Icy Repose - Mandi Gordon (people reading books .TXT) 📗

You looked so quiet. I realize now that seemed absurd, being dead would require a complete type of quiet wouldn't it. But anyone who knew you would understand why I thought "quiet" fit the bill. You couldn't keep your mouth shut to save the world. You were an instant expert at anything that was brought up. Whether the conversation was for your ears or not you always had something to say.

I remember that crazy 4th of July party 6 years ago. Billy jumped off the garage roof into the pool. Luckily the 8 bottles of Corona he downed, arguing with you over aeronautics, numbed some of the pain of his ankle splintering into a hundred pieces. You just were not satisfied until you goaded him into doing it. I saw the smirk on your face as he climbed the tree and leaped over to the roof. You knew, we all knew. Nothing was going to stop him or you.

When Sara called at 4 am, I knew again. I always knew you would say one too many things. You would pick a fight with the wrong person at the wrong time. I have to admit I was impressed when I heard what went down. Not every loud mouth can back up his bull shit with his fists. You were always happy just to see the other guy get hurt. So when Sara told me you fought off 3 football players at the seediest bar in town I had to give you your dues. No one thought you would die though. Not you. The surgeon said there was just too much internal damage. I guess laughing at a 300 pound lineman while he is stomping on your ribs is really not a good idea. But you would disagree I am sure.

Your funeral was a quiet affair... there's that word again. I just can't help but feel the irony in it. Your mom picked your senior prom tux to bury you in; your mom was always a bit off. She figured why spend good money when the tux was available and still fit after 7 years. It still had the stain from the Pot leaves you stuck in the lapel.

Sara and I stood over you at the wake, unbelieving that finally your smirk was replaced with an icy repose; wondering how the hell you could have such a quiet funeral. I felt like someone should start an argument with someone, anyone.

As we wound our caravan of cars through the cemetery to your final resting place a large flock of birds became spooked and in a thunderous cloud flew off into the dim, late afternoon sky. I thought, finally a bit of you. Only your mom, Sara, Billy and I came to your grave site. A soft rain fell as we all stood together, yet apart. Your mom started to cry as the minister said a prayer that I knew you had to be laughing at. When the funeral director clicked on the foot petal to lower you down, nothing happened. Again you were getting the last word; you just weren't ready to go yet. Not with so much left to say and argue about.

I noticed Billy had turned away, leaning on the carved wooden cane you gave him before he had even left the hospital all those years ago. Finally with one good stomp, and Sara nearly jumping out of her skin, the motor kicked in and you slipped down into the earth.
The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink as I drove home from your grave. I thought of you and the times we had. I thought of the pain you had caused and the laughs. Then I thought, God help the Devil, 'cause you are going to drive him crazy.

Publication Date: 01-17-2012

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