldn't say it here.
"Follow us," she choked out before slipping back over to her (Drake's) car. I lifted my own keys out of my pocket and debated. I was supposed to meet Mack in an hour. If I rushed through whatever it was that Kara wanted, then I might still be able to make it on time. So I followed.
o-o-o
Kara shot off of 44 at a breakneck clip and pulled into the parking lot of a dingy pub. I assumed this was the reception and that I had been invited last minute. I waited until they had all vanished inside before getting out myself. I ignored the hostess as I spied Kara's red hair in the dim lighting. She ordered Justin from his seat across from her and gestured for me to take it. As soon as Justin was seated again to Kara's right, she procured a damp cardboard box. She tipped its contents out onto the tabletop. They were simple enough, a trenchcoat, several note books, an assorted collection of tapes, one pair of beaten skate shoes and a class ring, but we all knew what they were. The last of Drake's material possessions.
"I saved them from the purge," Kara said, folding the trenchcoat, "and whatever the center had saved from when he walked in. Well, what do you want?"
She suddenly scooped up the notebooks. "Actually, there are supposed to go to Dru."
The two other boys shot odd looks in my direction. I raised my eyebrows.
"I have written proof, if you need it," Kara snapped, unloading the notebooks into my arms. "I don't understand anymore than you do."
No one made another move to take something. Kara growled under her breath and excused herself. Justin picked up the class ring and inspected it intently. The stranger sifted through the tapes. Hesitantly, I pulled the trenchcoat in front of me. Easing it loose from Kara's tight folds, I sniffed it discreetly. It still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, among other things. I tucked it under my arm, along with the notebooks and excused myself as well. I'd have to drive like a women possessed, but I could make it to meet Mack.
I walked to the front of the restaurant, feeling confident that this was the last time I'd ever have to get involved with this lot. This must have been a test of my resolve. Lord knows I'd only just began to like Drake at the end, and that I'd have to be there to see if he really was dead and that it wasn't just a sick joke. I reached for the door, but it opened on its own. I began to excuse myself for nearly walking into this person when I recognized them.
Alex.
Damn it.
o-o-o
Mack handed me a mug of hot chocolate, making little clucking noises all the while to scold me like my mother. Standing out in the rain like that, what was I thinking? He didn't know, really, why I had to go to the funeral. He knew that facts, that I'd been close with Alex and that we had parted on bitter terms, but he didn't know about Drake or Kara. He didn't know that even though I knew them so little, we were still connected on a basic, indescribable level. He knew that I had refused to let him attend the funeral with me. It was a good thing that he hadn't.
Alex had been sitting in the car the entire time, waiting, perhaps, for someone to tell him that no one was dead and that this was all a sick joke. At first, he'd just stared at me, speechless.
"Move," I'd told him. He just kept on staring.
"God, Dru," he finally said. "I -- "
"Move," I repeated urgently. "I'm going to be late."
"Look, I know we -- "
"Move."
"Just hear me out -- hey!"
I shoved past him, hurrying out into the parking lot. I heard him splashing through puddles after me. I fumbled for my car keys and threw the notebooks and the coat in first. Alex grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face him.
"I acted like an ass, I'm -- "
"I don't give a flying shit about what you're going to say," I spat. "I don't. Don't waste your breath, go inside, your friends are waiting."
"You should be here."
"No," I said roughly, pushing his hand off. "I have my boyfriend waiting for me. He won't be happy if I'm late."
"Your boyfriend? Who is he? Hey, Dru, don't be like this."
I slammed the car door in his face and practically hit him as I backed out of the space. I pulled back out onto the highway and just drove. I turned the heat up and shook out my wet hair and shrugged off my slicker. I couldn't get to Mack's fast enough. I'd tumbled out when I did get there, pulling on Drake's trenchcoat in favor of my own coat. I'd collapsed on the sofa in his basement, looking tiredly at my drumset. I'd moved it there when I'd been formally inducted into the band to save time on moving it back and forth. Mack sat next to me, hot chocolate in one hand and whipped cream in the other.
I took the whipped cream from him and shot a copious amount of it into my mouth.
"That kind of day?" He asked sympathetically. I nodded.
"Saw some people I didn't expect to see." I handed the whipped cream back to him. "Then we divied up what was left of Drake's stuff." I gestured to the coat I was still wearing. "This was his."
Mack wrinkled his nose. "Good, 'cos I was wondering why you smelled like pot."
"Does it really smell that bad?" I sniffed the coat again. It smelled like smoke and different colognes. "I didn't think it smelled that bad."
