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Notes from a Funeral

By: Ana Earl
























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Brady Ledford

Wednesday, week of funeral, 2:30 PM

The airplane rocked from side to side as it slowly met gravity and attached to the
black tarmac. Its tires made contact with the pavement with a content thud. The flight
attendant announced that they successfully arrived in New York City. Brady always
thought it was interesting how the flight attendants made their announcements. Saying
how they had successfully arrived, like they werent planning on it. The plane slowly
rolled next to the arrival gate. As passengers started unclipping the metal tabs of their
seatbelts, Brady sat still and motionless. He gazed out the window at the people moving
on the ground. They were quickly trying to unload the baggage from the aircraft onto
little cars that transported the luggage to the baggage claims.
Brady didnt want to move, he didnt want to leave. He didnt want to know or
think or feel anything. His father had died. He kept telling himself those three words.
How did so few words mean so much? How were each of the words so heavy with
emotion and grief, yet all sat innocently in a dictionary? He read in one of his psychology
textbooks in college that people that were experiencing grief needed to admit it to
themselves that their loved one had died, in order to expedite the recovery process. Thats
exactly what he planned on doing expedite the process. There were six chapters about
dealing with grief in the textbook. They all said how to help someone recover from grief,
how to get back to normal. The information was all clinically written in precise steps,
helping to deal with every event imaginable. Death was its own two chapters but then it
went into specific categories to deal with different types of grief- accidental death,
suicidal death, bombing, terrorist attack death, vehicle caused death, there was even a
section about how to deal with family killing family kind of death. But there wasnt one
chapter, one article, and one sentence about how to deal with your own father dying. But
then again, psychology was about understanding other people not a self-help guide for
yourself.
Brady didnt want to think, or feel or remember that sinking feeling of his father
dropping dead. Literally, falling out of his car dead. Brady wanted his father to be alive
again, but he knew better than anyone that wasnt an option. It wasnt a multiple-choice
question. There were no choices or options or opinions. His father was dead and he had to
accept that and move on. But how can anyone move on? He thought, how could anyone
continue with their normal day after something so abnormal has occurred? How can
someone move on with their life when it has been un-describing changed and ruined?
Obliterated and destroyed from right under me. I didnt even know what was happening,
I wasnt even with him when he died. More and more passengers began to exit in a
symmetrical line down the plane. His row of seats that was occupied ten minutes ago was
now empty.
Brady gazed out the window at a jet taking off into the clouds. Brady remembered
his father and his love of airplanes. They would sit at the park down the street from his
house, and lay on their backs, looking up at the planes circling through the pale blue sky.
He would say, now Brady, dont get any ideas and go flying off somewhere in those big
shiny jets. Bradys father never wanted his son to leave home, even if it was to one of
the best universities on the west coast. He had told Brady that he should stay close to
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home. Stay regional, he would say. His father had never wanted him to leave, he
wanted Brady to go to the local university that he attended and become a lawyer, like he
was. He had laughed at the idea of being a psychologist. He said it was for girls giving
advice to friends. But after time, his father grew to understand the occupation. He even
volunteered for Brady to give him free therapy sessions. Brady did it, even though he
knew that wasnt how the program worked, but he was happy that his father has began to
open his mind, so he pretended that it was required for his class.
A flight attendant came over and tapped Bradys shoulder. The plane is at the
gate, sir, its time to get off. Brady looked at her dazed. Before he knew it, his backpack
was strapped to his back, and he was walking through the terminal. The bustling building
was filled with passengers waiting for their planes to board, some were eating at the food
court and others were walking diligently through the wide terminal, cell phone in hand.
Brady looked around, wildly and lost. How is everyone moving with such purpose and
determination? How can everyone know exactly where theyre going? By the time Brady
was six, he knew the names of airplanes, models and sizes. Brady and his father would
make models of the jets together out of the thinnest cardboard Brady had ever seen. His
father would wear his glasses on his nose and squint to apply the glue to the cardboard
pieces. They would sit in the workshop for hours cutting and gluing and assembling.
Whenever Brady made a mistake, whenever he put the plane wings on backwards, his
father would tell him it was all right and help him again. He would never get frustrated or
annoyed. His father was always there for Brady. Even though they had had their
arguments and differences, he had never given up in Brady, maybe just gave up on his
ambitions at times. He was there when Brady made it on the little league team as the
pitcher, there when he got his braces off, in the ER when Brady broke his arm from a bad
bike jump. His father had been there when Melissa McHart broke up with him, when he
got into Stanford, at his high school graduation. His father had been there for him through
everything, big or small, and now he wasnt. He was gone. Really gone, not just for the
weekend. Every Christmas and thanksgiving gathering would be altered; every birthday
and Fourth of July would be different. There would be a new kind of day, a death day. A
day devoted for the death of his dad would be forever imprinted into their calendars.
April 7 would be ruined for eternity. Brady walked past a Starbucks and Pizza Hut in the
airport as people walked in every direction around him. The corridor was swamped with
people and noises. A salty tear rolled down his cheek as he rounded the corner to the exit.
His mom and sister stood there expectantly. He hugged them like they would die
tomorrow.

