Funeral Skies

The day of the funeral, the sky was dark. There was

an overcast of clouds virtually all day, but they seemed the

darkest as we entered the church. I remember getting ready

that morning, trying to decide what I could wear to gym

class in the morning and a funeral at three. I think I ended

up in some variation of black leggings and converse, not

exactly the most “church-appropriate” attire but really what

was I supposed to do? The school wouldn’t give me the full

day off. I think I wore my winter coat too, I remember it being

cold. I remember thinking bodies in caskets look weird.

I really don’t have another way to describe it. They just

look weird. The person you’re looking at during a funeral

is not the person you saw a few days earlier. They’re pale,

their faces painted to look alive, to add color to their cheeks.

They’re in clothes they’d never wear alive, clothes they had

saved for a special occasion. Clothes saved for graduation

or a wedding. And their whole body is just so stiff, placed

perfectly to resemble a comfortable way of lying down, it so

fucking weird. Whatever, the way he looked didn’t matter,

he was gone either way. I really wish we’d been able to

spend more time together. God, I hate that cliche. But it’s

true, I wish he’d been able to grow up. Even if we ended up

growing apart after high school. I just really wish he had the

chance to go to college. He was so sweet, had the opportunity

to do so much good. And he always loved the sky, loved

the moon.