"You smell like a bar," he said, slipping the coat off my shoulder. "It's not altogether pleasant."
I laughed suddenly. "It just smells like Drake."
"Then Drake must have smoked a pack a day."
"More," I conceded, sipping my hot chocolate. "He dealt too. He was an all right guy sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Oh, he was prone to doing stupid things. He broke into my house once because he thought I was dying because I'd stopped answering his calls." I rolled my eyes at the memory. "I woke up and he was standing over me."
Mack shifted uncomfortably. "And you liked this guy?"
I shook my head. "Not then. We got closer during the trial. We spent more time together then because they keep the witnesses separate from the trial. He was sick and tired by then, he was easy to like."
"Oh." He slipped his hand into the coat and pulled it off my other shoulder. He then siddled up closer so that I was forced to lean back against him. I yawned and obliged. This is what reality was. I had a regular life and Mack, who let me eat the whipped cream straight out of the can and who liked to turn the heater up high so that the whole basement became a sauna. I yawned again and dozed off.
Questions, comments, et cetera, I want it all. I need to get off this Rascal Flatts phase because I've never, ever liked country this much. It's that damn voice! It's hot.
I was so glad I'd lost those heels I'd had to wear for the trial because I'd been forced to lace up my long-forgotten combat boots because they were black. And you need to wear black to a funeral. It wasn't much of a procession, though, it was just me. I twisted another wave of water out of my hair and was also glad that I hadn't bothered to wear any make up.
The priest stood there with his umbrella, throwing glances between the coffin and myself. He wasn't sure whether or not to start. We were waiting, I assumed, for Kara to show up with whoever felt compelled to come mourn their drug dealer. The weather kept right on battering the hell out of us two. As another volley of ice water struck down on the hollow coffin, a car that might have been silver at some point rolled up to the gravesite. Kara disengaged from the driver's side as I vaguely recognized the vehicle as Drake's. Justin the Metalface slid out from the back with another boy I didn't know. The figure in the passenger's side seat stayed still. I just looked back at the soaked coffin with its wilting flowers. We were now a funeral procession of four. Five, maybe.
Kara slid uncermoniously to where I was sitting. I glanced at her feet. She was wearing platorms. In the rain. In a graveyard. It was funny, I will admit. She made disgusted face at the soggy chairs before planting her bottom in one. Justin sat next to her, the stranger sat next to me. I saw Kara motion for the priest to begin. So he did. I'd like to say it was a beautiful eulogy, but it was pretty standard fare for someone as worthless as Drake. His parents weren't even there to mourn him, for crying out loud. The rest of the ceremony passed in series of clips. The priest ended his speech, we put flowers on the coffin and said our final goodbyes. I had stood there, looking down and wondering if this is what my death would be like. If I'd go relatively unnoticed.
I turned to leave, wringing out my hair again, when Kara called out to me. I turned on my heel to face her. I hadn't spoken to her since she'd called me with the news of Drake's death. She'd emailed me the information about his funeral (there was no wake) and then nothing more. She kept moving her lips, trying to say something, but it wasn't coming to her. I took a step towards her, hoping that maybe it was just the rain that was drowning her out, but she still said nothing. She just placed a hand on my forearm and looked at me pleadingly. Whatever it was, she couldn't say it here.
"Follow us," she choked out before slipping back over to her (Drake's) car. I lifted my own keys out of my pocket and debated. I was supposed to meet Mack in an hour. If I rushed through whatever it was that Kara wanted, then I might still be able to make it on time. So I followed.
o-o-o
Kara shot off of 44 at a breakneck clip and pulled into the parking lot of a dingy pub. I assumed this was the reception and that I had been invited last minute. I waited until they had all vanished inside before getting out myself. I ignored the hostess as I spied Kara's red hair in the dim lighting. She ordered Justin from his seat across from her and gestured for me to take it. As soon as Justin was seated again to Kara's right, she procured a damp cardboard box. She tipped its contents out onto the tabletop. They were simple enough, a trenchcoat, several note books, an assorted collection of tapes, one pair of beaten skate shoes and a class ring, but we all knew what they were. The last of Drake's material possessions.
"I saved them from the purge," Kara said, folding the trenchcoat, "and whatever the center had saved from when he walked in. Well, what do you want?"
She suddenly scooped up the notebooks. "Actually, there are supposed to go to Dru."
The two other boys shot odd looks in my direction. I raised my eyebrows.