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Leon Doyle
Monday 8:03 AM

It was a Monday morning but the office was already bustling with people and
sounds bouncing off the walls. The high ceilings of the marble plaza with a dangling
chandelier welcomed entrepreneurs from every kind of company. Employees looking
sharp in suits and ties, dresses and heels, walked with briefcases in hand through the
crowded plaza. They swiped their entry cards and walked diligently through the doors
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and entered the crowded elevators. The elevators carried them to the offices high up in
the skyscraper. In the swooning crowds, was a young man named Johnny Jenkins. He
walked through the doors of Ledford and Doyle Associates; he adjusted his striped tie and
took a deep breath. Johnny was there for an interview for the paralegal position. It was a
miracle that he got the interview, in the first place, nonetheless to actually get the job. He
just had to ace this interview. Johnny approached the front desk and recited his name. He
took a seat in the comfortable chairs that lined the walls of the reception. His heart was
racing and he suddenly felt very out of breath. He had heard about Leon Doyle. How
strict and intimidating he was. He heard about his partner, Henry Ledford who died last
week. Johnny reminded himself not to mention it in the interview. That would completely
ruin it. A secretary came out and invited him into the office. It was a large corner office
with windows to the ceiling. An oak desk sat in the middle of the grand office with
bookshelves that lined the walls, filled to the brim with novels. Leon sat in his cushioned
swivel chair, with his back to Johnny. He was talking rather loud and rudely on the phone
to someone. After a moment, Leon swiveled around and motioned to Johnny to sit down.
Johnny sat there awkwardly for a moment before Leon ended his phone conversation and
asked for Johnnys rsum. Just a moment, I have it. Johnny opened his briefcase and
scrambled through it, I know I have it in here somewhere. Leon kept his hand
extended, with an annoyed look on his face. After long moments of scrambling, Johnny
finally produced a crumpled piece of paper. Leon looked aggravated as he tried to iron
out the paper with the palm of his hand.
So, Leon said, what makes you think you are qualified for this job? Johnny was
taken aback by the question. It almost sounded like Leon was implying that he wasnt
prepared. Uhh, yes, well, I think Im qualified. Johnny said without a smidge of
confidence.
Right. I see. Leon replied with a hint of sarcasm, I do know your father and he speaks
very highly of you, which is understatedly; a peculiar recommendation, so now there is
the one valuable thing on this crumpled piece of tree. There was a long pause between
Leons death stare and Johnnys wheezing breathes, Dont go having a heart attack now,
Jenkins. So what made you leave Parker Associates? There isnt anything about that in
your rsum.
Well, uh, it just wasnt a good fit for me. I, um, left awhile ago.
Right, that was a compelling answer. Were you a paralegal there too or just an assistant
of an assistant? Leon replied sarcastically.
Uh, I was a first year para paralegal. Johnny stammered, out of hope to change the
subject from the last firm he was fired from, he said So, um, I heard about your partner,
is the funeral soon?
Leon looked at him with a disgusted look for his stupidity but then he gazed at his desk
and actually remembered Henrys funeral. Was it this week? It must be. I really should
call Laura and send my condolences; I mean her husband did just die. How did I forget
about the funeral? How had Leon forgotten- even only for twenty minutes that his
business partner, his friend, his companion, the person he saw every day for the last thirty
years was gone? The person that he went to college with, the one that was as crazy as he
was to start this firm, the person that changed his whole career was dead. Leon
suddenly had a vivid image of Henry, as if he was sitting right there. He looked sharp in
his hand cut black suit and leather oxfords. His glasses sat on his nose as he looked at
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Johnny and shook his head. Leon suddenly remembered the first day of Ledford and
Doyle Associates.
When we started this firm, we didnt have any money, so we had to work out of cheap
offices on the East side. Leon said, forgetting that Johnny was sitting next to him,
People told us we were crazy to start a firm. Lawyers and advisors from the leading
companies in the city told us not to open a business and now they work for me. Leon
let out a little laugh, paused and glanced dazedly at his bookshelf. Oh yes, I remember
this book, with a quick swivel of his chair, he was on his feet walking towards his
massive bookshelfs on the far wall of his office. He grabbed a huge spiraled, maroon
book that said TRUFTS on it. This, he said holding up the hardcover and walking back
towards his desk, is the class that I met Henry in, at NYU Law. We sat next to each
other and spent most of the time laughing at the babbling professor professor Mc.
Maybe McMillian no thats not right oh I dont know. But he spit when he talked
and had the worst lisp you had ever heard. Henry and I became friends right away. It was
a Thursday in the middle of the second semester when he turned to me and said what if
we made our own company? he went on to say that if we are going to do something, we
might as well go big. I, of course, told him he was crazy and we were only in law school.
Five years later, we had our first office space, ten years after that we were one of the best
law firms, now, thirty years later, we are the best. I guess it really has been that long.
Leon looked up, across the large desk, to the sight of the stupid imbecile of a man that
looked petrified of him. Johnny was breathing rapidly and adjusted his ugly striped tie
every fifteen seconds. Leon almost felt sorry for him. Almost pitied him for his stupid
responses to easy questions. Leon then realized that he was babbling on in front of this
idiot, but calmly said, Well get back to you about the job position, Mr. Jenkins.

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Arlene Pierce
Thursday, week of funeral, 8:42 AM

The tulips were growing nicely this year. Their yellow colors were vivid as they
sprouted from their green stems that were rooted into the moist brown soil. The roses and
peonies and daisies also looked rather lovely in the front garden of 14 Cherry Boulevard
on this Thursday morning. Arlene kneeled in the soil with a floppy straw hat to shield her
from the sun. She wore her red gardening gloves, as she pulled beetles from the roses into
a glass jar. Arlene was thinking about what she needed to get done today, as she always
did while she was gardening every morning from 8:00-8:45, right after she dropped the
kids at school, and before she went to her yoga class, book club, Pilates class or parent
committee meeting at school. Today it was book club. After getting these pesky beetles
out of the roses, I am going to take a shower, and then go to Junes coffee shop on 5
th

street for book club- oh and I cant forget my book like I did last week. And then I need to
run to the bank because I dont have enough twenties in my wallet, and I dont like all the
fives, oh but I also need to run to Sports Direct and get Saras lacrosse stick fixed. How
does she keep on breaking them? I need to remember to ask her about that. Oh and then I
need to run to the grocery store because the Millers are coming over tonight and I need
that cheese to go on the bread that Mr. Miller likes. Then I need to pick up Michael from
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school and take him to soccer practice. Oh but I cant forget that its my turn to get snacks
for the team. So when Im at the store I will get the snacks what do they want? Juice
boxes and rice crispy treats? Oh but then the healthy, prius driving, whole foods
shopping hipster mothers would be on me for the rest on the season. Okay, so apples
then, and carrot sticks with ranch dressing. Oh, but twenty-five eight year olds with
spill able dressing isnt a good idea, but you cant have carrots plain. Okay, forget that
plan, lets go with crackers and juice boxes. How can anyone complain? Wait what is it
today? Is it Tuesday? No because that means that it was Monday yesterday, and I have
far too much energy for today to be Tuesday. It must be Thursday. OH my. The funeral is
tomorrow. Arlene looked up from her thoughts and gazed next door, to the Ledfords
driveway. Arlene suddenly got cold and pale, she lost her breathe for a minute before
dropping her jar of beetles. The funeral is tomorrow. She could remember it now, Mr.
Ledford driving up in his car. It was about 2 PM on a Wednesday, last week. Arlene
remembered the time because she was gardening, just like she is now, and she had a
doctors appointment in the morning, so she was gardening later in the day. Henry drove
up in his black land rover and parked a bit crooked in the driveway. Arlene looked up
from her tulips and waved to Henry. But he didnt respond. His forehead was resting on
the drivers wheel. Arlene thought this was a bit peculiar. She yelled You hoo, Mr.
Ledford! But he didnt move. She got up and set her gardening spade down in the grass,
and walked over to the car. Arlene knocked on the car window hesitantly. Henry, are
you alright? But he didnt move. She pulled the car handle, and Henry fell out of the car
in a heap. He hit the cement with a deafening thud. Arlene was ready though; she did
everything that her Mothers First Aid Course prepared her for. She called 911, before
checking his pulse, which was nothing. She decided that she needed to try everything and
then did chest presses, in hope of him waking up. When the ambulance arrived. She
stepped back to join the other neighbors that had came to offer help. Laura was there by
this time, and rode with him to the hospital. It had been a stroke, an unpreventable stroke
that killed him just as he put his car into park in his driveway. For nights after that the
sight of Henrys body landing on the pavement, and the sound of the ambulance, haunted
her as she tried to sleep. She knew there was nothing she could have done, but she
couldnt help but feel that there was. Arlene looked down at the jar of beetles that now
lay in the grass, and tried to pick them back up into the jar. Oh and I cant forget to bring
Laura my casserole tonight, she probably isnt eating much these days.

