Write About Me

Chapter Twenty Three: Write About Me

"I've never had to give a eulogy before, so please bare with me. Chris, Christopher Maurice Brown. That name, carries so much weight in my heart. God is one lucky spirit to gain back one of his most notorious Angels. I remember," I sniffled. "I remember, when we were kids. And-and, he'd always fight for me, because I was small. His 'lil bit. Even got expelled at school for me. Literally anything I wanted was mine thanks to him. I remember he stole this Barbie doll from the toy store because I wanted it for Christmas and he didn't have enough money to get it for me. I was eight. He was thirteen. I never once questioned anything. Not even us. 'Cause what we got, ain't never gon' be understood. Something he'd always say. No words I could use to describe how broken I am inside speaking about my deceased best friend. If there's anything I'll ever regret the most...it'd have to be not telling him I loved him every second I had a chance to. Chris always told me that you never know when it's your time to go, because when you go, then you'll know. I never understood it. Now I do. I just pray you rest easy Chris. I love you, and Heaven is forever grateful to have you back. I can't do this!" I sobbed, walking away from the casket.

That cry that has no sound, yeah? The one that's trying so hard not to be a cry, that fights itself, and looses? Silent? That was I as I plopped down in a seat in the back of the congregation. This day by far sprung up on me faster than I ever imagined. I was no where near prepared. I just hopped I did him justice with his eulogy. The service went on in a blur to me. I just quietly clasped the notebook Chris wrote for me. He promised. He kept his promise. Not too long after it was over, and I was the last person to say goodbye to him. Picking a rose out from his bouquet I ventured over.

"Phabi, you know I hate to write. Fuck, why do you think I dropped out of Highschool? But I made you a promise. I promised I'd do anything to make you happy. And if that means writing you a story then so be it. My little Edgar Allen Poe." I began reading his notebook.  

"If the lights shut off and it's my turn to settle down, my main concern. Promise that you will write about me." I wept, wetting up Chris' notebook as I let the rose fall on his casket. 

The day was too beautiful for such a sad occasion. But, if anything this will be fuel to my fire. I will write about you Chris. And it'll be a damn good book.

I kissed his casket, my eyes shut as tears raced down my Rosemary cheeks. I walked away skimming through the pages of the college ruled notebook, seeing on page three was the cover of a story.

"Her Personal Prince Machiavelli?" I read aloud.

The artwork was colorful doodles of whom I guess was the Prince and Princess, facing away from eachother. I flipped the page, and began to read. It was my kind of story. I could already tell.

My mood slightly shifted as I read the first paragraph. It talked about a tall tale of a Prince named Bartholomew, which was pretty weird because I thought his name would be Machiavelli but, oh well. Walking towards the limousine I was the last one there.

"You said your goodbyes?" My mother sniffled.

"Mhm..oddly enough it's still surreal." I speak dryly.

I don't deal with grieving well, but it seems it's something that's become very fond of me. I didn't like it nor want it. But, misery loves company.

"Can you believe the fucking nerve of that trick to show up at his funeral?" Nicole spat.

"What're you talking about?" I questioned.

The car was silent as the limousine drove through the city.

"Gabby was there, I thought you knew." Mijo stated.

My blood began to boil with angry. The mere thought of her. I wanted to murder her. She was the reason T ever had any beef with Chris in the first place. She was the ready he dropped out of high school. She was the reason why Chris started slanging. I had a deep hate against her. She was nothing but a root of evil. I knew one thing's for sure. As soon as I got home I was going to pick up my pencil and start writing until my fingers grow numb from the pain I inflict by not stopping when my wrist cramps from writing too much.

I could just feel my soul singeing itself. I felt dark, emotionless. Nothing on earth mattered more than Chris. Now that he was gone, I left with him. I'm left to find myself, fend for myself.. I don't know how to do that.

What will I do without you?

_________________________________________________
Two updates?! Wtf?! Anyway, this story continues because Phabiola hasn't written the book yet. And once she does, that's when it'll be over. The story will from now on be in her perspective and may be a tad bit shorter. I'll try hard to make it lengthy but that's kind of hard considering Chris is dead. Anyway, what'd you think? Comment & Vote 💙. RIP Chris, we all love you.