Stand by Me

On the morning of Kristina’s funeral, I don’t get out of bed. My alarm goes off, and I hit snooze once, twice, three times before Chris finally comes in. “Reagan, you need to get up,” he says. “I haven’t got all day.”

Chris is my father, but due to the complications of our relationship, I haven’t called him “Dad” in years. I look at him from where I’m bundled up under my covers. He leans inside my room but doesn’t dare step in. “Are you awake? The funeral’s in forty-five minutes. We need to get moving.” He’s not exactly the warm and fuzzy type.

Little does he know that I haven’t slept all night. In fact, I haven’t slept in days. I can’t. The doctor gave me some pills, saying that it would give me a quick and dreamless sleep, but I haven’t touched the bottle. Chris doesn’t even know they gave it to me.

Eventually, I get up, and put on the outfit I picked out the night before, just a black dress and some flats. I wanted to take one of Kristina’s dresses and wear it, but her parents haven’t gone through her stuff yet, and besides, I know Chris would flip out if I did.

When I walk into the kitchen, I see he’s in his work clothes. “You’re not staying for the funeral?” I ask. I try not to sound surprised, but I am. Maybe I’m a little pissed, too.

“You know I have work,” he answers. “I’ll try to stay as long as I can.” I honestly don’t know what else I expected. He takes my silence as a confirmation and pushes a bowl of cereal towards me. “Go on and eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Reagan,” Chris says, trying to sound stern. It doesn’t really work for him; he has never bothered to enforce or even make rules other than “don’t get yourself killed” and “don’t get arrested” for as long as I’ve lived with him. Only in these last few days has he actually started taking this parent thing seriously. “You haven’t eaten anything since Kristina died. You need to have something.”

“I told you, I’m not hungry. I’ll eat when we get home.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past week.” I don’t answer, and he sighs. “Fine. Don’t eat. Go finish getting ready.”

“I am finished.” I haven’t brushed my hair or my teeth, but I’m in the mood to be defiant.

He stares at me for a long time before shaking his head. “Okay then. Let’s go.”

The drive over to the church is silent. The parking lot is already packed when we get there, so Chris drops me off in the front and promises to meet me in there. So I go in alone.

Immediately, all heads turn towards me. Everyone starts whispering and nudging one another, because there’s Kristina’s best friend, did you know she was the one who found her, I can’t believe she had no idea, I can’t believe she didn’t see the signs.

I see Kristina’s older sister Rachel coming towards me. “We saved you and your dad seats up front,” she says. Her voice is stiff, like it bothers her to say this, because Kristina’s entire family has never really liked me. “She’d want you to be with us.”

I have to clench my fists to avoid punching her, because how dare she have the audacity to think she knows anything at all about what Kristina wanted? I open my mouth to say so, but then remember I clearly didn’t know anything either, or else Kristina would still be here. So I swallow hard and say, “Sure.”

Kristina’s mother clasps my hand when I greet her, but her father merely nods at me. I know all of them secretly blame me, but I’m fine with it. I blame myself too. I sit at the end of the pew and save a seat for my father, Mrs. Brennan on my other side.

Chris comes in a few minutes later, and when he sees me sitting with the rest of Kristina’s family, he furrows his eyebrows at me. He shakes hands with her parents, who never liked him either, before settling next to me. “Why are we with them?” he asks in a low voice. “They hate us.”

“Apparently it’s what she would’ve wanted,” I say flatly. Chris snorts and rolls his eyes, and I’m grateful that at least he, too, knows it’s bullshit.

The funeral starts, and I turn and watch as Kristina’s father and uncles carry her casket down the aisle. They set her down in front of the altar before the priest begins the mass. It’s a load of bullshit about how Kristina is “walking with the Lord” now and whatever, so I tune out, looking around the church instead.

I see a lot of our classmates from school, people who never gave a single shit about her, and I know I should feel glad that they’re mourning her, but I’m not. They’re exactly the kind of people we hated. I can imagine Kristina, wherever she is, pretending to stick her finger down her throat and vomit. As long as they’re not decorating my locker, I can practically hear her say. Don’t let them put flowers in front of it or some dumb shit like that.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling a little until Chris elbows me and gives me a questioning look. I shrug and turn back to the funeral going on, paying attention just in time to hear the priest say, “And now, Kristina’s mother, Elizabeth Brennan, will deliver a eulogy.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head as Kristina’s mom gets up and goes to the podium. Her? They asked her to do eulogy and not me? I clench my fists. I cared more about Kristina than her own family ever did. She’s a fake and everyone knows it.

Chris nudges me again. “I gotta get to work,” he says quietly. “You’ll have to find your own ride, okay? See if the Brennans’ nice streak lasts long enough to give you one.”

I nod, and he squeezes my shoulder before ducking out of the church. I focus on Mrs. Brennan again. She collects herself before she says in a shaky voice, “My younger daughter was nothing like her sister. Rachel liked ballet and Barbie dolls and pretended she was a princess. Kristina was interested in the exact opposite of those things, and for those reasons, it was hard for me to relate to her. I spent her entire life drifting away from her, and now I’ll spend my entire life regretting it every single day. I love you, Kristina Valerie. I could not be more sorry.”

She’s unable to go on after that, and covers her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling. Mr. Brennan has to come up and guide her away. And I have to admit, it was a good performance. But I don’t believe any of it. It’s not fair to Kristina that her parents only started caring after she was gone.

“Would anyone else like to come up and give a eulogy before we end?” the priest asks. I can feel eyes on me, because everyone expects me to go up, and for a second I’m tempted to. I could give a kick-ass eulogy, one that’s worthy of my best friend. I could talk about the crazy weekends we’ve spent at music festivals, or the nights we’ve wandered around town, driving anywhere and everywhere and just being together. I have story after story of bad hair days and questionable crushes and movie marathons that are just overflowing my brain, brimming at the tip of my tongue, begging me to share them.

But I don’t. It’s selfish, maybe, but I don’t want any of these people knowing about these things. I want to keep them between Kristina and me only. Maybe I’ll write them down.

The funeral ends, and I leave before anyone can stop me and try to hug me or tell me how sorry they are. Kristina’s burial is going to be a private one, and although I know nobody would say no if I tagged along, I’m not really in the mood to watch my best friend get lowered into the dirt.

So I walk home. It’s a little far, but it’s a nice day out and I suppose that I’d better get used to being alone. A black car drives by me with the windows rolled down. It’s the Brennans. They all wave, but don’t stop to offer me a ride. Just as well, anyway. Every time they look at me, I can tell what they’re thinking: It should’ve been you.

I agree.