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Herman Leyton
Friday 7:06 AM

The houseboat rocked from side to side in the Nantucket Dock. It was a cool
morning in mid spring, the tree swallows and kingbirds hummed from neighboring trees,
long tailed ducks clumped together on the still waters in the calm bay. A Great Egret flew
overhead, its large white wings steadily soaring through the pale blue sky. It wasnt but
six in the early morning, and Herman was already up. He walked through the narrowed
residence, with coffee mug in hand. The counters were scattered with National
Geographic issues, Bird Watchers Digest, binoculars, books open to random pages,
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yesterdays newspaper and reading glasses. The sink was filled with dirty bowls and
mugs. The boat had a distinct musky smell that was then cased with a thick layer of dust.
Herman had lived here 30 years, and probably only cleaned the place twice. Herman
made his way through the house, stepping over dirty laundry and fallen books. He walked
across the wooden plank connecting the floating structure to the wobbling dock. Herman
turned left and walked towards the marina. When he passed house thirty seven he waved
hello to his neighbor, Lovely weather today isnt it, Bill?
It is indeed, and already Friday! Bill said as he sat in a rocking chair reading the
Newspaper, with a Hawaiian print shirt and khaki shorts.
Herman continued down the dock, until he reached the entrance to the Marina. Gold
lettering depicted Nantucket Bay Marina; there had been the same sign for 35 years
now. Herman opened the heavy door and was greeted by a large foyer, aquatic version.
Old ship wheels and telescopes were propped against the walls, there was a bulletin board
decorated with fake seaweed and fish icons, presenting announcements and pictures of
the new renovation of the restaurant further in the building. The marina was the pinnacle
of cheap aquatic themed interior design with fake pirate hats and plastic pots of gold with
fake seaweed encircling it. Herman hated the boathouse. It used to be simple, authentic,
now it just seemed like a tourist attraction. He walked towards the forty mail slots on the
far wall, dug his key out of his pocket, turned the lock and retrieved the white envelopes.
He hadnt checked his mail in at least a week, so there were quite a few letters. Closing
the PO Box, he turned and walked out of the boathouse. As he made his way back to his
boat, he shuffled through the letters. A tax reminder, coupon saver, the same retirement
home flyer he had been throwing out for years, a new issue of The Birder Weekly
nothing out of the ordinary, until he noticed a letter from the Ledford Residence, all the
way from Albany. It was computer printed and was addressed straight to him. Herman
now stood in front of boat twenty-nine. He opened the letter, confused. This must be a
mistake; I havent spoken to Henry in years. Herman flipped the envelope over, and tore
open the back, pulling out a white cardstock note. Unfolding it, he read:

Dear,
Herman Leyton,

On this very tragic occasion that our loved one has died, you are invited to the
funeral of

Henry Lee Ledford

On Friday, April 12
th
, the ceremonial proceedings will begin at 10:30 AM at
Rosewood Memorial, 14 Rosewood Road, Albany, NY.

