Part One: Prologue: Just Dead (Kindle Version)

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Prologue

Just Dead

      There is a deafening silence as his devastatingly beautiful, bodiless coffin is lowered six-feet-under. I can see endless amounts of faces, some familiar and some not, sobbing into tissues, idle hands, even other mourner's shoulders. I can see an instantly recognizable, middle-aged woman on her knees. Crying of course. They're all crying today. Just like yesterday, and probably tomorrow too. She is watching the accumulation of her sons life being buried right before her eyes. Seventeen years of it, all heading in one direction. And neither of which is the preferable forward or backwards.

      I can see them all, yet I cannot hear them. I think they call it shock or maybe it's even a symptom of grief. However, the feelings that are taking nest inside me, already beginning to feast, as I stand beside his graveside are too strong, too powerful, to dilute down to one word. Shock. Or grief. I can already feel myself getting bad again and it's not like the last time. It's worse. It's a black rose with vicious thorns waiting to blossom, a volcano threatening to erupt its deadly lava. And I guess maybe it's selfish of me that I'm thinking about that rose right now, given the circumstances. Funerals were never my thing, anyways.

      My hand reaches out to seek the warmth of my sister, Sammy. She is an innocent twelve-years old, by far the youngest in attendance. This is nothing new to her either. Even though she was only seven, I'm sure she can remember too. She twines her fingers with mine and looks up to me with big, round, brown eyes. Jack, her big brother, with tears welling in his already puffed and red eyes. I'm trying to refrain from crying in front of all of these people but seeing everyone else cry makes me feel like I should be crying too. He wouldn't want me to cry though. Sammy nods respectively, and comfortably, to me. I force a faint smile but she is too wise to believe it. Oh how I wish you were older Sammy.

      I look away from Sammy after she turns her focus back to the descending coffin. I avert my gaze to anywhere but the coffin and find myself looking at all of the people in attendance. Friends. Teachers. Classmates. Parents. The whole crowd. And then I begin to wonder that, if it were me who had vanished, if it were me who was presumed dead, would half of these people be there for my funeral? I would hope that my mother, who has failed to make it today, would make an appearance at my funeral. Yet, I have no doubt that she could find some way out of it. I had to work Jack, sorry. I can just imagine her now, in her office, glued to the telephone. I wonder if she has even thought of me today.

      I shamefully wipe an escaped tear from my cheek and look to the ground instinctively. I shift my feet uncomfortably in my black, funeral shoes and watch as the wet grass blades blow furiously in the wild wind. A light shower of Seattle's finest rain soon begins and after a few moments it turns to a downpour. It's true what they say. Funerals are never nice days. Note-to-self: get cremated. I think of him. Wherever he is. He's most likely watching us, watching me, and laughing. Idiots, he would say. Standin' in the rain like ducks. I can almost hear his voice. Chris. I suddenly grip Sammy's hand tighter.

      After trying to keep my eyes off of his mother for the duration of the funeral, quite successfully too, she finally catches my attention and I know she won't let it go easily. She turns her back on the plot and waddles over to me, slowly. Someone, a boy from my school perhaps, offers her a hand but she rejects it. If possible, I tighten my grip even further on Sammy's hand and I can see her looking at me in the corner of my eye. Finally, Mr's Jacobs reaches me. The boy who was there for her son all of his life. Her sons best friend.

      Sammy retreats behind me as Chris' mother takes hold of my hands in hers. Her woolly, black gloves provide a temporary warmth to my ice-cold hands, she steadies their shakiness. Looking right into my eyes now – the only thing between is the black veil she wears over her head, but even that can't hide the pain in her face, the devastation in her eyes. Nothing could hide that. I don't know why she chose to wear mascara on a day like this. Thick, black streaks cascade down her cheeks and show everyone just how much she has been crying. Not that her heart-wrenching weeps didn't tell us that fact.

      Do I say something or just wait for her to speak first? My funeral ethics are failing me today. Maybe I find myself speechless because I am not used to talking to people at funerals. My first, and thankfully last, funeral mainly consisted of people coming up to me and doing all of the talking. They all seemed to live by the the one phrase: time is a great healer, Jack. Yet, no amount of time could heal the pain I felt that day, the pain I feel now, not fully at least. If Mrs Jacobs is feeling half of what I did back then, then I ought to speak.

      “Everything is going to be okay,” I whisper to her with so much false conviction that I almost believe myself. I know that I shouldn't lie to her but people generally like to hear good things in bad situations. I am hardly going to tell her that things will not look up and that she will feel this pain for the rest of her life, because she will. We all will. It's the burden of death. Mr's Jacobs kisses my cold fingers, musters some sort of smile, lingers for a moment and then walks away, back to her other children. I breathe a sigh of relief.

      I turn around to Sammy who is still standing behind me and I cock my head signaling for her to come back my side. I hold out my hand and she takes it and somehow it makes me feel better. Before I turn back to the ceremony however, I notice a young woman. She is about my age, standing at the back of the crowd. She is alone. She doesn't look familiar, maybe I've seen her around school, who knows. Yet, she has a face that I am sure I would remember. Her black hair is tied up in a pony and she wears a very neat, funeral-color pixie dress. She looks like everyone else yet she also looks out of place. Our eyes meet and I quickly turn back to the funeral.

       She is so pale, her eyes so blue, her hair so black that she could pass for my twin – we are so alike. And most notably, she isn't crying. Yet, even though I feel her presence for the rest of the day, I soon forget her. I look to the hole where some form of Chris – his surfing board, his first painting from school, his favorite comic, some pictures – now rests. And that's it. People say their goodbyes and begin to walk away. I linger though and just stare at the hole with Sammy by my side in silence. The hole in the ground will soon be covered up but the one in my heart will lay open forever.

My best friend is dead. Just dead.

This is the KINDLE VERSION of the prologue! December 16th 2013 is the official release! Please, support Male Anorexia Awareness and purchase your copy when the time comes! Thank you for all of the amazing support thus far <3 

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