"I have written proof, if you need it," Kara snapped, unloading the notebooks into my arms. "I don't understand anymore than you do."
No one made another move to take something. Kara growled under her breath and excused herself. Justin picked up the class ring and inspected it intently. The stranger sifted through the tapes. Hesitantly, I pulled the trenchcoat in front of me. Easing it loose from Kara's tight folds, I sniffed it discreetly. It still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, among other things. I tucked it under my arm, along with the notebooks and excused myself as well. I'd have to drive like a women possessed, but I could make it to meet Mack.
I walked to the front of the restaurant, feeling confident that this was the last time I'd ever have to get involved with this lot. This must have been a test of my resolve. Lord knows I'd only just began to like Drake at the end, and that I'd have to be there to see if he really was dead and that it wasn't just a sick joke. I reached for the door, but it opened on its own. I began to excuse myself for nearly walking into this person when I recognized them.
Alex.
Damn it.
o-o-o
Mack handed me a mug of hot chocolate, making little clucking noises all the while to scold me like my mother. Standing out in the rain like that, what was I thinking? He didn't know, really, why I had to go to the funeral. He knew that facts, that I'd been close with Alex and that we had parted on bitter terms, but he didn't know about Drake or Kara. He didn't know that even though I knew them so little, we were still connected on a basic, indescribable level. He knew that I had refused to let him attend the funeral with me. It was a good thing that he hadn't.
Alex had been sitting in the car the entire time, waiting, perhaps, for someone to tell him that no one was dead and that this was all a sick joke. At first, he'd just stared at me, speechless.
"Move," I'd told him. He just kept on staring.
"God, Dru," he finally said. "I -- "
"Move," I repeated urgently. "I'm going to be late."
"Look, I know we -- "
"Move."
"Just hear me out -- hey!"
I shoved past him, hurrying out into the parking lot. I heard him splashing through puddles after me. I fumbled for my car keys and threw the notebooks and the coat in first. Alex grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face him.
"I acted like an ass, I'm -- "
"I don't give a flying shit about what you're going to say," I spat. "I don't. Don't waste your breath, go inside, your friends are waiting."
"You should be here."
"No," I said roughly, pushing his hand off. "I have my boyfriend waiting for me. He won't be happy if I'm late."
"Your boyfriend? Who is he? Hey, Dru, don't be like this."
I slammed the car door in his face and practically hit him as I backed out of the space. I pulled back out onto the highway and just drove. I turned the heat up and shook out my wet hair and shrugged off my slicker. I couldn't get to Mack's fast enough. I'd tumbled out when I did get there, pulling on Drake's trenchcoat in favor of my own coat. I'd collapsed on the sofa in his basement, looking tiredly at my drumset. I'd moved it there when I'd been formally inducted into the band to save time on moving it back and forth. Mack sat next to me, hot chocolate in one hand and whipped cream in the other.
I took the whipped cream from him and shot a copious amount of it into my mouth.
"That kind of day?" He asked sympathetically. I nodded.
"Saw some people I didn't expect to see." I handed the whipped cream back to him. "Then we divied up what was left of Drake's stuff." I gestured to the coat I was still wearing. "This was his."
Mack wrinkled his nose. "Good, 'cos I was wondering why you smelled like pot."
"Does it really smell that bad?" I sniffed the coat again. It smelled like smoke and different colognes. "I didn't think it smelled that bad."
"You smell like a bar," he said, slipping the coat off my shoulder. "It's not altogether pleasant."
I laughed suddenly. "It just smells like Drake."
"Then Drake must have smoked a pack a day."
"More," I conceded, sipping my hot chocolate. "He dealt too. He was an all right guy sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Oh, he was prone to doing stupid things. He broke into my house once because he thought I was dying because I'd stopped answering his calls." I rolled my eyes at the memory. "I woke up and he was standing over me."
Mack shifted uncomfortably. "And you liked this guy?"
I shook my head. "Not then. We got closer during the trial. We spent more time together then because they keep the witnesses separate from the trial. He was sick and tired by then, he was easy to like."
"Oh." He slipped his hand into the coat and pulled it off my other shoulder. He then siddled up closer so that I was forced to lean back against him. I yawned and obliged. This is what reality was. I had a regular life and Mack, who let me eat the whipped cream straight out of the can and who liked to turn the heater up high so that the whole basement became a sauna. I yawned again and dozed off.
Questions, comments, et cetera, I want it all. I need to get off this Rascal Flatts phase because I've never, ever liked country this much. It's that damn voice! It's hot.