We hope to see you in attendance,

The Ledford Family


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Herman couldnt believe what he was reading, with shock; he dropped the envelope into
the water below him. As it slowly sunk into the murky bay, Herman stood still with his
hands still open, as if he was still grasping the white death mail. What just happened?
How is Henry dead, how could he have died? When did he die? Why would they even
invite me to the funeral, Laura despises me? How did I not known? How didnt I know
that my closest friend all through childhood and early adulthooddied? He isnt even
that old. Hermans thoughts raced, as he stood still and emotionless on the dock.
Herman? Is that you? Are you alright? Cindy OBrian hollered from her houseboat that
Herman was now standing dazed in front of. Would you like to come in? Herman stood
there emotionless before lowering his hands that was still open, as if holding the letter,
and without saying anything walked into the number twenty-nine-house boat. Herman
had known Cindy for about ten years now, since her husband, Mike and her had moved
in. She had a very neat and cheery boat, with flowers in the window and pastel colored
cushions on her couch and all the chairs. She greeted him in, and after he sat down, asked
if he wanted anything to drink. Herman sat there dazed, and shook his head slightly.
Cindy sat across from him, in a wooden chair as he sat on the couch. Are you alright,
Herman? You look frightened. Herman had never been much of a talker, but being in
AA for thirty years, does something to you. Makes you have to talk, and share your
feelings and thoughts regardless of your personality preferences.
My friend died. Henry died.
Oh my, I am so sorry. Did you know him well? Cindy was the type of neighbor that
baked you a casserole when you had a cold, ran the Nantucket House Boat Association,
and was always fundraising for a new charity every week. She knew all of her neighbors,
and wanted to help everyone, and know everything. She sat there sipping a cup of tea, as
if she was in a soap opera, getting all the juicy gossip. But Herman didnt mind. Herman
just needed someone. Someone to listen to him, because he had a lot on his mind.
I knew him from college, and from elementary school, and from middle school and
from high school. So I knew him when I was younger, I guess. Herman said slowly.
I didnt know you went to college! Where did you graduate from?
I never actually graduated, and I didnt really attend either. I studied more beer than I
did textbooks. Attended more keg parties than I did seminars. But it was in the late
seventies so thats what everyone did. Except Henry. Henry was the good one, the one
everyone liked, the one that got the good grades, and the perfect attendance, with the
picturesque family at home funding the whole thing. Herman now moved his gaze from
the pristinely clean floors to Cindy, looking very intrigued. Dont get me wrong, Henry
was a good guy, a really great guy. We had been friends since we were in Pre-K. He was
funny and nice, really smart, and not just book smart, street smart too. Herman paused
and smiled, I remember this time, when we were eighteen, and we went into the city,
Manhattan, you know, for the weekend with a couple of buddies. This was 1974, in New
York City, and there were the beggars and the muggers and everyone in between. We
were walking down a busy street. You know, really busy, everyone and their uncle were
out tonight. And someone bumps into Henry, sticks his hand in his pocket, you know,
trying to get his wallet. Now, anyone else wouldnt have noticed, kept walking, broke.
But Henry didnt. He grabbed the thiefs hand and said I dont think so, young man. Im
usually not fond of lending money, but this once I can make an exception. Henry got his
own wallet out of his pocket and got out a single penny, and said now, you take this for
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your troubles, but dont be taking anyone elses wallets today, you hear? It was funny,
real funny, and that was just who Henry is. Herman is now laughing as he sits on the
sofa, but soon the laughter turns quiet and water starts to fill his eyes. Cindy passes him a
tissue box, still sipping her tea.
So what happened? Did you ever finish college?
I was finished with college, after my sophomore year, but not with a diploma and not
because I wanted to leave, but because they made me leave. So yeah, I did finish college,
but not all four years. Herman sighed and looked down again. I was stupid. Real stupid,
and I know that now. I drank a lot. Now, to my defense, everyone drank a lot, everyone
smoked a lot, everyone partied a lot. I had a few incidents, drunk incidents, and high
incidents that the school deemed those as warnings or suspensions but the word expelled
didnt come onto my transcript until March of my sophomore year. Oh, I dont know, I
was drinkn, drinking a lot, and driving. Driving Henrys car. I borrowed it. Well, I
borrowed it without him known or getting any permission. I wanted to get somewhere,
cant remember where, anywhere. Herman now gazed out the window beyond the
kitchen table at the ducks on the water. I crashed. Hit someone and crashed. A bad hit
too. I had passed out by now, with the air bag in my face, and the car completely totaled,
all I remember was waking up in the hospital. I wasnt hurt real bad or anything, just
bruises and scrapes. But the girl I hit, the five year old, with her mamma, crossing the
street. She was bad off. I dont know what her injuries were, but they werent just scrapes
and bruises. She was in the hospital for a long, long time. I thank god everyday that she
didnt die, she didnt deserve to die. Herman paused, but I did. I know I did. Herman
took a deep breath, and turned his gaze back to Cindy who was looked incredibly
engaged in this new gossip story.
I lied to Henry about it, said that it wasnt my fault and I wasnt drinkn. I dont know
why. I just didnt want another person to be mad at me. Of course he didnt believe it
though. I woke up the next morning, still in the hospital, and he was gone. There was the
number for a rehab facility, and that was it. Of course I tried talking to him after I served
a few weeks behind bars. But he wouldnt talk to me, and the school wouldnt let be on
their campus again.
Oh, my. Have you tried to talk to him again, now that youre older? Cindy said, trying
to make the story a bit happier.
I tried. I tried about five years after the accident, but by then he was married to Laura
and had his own firm, and he had this whole new life without me. So I moved on.
Cindy was now out of her seat, adding more tea to her mug. As she sat back down, she
said, How did he die?
I dont know.
Is there a funeral?
Yes.
When? Cindy pried
Today. Ten oclock.
You need to go. You need to get closure; you need to show support to Henry. He was
your friend, and even though you made mistakes, you need to honor him. Cindy said
with a great amount of determination for a small woman.
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I dont know if I should. Laura, his wife, doesnt like me, understandably. And people
from the town will be there, people will be judging me, his children will be there. It will
probably be best for everyone if I dont go.
I dont believe that. And neither do you. You need to go, you need to honor him, no
matter who is attending. You need to get on the road now.
You think so? Are you sure?
Absolutely. Here, Ill even pack you a sandwich. You need to go, or you will regret it
later.
Your right, I should. I need to say a final goodbye to Henry. A second goodbye. But this
time, this one will come from me.

-------


Christina Devin
Thursday, last week, 7:54 AM

The TV blasted with the normal swords clashing, feet running, and fire blazing
sounds that came from the video game that David sat intently in front of, thumbs dancing
along the game consol. Andy sat at the breakfast table, textbook in front of her,
highlighting things on another paper, eating cereal, listening to music, and occasionally
texting someone from her white iPhone. A massive yellow Labrador named Charlie came
running through the back sliding door, he was soaked with so much mud and rain, that
you would mistake him for a black lab. He came running through the house, leaving
black paw prints on the white carpets, and flicks of mud on the walls. Once he galloped
to the center of the kitchen, he paused for a second, before shaking his entire body from
side to side, making every piece of dirt on him fly from his fur to the cupboards, walls,
floor and ceiling. Aww, Charlie! Thats disgusting. Andy yelled from the dining room,
MOM!
Oh, mom, I need 48 cookies for todays bake sale, by the way. David said as he
defeated a dragon.
Turn it down, David! Andy screamed over the loud noises of swords and dragons.
You turn it down, Andy! Its not even that loud.
That didnt even make sense, moron, Im not the one playing some stupid game make
for six year olds. Andy said
Its not for six year olds, its actually a 15 and up game.
Wow, do you even know how much that helped your argument? Not a lot. Do you even
know how old you are?
So what? I like to play videogames that were designed for younger kids. Dont you have
something to study?
Dont you have a class to fail? Andy replied
MOM! they yelled together.
On a normal day, Christina would have stopped the dog from getting loose and
rolling in mud, she would have made David turn down the video game. On any morning
except for this one, she would have made sure the cookies for the bake sale would have
been finished last night, and she would have made Andy stop triple tasking, and the
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lunches would have been made, and they would, in fact, all be in the car right now to
school. But not today, today was different. Christina stood at the granite countertop, with
a stainless steel sink to her right, a toaster with black toast burning at her left. Behind her,
on the island, was a stovetop with a pan of scrambled eggs that were smoking, as they
overcooked. The refrigerator door beeped, alarming the people that its door was open for
too long. The coffeepot was overflowing with coffee, the phone was ringing, probably the
carpool that Christina was supposed to pick up calling to see why they were thirty
minutes late. The kids were yelling at Christina and Charlie ran around the house, coating
the walls in mud and dirt. Christina stood, looking out the window. But she couldnt see
anything. She couldnt hear anything. She was only 54, so her hearing hadnt gone bad
yet, and her eyesight hadnt started to deteriorate. Her problem wasnt physical, it was
psychological. She could hear or remember or see or feel anything because her brother
had just died. She got the call twenty minutes ago. He had died yesterday afternoon, but
her mom couldnt bear to tell her. Christina stood in front of the kitchen window. All she
saw was grey. Not white, not black, just grey. She couldnt see Charlie had made it
outside and was now chasing the neighbors cat, she couldnt see that the garbage truck
was now in front of the house, but the garbage cans werent on the curb as they were
supposed to be. Christina didnt notice Wendy Johnson had just pulled into her house
next door with a newspaper and coffee. Christina didnt notice that Andy was yelling at
her from the dining room, saying they were 35 minutes late, and she couldnt miss her
chemistry test. Christina couldnt hear the phone ringing, or the refrigerator beeping, or
the fire alarm going off because her eggs were on fire. She stood there motionless,
emotionless, not feeling, or thinking, or hearing or seeing. The only movement she could
manage was the spread of the knife from left to right on the whole grain piece of bread in
front of her, spreading far too much peanut butter on a thinning piece of bread. She swept
the metal butter knife from left to right, and right to left, and again and again. She had
been standing here for at least twenty minutes. But it felt like eternity for her.
He has died. He is dead. He is dead. He has died. He is dead. He is dead. She repeated to
herself, almost rhythmically, trying to tell herself this is what had happened. But how
could that have happened? Where was I when he died? This must be a mistake. How do
they know for sure that its him? The morgue probably made a mistake. They do that all
the time, dont they? This has to have been a mistake. Henry couldnt have died. He
really couldnt be dead. He was only 58. Thats not old. Thats not old enough. Im only
54. I dont want to die. I dont want Henry to die. He isnt dead though, I know they have
to have made a mistake. Heart attacks only happen to old people, like really old people.
This cant be happening. Christina continued to spread peanut butter from side to side of
the bread that was now paper thin from the inch of peanut on top of it. How did this
happen? We used to ride bikes together, we used to hike together. We used to do
everything together. I talked to him two days ago. He was fine. He was great. This has to
be a mistake. This is a mistake. If he died, that means that I will die. And I cant die. I
wont die, and Henry wont either, because he didnt. Henry didnt die. Henry isnt dead.
Christina continued to contemplate the official death of Henry Ledford, as the fire alarm
sounded even louder, and Charlie barked and barked. Andy and David yelled to her. But
Christina couldnt hear it. She wouldnt hear anything, unless they were telling her that
Henry wasnt dead, thats all she would listen to. Christina suddenly looked up from the
thickening peanut butter. What if he is dead? What if they are right? What if Henry is
12
dead? Henry is dead. I think. I know. He is dead; otherwise he would have called me
today. He calls every day. He would have called. But you cant call from the grave.
Christina took a wheezing gasp. The grave. A single tear rolled down Christinas face. He
is dead. He is dead. He has died. Henry henry is dead. Christina repeated this to
herself, with the same rhythm that the fire alarm sounded. With the same rhythm that the
TV blasted, and Andy yelled at her. She repeated those words as the phone rang and the
refrigerator beeped. Christina had to tell herself what had happed, or she would never
believe that her older brother, the person she looked up to her entire life, was dead. Very
dead, not semi dead. She had to tell herself this, or she would never come to terms with
reality. Christina looked up from her bread and peanut butter. She grabbed a zip locked
bag, slapped the bare slice of bread on top of the peanut buttered one, shoved it into the
baggie, and zipped it up. Turning around, she said, Lets go to school, kids.


































13

Part Two:

--------

Christina Devin

Friday, 10:02 AM

Funerals are supposed to be black right? Black represents that they are dark and
sad and horrible. Thats why weddings are white, correct? Because white represents
purity and happiness and beginning and all that right? So why on earth did Aunt Patricia
come to a funeral, an incredibly sad and tragic FUNERAL in a white dress? White, I
repeat. Why would she do that? It just ruins everything. Its a funeral for gods sake.
Christina paced back and forth next to a bench in the cemetery, thirty minutes before
Henrys funeral would begin. Aunt Patricia had showed up early, getting the times mixed
up, and sat in the white gazebo, two hundred yards away, I mean, is she just trying to
ruin this day for everyone? Showing disrespect to the family like that? Its ridiculous. I
think I am going to confront her about it. Christina was cherry red in the face and had a
determined look as she began to march over to where Patricia sat.
Hold on just a second, Mrs. Devin, Piper Brant, the funeral event coordinator said, as
she grabbed Christinas arm, I see people come to funerals wearing all different kinds of
things, and white isnt the worst. It wont ruin everything. Patricia probably just forgot
black was the dress code, just like she forgot what time the funeral started. She is getting
old, you know.
I dont care how old she is, she shouldnt be wearing white to a funeral. Thats just
common sense. Christina pulled her arm back, and settled down, Anyway, arent
people supposed to be here already? I mean it does start soon doesnt it?
I think they Piper was interrupted again.
And where are the flower arrangements? How on Earth is anything going to be ready in
time?
Mrs. Devin, calm down, everything is handled.
And where is the food? I thought the food would be here by now. People cant go
hungry. This is supposed to be a sad occasion but we dont want anyone starving to
death.
Mrs. De Piper responded calmly
Oh and where on Earth is the person, you know the minister, or priest or whoever buries
him. Where is he? He should be here already with a little bible and digging instructions
or something. Why isnt he here? Because god knows I am not going to burry my own
brother into the ground to lay next to the ants and worms for all of eternity. Christina
ranted as she passed back and forth on the freshly cutgrass.
Mrs. Devin, I assure you that everything is handled, you have nothing to worry about.
Piper said in her most assuring voice.
Obviously not, or people would actually be here, not just old Patricia.

-------
14
Herman Leyton

Friday, 10:26 AM

The McDonalds yellow taxi sat outside the Rosewood Memorial Graveyard,
Herman sat inside, looking through the tinted glass window. He rubbed his hands
together nervously, a habit he had had since sixth grade. How am I going to face the
family? They dont like me, hate me to be specific. They must have accidentally sent that
invitation to me. They couldnt possible want me here. What on earth am I going to say?
Hello, how are you? And act completely normal even though my best friend who I havent
seen in twenty plus years just dropped dead. The family is not going to want to see me,
the person who ruined Henrys college years. How am I going to get out of this cab?
Herman paused for a minute, contemplating whether just to go home and forget this. No,
I have to do this. I need to get out of this car. Its the least I can do for Henry.
You getting out or just gonna sit there? I need to pick up my next ride. The taxi driver
said through the glass windowpane dividing the back and front seats.
Herman handed him the a couple crumpled bills, and grabbed his backpack, stepped out
of the cab and slammed the door behind him. He walked through the metal gates that
made the stark graveyard seem, somehow, more official. He passed rows and rows of
grey gravestones with countless names and facts on them, like a sea of grey rocks, all
sinking together.
Just being here depressed Herman. How can a graveyard ever be a happy
location? It just screams death and horror from every angle. He finally made it down the
graveled path to the flock of people gathered around a whole in the ground and some
tables with appetizers. It was a large parade of miserable, black-wearing people, waiting
to put a body into the ground. Thats all Henry is now. A body. Herman thought to
himself as he approached the crowd of people. Laura was the most obvious person. Most
on the people were surrounded around her, giving their condolences. As soon as a few of
the pairs of people walked away from her, Herman awkwardly approached.
Hi, Laura. Its me, Herman.
Oh, hello Herman. Laura said, surprised to see him. She looked down and stepped
back, arms crossed, You look good. Different but good.
Thank you. Its been awhile.
Yes it has.
Well, I just wanted to say thank you for the invitation. I know this must be hard, I just
wanted to say if there is anything I can do for you, I would gladly. Herman said and
tried his hardest to bear a grin.
Thank you. Most of the family is here, so I dont think you will be necessary, but it was
a kind offer.
Herman could sense this hostility, Laura, look, I dont want to play this happily every
after, we are best friends act. We all know what happened; I know you dont want me
here. But I am here for Henry. Because I owe him that much.
Laura, still standing with her arms crossed, standing three feet away from Herman, she
nodded and said, Yes. For Henry.


15
-------

Brady Ledford

Friday 9:30 AM

The wooden porch swing rocked back and forth, as Brady swung his legs, just like
he did when he was a kid. He would come out here to sit with his dad. They had built the
swing together when Brady was eight. He could still remember that evening. It was early
evening, more than a decade ago, and Brady was sitting on the steps of the house, waiting
for Henry to get home from work, as he usually did. When Henry did arrive, he decided
right then and there that Brady shouldnt just sit on the step; he should have a proper seat.
A swinging seat. They went to the lumber store that night and had the bench swinging by
midnight. It still works today.
Brady looked up from the rhythmic swaying of the chair, as his sister walked
through the swinging door and onto the porch, coffee mug in hand, she sat down next to
him. They sat there, Paige and Brady for a while. Just sitting and thinking. Until Paige
broke the silence, Bad day for a funeral right?
What do you mean? Every day is a bad day to throw someone in the ground. Brady
replied, almost offended.
I mean that its so nice and sunny out its just a waste of a gorgeous day.
Yeah, I guess so. And Dad hated the rain. So I guess he would appreciate it being nice
out. Brady said, thinking back to his Dad who wouldnt even go outside if its was at all
drizzling.
Yeah, Its a good thing we didnt live in Seattle or something. Dad would have never
left the house.
Remember that time when it was just pouring. Like dumping rain. Like torrential
showers in March? Remember that? Brady said with a grin.
Oh yeah, I remember that. It was when we were in high school right? You were
probably still a freshman. And remember, Dad didnt want to go to work, and didnt
make us go either?
Yeah, thanks to you. You made this whole argument about equality and if Dad didnt
have to go to work, you didnt have to go to school. And it was completely unjust and
hypocritical. You probably quoted Gandhi or something too.
Paige smiled for a moment, yeah, me and Dad could get into some heated arguments.
Yeah, but you know he just did it on purpose right? He is a lawyer remember? He gets
paid to argue with people. And he knew you would be one too, one day.
Yeah, I guess he knew me too well at an early age. Paige said, looking at the faded
wooden floorboards.
They both sat there for a moment, looking out into the green woods opposite their house.
How bad do you think today will be? Brady said, looking at his sister.
Bad but well make it.
Yeah, I guess we always have.


--------
16

Arlene Pierce
Friday 9:11 AM

Harrison Boulevard was rather busy this Tuesday. The cars sat in symmetrical
lines down the tree-lined residential street. Arlene was on her way to a PTA meeting at
the Elementary school. The topic was about the annual parent committees. Parents were
encouraged to sign up to committee teams to help out the school. Arlene was the
returning president of the Sustainability Committee for two years now, and never missed
a meeting. Except for maybe today. As Arlene inched up the rows of traffic, she went
through her mental to-do list.
1. Randy needs a new baseball bat
2. I need to remember to set up coffee with Colleen next week
3. I need to remember the seedlings for the committee meeting next week to start
planting
4. When I get home, I need to clean the guest room, as the in-laws were coming for
the weekend
Just as Arlene was about to think about her tennis match tomorrow, the urgent rings of
sirens came from behind her. She paused. Arlene never paused. She was a very urgent
person. Pausing was not in her nature. But the sirens. The sirens reminded her of
something-- of a car pulling into her neighbors driveway. Arlene sat frozen with both
hands on the steering wheel. What was she trying to remember? The image of a black car
pulling in, and someone, was it a neighbor? Arlene couldnt move as she tried to
remember. The figures head eased slowly towards the steering wheel. A door opened and
the body rolled out of the drivers seat. Arlene could see it vividly, as if she was reliving
it. The sirens are what Arlene remembers the most. The sirens went on for hours, for
days, for weeks since Henry had dropped dead. Henry. That was his name. Arlene had
tried so hard to forget. To block it out. Arlene shivered at the thought of his body being
wheeled away in an ambulance. HenryHow had she forgotten? His funeral was today.
Arlene looked at her watch, 2 hours away, today. Arlene was startled to hear the blaring
sirens coming closer, looking in her rear-view mirror to see a fire truck directly behind
her, waiting for her to move in her car.


-------


Leon Doyle
Thursday 1:42 PM

Crisply cut grass shreds were torn from the ground as a golf club swung and hit a
perfectly round golf ball making it soar through the air. It landed in a sand pit 300 feet
away from Leon. He had just perfected his swing form on this sunny afternoon. Brian
Campbell stood with freshly polished shoes, and perfectly fitted trousers to match his
freshly pressed polo shirt. He stood next to Leon and congratulated him on his swing.
Campbell was a senior investor in the firm, and used to have an out of office meeting
17
with Henry weekly. But since Henrys passing, Leon has had to take on this appointment,
like most of Henrys meetings, and wasnt happy about it. This week, like usual, it was
golf. Campbell was one of those people that really didnt do the day-to-day work in the
office, but wants to feel like he does, and tries to stay connected with the owners, Leon
and Henry. The only problem is Leon cannot stand Brian. Brian was someone that Henry
had the patience for, could stand holding a conversation with; Leon was a quieter
conserved person. After Brians turn to golf, he tried to break the awkward silence by
asking Leon about his family.
I have a wife and no kids. Shes good. Leon said plainly.
Oh, I see. For me, I chose the bachelor path, no rings, no commitments. Its much
better.
Leon nodded and looked towards the pond. Brian could sense his disinterest, Not the
small talk kind of guy, are you?
Not really. Henry was. Leon replied
I like you Leon, but Im just going to cut to the chase. I wanted to discuss with you the
firms impact in his passing.
The impact of the firm? Leon asked
Yes, the board and I are simply concerned that his absence will take away from what is
important. And we arent quite assured there should only be one sole senior partner of the
firm.
I dont think I am following you.
Dont get me wrong, we think you are fully qualified for the job, but it is a time
consuming stressful position that may suit a younger occupant. Brian said as he set
down a fresh golf ball on the T.
Im sorry Mr. Campbell there must be a misunderstanding. I am the founder and have
been doing a stellar job at being a senior partner for the past 30 years. This is not a job
interview.
Campbell laughed mockingly for a moment, Oh, absolutely not, we are well aware that
you have this job, Doyle. That is the problem though, we are only concerned that it will
be too much and you will need assistance or perhaps a replacement. You did loose that
Miller Case last week, a case that we needed to win. The board is really just concerned,
Leon.
That case was a loss from the moment Miller stepped into the door, everyone knew that.
I argued it as any other capable lawyer would. I am well aware that you dont have the
comprehensive skills to argue, let alone win a lawsuit, so you wouldnt understand. And I
am aware that your job is to make money. But do not go telling me how to do my job that
you couldnt do.
Doyle, we are simply contemplating the possibility, after assessing how Henrys
absence will effect business. Brian said calmly
Leon looked at Brian with an appalled look, How could someone so arrogant come in
and tell me how I do my job, and try to replace me, which he cant do, and then tell me
that Henry is just absent? Its preposterous. I dont think you are understanding that
Henry is not absent, he is not on a vacation, he is dead. Dropped out of his car dead last
week. Leon was really getting irritated now, and stood face to face with Brian, looking
him dead in the eye, Henry Ledford was the co-founder of this firm and we wouldnt
even be here without him. He is not a business deal or a stock exchange, he is a person. A
18
dead person, and my bet is that his absence will most certainly negatively affect the firm.
And not just because we could potentially loose clients and money, but because he will
be missed by the people whom actually valued his work and input. So excuse me, I have
other places I need to be. Leon stuck his golf club into the bag and drove off in the golf
cart.
--------


Christina Devin
Friday, 12:31 AM

A funeral is a bittersweet event. Of course it is depressing, it is the mourning of a
death, after all, and especially when its your own brother and its unexpected, it stings a
little more. But a funeral isnt all bad. It is a time to see friends and family that you
wouldnt have seen otherwise. People you may not have talked to on an everyday basis or
know very well, but you all have one thing in common; Henry. The actual funeral was
barren and black, as a funeral should be. It started at the graveyard, but then continued
with a reception afterwards at Arlene and Samuel Pierces house, a neighbor of Henrys.
It was a particularly hot day, even though it was only April. There wasnt a cloud in the
jade blue sky. People used hand fans to attempt to keep themselves cool in the inclining
heat, as they mingled among one another.
The thing about funerals is that no one understands who makes them happen. In a
wedding, people, for some reason, think that more planning is involved, so they always
appreciate the wedding planners and parents of the bride and groom. But for a funeral,
since its a sad occasion perhaps, people think less thought goes into them. But let me
assure you that I still had to book two venues, a caterer, decorations, casket, ceremony,
priest, send the invitations and not to mention deal with all the sad, crying, heartbroken
relatives, without anyone asking me how I am feeling or coping that my own brother is
dead. But no, I dont get to cry, just everyone else. I have to be the planner, the do-er the
rock in the storm. Its not fair, but like I said, Im coping. I wanted to repeat this to every
weeping aunt that I had to make small talk to, but instead I bit my tongue and said, What
a sad occasion, isnt it? Let me remind you, that small talk is not my forte, neither are
hugsor tears. I like to not talk about problems, rather focus on happier things, so why,
you ask, am I at a funeral, planning it, and dealing with all this? Well you would have to
blame that one on Henry.
I walked through the vibrant colors of freshly sprouting flowers in the Pierces
back yard, trying to make as little eye contact as I could, so that I wouldnt be lured into
an awkward hug or consolidation. But it was inevitable that cousin Betsy would find me,
like a hungry bear finds a fish in a river.
Lovely ceremony, Chrissie. Did you plan this all yourself?
I cringed at the name Chrissie. It was what people called me when I wasnt old enough
to speak yet, before I could tell them to stop, but Betsy continues to do it, knowing it
makes me boil, ah, Betsy. I guess I would have to agree, it was rather lovely, you
could say, burying a corpse in the ground to rot away for eternity. And yes, I did plan it,
now that you mention it.
19
Now, now, Chrissie, Henry is not just a corpse, he may just be a body, but he is still a
soul, and we must still respect him. I thought you would have more respect for our little
Henry. Le me assure you that her angelic dimples are deceiving. Betsy has always
wanted to create drama, stir the pot, and entertain herself. She is only two years older
then me, but ever since we were little kids, she acted like she knew everything, and I was
simply an imbecile idiot compared to her almond sized brain. Oh, dear, I am so sorry, I
will be sure to praise his soul as he is lifted to heaven by the spirits. My lord, let me just
go pray some more. I smirked; as I grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray a waitress
was holding, took a big swing and walked away.

--------

Arlene Pierce
Friday, 2:06 PM

The Victorian style house with shades of white and beige interiors, seemed dark
and grey. The house seemed empty and deserted, even though there were thirty-seven
people eating and talking lively inside. Arlene walked around her pristine house, making
a desperate attempt to stop peoples drinks from spilling on the freshly vacuumed Persian
carpets. Her eyes jumped from person to person from dirty shoes, toddlers, and drinks to
kids running around and food being dished, so close from being dropped or spilled.
Everywhere she looked she could see a disaster waiting to erupt, and the only solution?
She had to be there to advert the tsunami, helping people dish, pouring juice for the
elderly, sitting toddler after toddler down, praying they wouldnt run into one of the
expensive vases, paintings, sculptures or glass picture frames that hung on the walls.
Arlene entered the living room, glancing from person to person, seeing if they needed
help eating, or a napkin, or more to drink. Just as she was about to offer assistance to
Marco, the enthusiastic two-year old, about to drink grape juice from a very spill able
cup, Christina interrupted. Clink, clink, clink, Christina tapped a metal fork onto a crystal
champagne glass; Arlene cringed at the sight of metal of glass, so close to shattering.
I would just like to make toast. She paused, as people quieted down, thank you
everyone for coming to remember Henry. He was a lot better at making toasts than me,
but I am going to keep this one short. Thank you for coming to the service, and I know
that he would have appreciated his friends and family here, coming from near and far, to
celebrate him. I
Just as Christina was about to continue, Leon butted in, yeah, friends he said with air
quotes, as he took another sip of his whisky, Im sure Henry would have app-appre
appreciated him being here. Leon slurred, nodding to Herman sitting on the opposite
side of the glass table.
This took Herman aback, Excuse me, Leon?
What? Did rehab make you deaf or somethin? Can you not hear no more? Leon
smirked, taking another gulp of the whisky.
Herman turned red, and leaned forward, ready to make a comeback, when Christina
interrupted again, Oh, okay. Lets not do this right now
You know what, its okay Christina. Herman said, taking a deep breath, Leon needs to
get his anger out. He has a lot of it.
20
Leon rolled his eyes, I have a lot of anger? What are you, a psych-psychol-psycist, or
what ever now? Your not even supposed to be here, Herman. Look around, no one wants
you here. You are dead to this family.
The room went silent before Laura butted in, Thats enough, Leon. You need to go
outside, you are being irrational.
Oh, no, thank you Lora but Im good. I am feeling just fine actually. Leon said as he
took another swig of his drink.
You know what, Leon, I have just the same right to be here for Henry as you do. This is
not a competition of who was a better friend or knew Henry the best.
Its not a competition if I already won a long time ago. Leon smirked.
Leon, I am just trying to commemorate Henry, thats all.
Whens the last time you saw him? Fifth grade? Cause I saw him last week, in our firm.
The business that we started together, no thanks to you.
You know what, Leon, I think its time for me to go. Herman started to get up for the
door, but Christina stopped him.
This is ridiculous. Leon you are being an asshole, to say it nicely. Herman Leyton
deserves to be here to honor Henry as much as you or I do. Herman is not dead to this
family. Far from it. He is apart of this family. My family at least. Leon, you werent there
when Herman and Henry were friends for twenty-three years before you swooped in. You
werent there when Henry broke his leg zip lining and had to stay inside all spring break.
Herman stayed with him everyday, while everyone went outside or went to the pool,
Herman was there, staying in his room with him for a week straight. You werent there
when our parents got divorced when Henry and Herman were seniors, but Herman was.
Herman will always be my other brother, always be apart of my family, regardless of
what you all say. And yes he made mistakes, but do you understand what a mistake is?
Its a misstep that you rebound from, and thats exactly what Herman did- more than
twenty years ago, he fixed his misstep. So instead of judging him and saying he is dead to
this family, realize that he is a stranger to you and your narrow mind.

--------

Brady Ledford
Friday, 10:44 AM

The people wearing all black with sad expressions, blended in like clowns at a
circus to the grey, dull surroundings in the graveyard. Brady was the key speaker at the
ceremony, or thats what the event coordinator called him. As if he was explaining pie
charts to a group of investors at a meeting, instead of a son reminiscing about his dead
father. Aunt Christina had already started the ceremony, and now Brady had to talk about
his father in front of the seated friends and family. It was pointless to lie and say that
Brady wasnt nervous. He did not do public speaking, hated it. Especially about
emotional topics like his father. But Brady had to do it for his dad. He took a deep breath,
stood up and approached the stand. He looked out over a grey sea of thirty some people,
sitting in the uniform black attire, looking at him expectantly. Some were trying to tame
their children, some of the older ones were crying. Others looked half dead themselves,
as they sat bored in their plastic chairs. Brady cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie.
21
I am Brady, as most of you know and I wanted to start by saying thank you for coming
to this ceremony for Henry. Brady paused and looked down, ignoring his notecard, he
said, I think the word ceremony isnt adequate for today. My dad is not worth
commemorating, he is worth celebrating. Celebrating that he was and still is a wonderful,
inspiring man, that we are all going to miss greatly. Brady paused and looked down,
reading his notecard, I remember my father and I used to go to baseball games together,
he always knew everything there was to know abut the sport, and wanted to share it with
me. I remember one time he brought me to a Yankees game in New York City. I
remember being amazed by the stands, and the crowds, and seeing the players warm up.
Brady looked at his mother in the first row, who gave him a weak grin. There were so
many people here that knew Henry so well, and a baseball game just wasnt good
enough. Brady paused, You know what, he said turning his flashcard over and looking
up, that was a great game, and a great memory, but there is so much more to a person
than a baseball game. My dad will always be remembered by the little things he did. The
small things always make up a person. How he had this amazing ability to talk to anyone,
and to light up a room when he walked in. He could win any argument, any problem. He
was a superhero to me for half of my life. With his smile, he could get anything done. I
remember this time when one of my sisters friends got in trouble with the principle in
high school. Someone wrongfully accused her of cheating, and it was all over school. I
remember I told Dad about it in the car when he was picking me up, but instead of
ignoring it and going home, he marched straight into that principles office. He said that
he was Paiges lawyer, and demanded evidence of cheating. He even told me that he
flashed some legal documents just to scare him. I dont know what really happened, but
the next day, everybody had forgotten about it, and Paiges friend wasnt suspended
anymore, Brady paused, and looked at the audience, I guess the main thing I wont
forget about my father was how honest he was. He sure could get what he wanted with
some big words, but he never cheated, and defended anyone who was wrongfully
accused. He never told me a lie. Even about little things, you know, like if he were the
one that ate the last banana or something, he would always tell the truth. No matter
what. Brady paused, and looked out through the sea of gravestones, my dad was an
amazing person. Honest, trustworthy, hilarious, charming. I could honestly tell him
anything and he would know what to say or do, but I dont need to tell you all that, you
already know.