Chapter Seven
The next morning I woke up to a gentle rapping at my door. “Noah, it’s eight o’clock. If you’re not up, you better get a move on, sweetie,” Mom’s muffled voice urged.
I opened my eyes, and then I immediately snapped them shut. I couldn’t believe today was my best friend’s funeral. If that wasn’t bad enough, my mind raced with the prospect of having to sing. I covered my eyes with my arm and let the emotions wash over me.
The events of the previous night played over and over in my mind. I couldn’t forget the image of Jake’s urn smashed on the funeral home floor. Nor could I forget the image of Mom and Greg getting busy on our couch. Damn, I loved that couch, too. Now I’d never be able to sit on it again.
No son should ever have to imagine his mother having sex least of all see it. Yeah, I know she’s only thirty-five, and she has needs and all, but seriously. I didn’t know how I was going to look at her in the same way. I mean, all my life it’s just been the two of us against the world. I had the sneaky suspicion that Greg was hell-bent on wedging his ass into our family—our little alliance against the world.
I slowly rolled into a sitting position and sniffed the air appreciatively. Something smelled good downstairs. My stomach growled. I decided to wait on my shower until after I got something to eat.
When I got into the kitchen, there was quite a spread of food on the table. It wasn’t surprising that Mom had made my favorite breakfast of French toast. I peered around the kitchen for Greg, but I didn’t see him.
I caught her gaze and raised my eyebrows. The moment I did, pain shot through my forehead. “Ow!”
Mom hurried over to me. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” She reached out to touch my eyebrow, but I flinched away from her. Her face fell.
I realized right then I could continue acting like a prick because of what I’d seen last night, or I could be a little more adult about it and move on. Deep down, I knew today was gonna be a bitch, and I’d need her—you know to get through it.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“You’ve gotta cut place above your eyebrow.” The moment the words left her lips, she blushed. I knew she realized how I’d gotten the cut. It’d come from running into the armoire to escape the sexcapade in the living room.
“Yeah, well, why don’t you fix it, Dr. Sullivan?” I said, trying to change the subject.
She smiled weakly and nodded. Then she hurried into the pantry for her medical kit. When she came back, she motioned for me to have a seat. I eased down in one of the kitchen chairs she got to work. Suddenly, I was laughing.
Mom jerked her hand away and gave me an odd look. “What’s so funny?”
“Remember all the times Jake got “hurt” while he was over here? I swear, there wasn’t a time he didn’t come over to play when we were little that he didn’t end up with some wimpy little cut or scrape that he needed you to ‘make better’.”
Mom laughed. “Oh gosh, I’d forgotten all about that. As soon as he was old enough to realize I was in medical school, he was all about my healing.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it was your healing he was interested in,” I muttered.
“Noah!” Mom exclaimed, her face flushing again.
“Oh come on Mom, you know he had a huge crush on you. I swear, Jake must’ve come out of the womb a little hornball!”
Mom shook her head. “Well, I don’t know about that. I just used to think he needed a little extra attention, you know? Being the youngest boy with two very demanding older brothers. And Mr. Nelson certainly isn’t the most caring individual-”
“The man’s an a*shole.”
“Language, Noah,” Mom warned.
I snorted. “You know it’s true.”
Mom grinned. “Yes, it’s true, but I don’t want you talking like that.” When Mom touched the alcohol to my cut, I jumped. “Sorry sweetie.”
“It’s okay. Just stings a little.” I would dare admit that it hurt like a bitch. Once Mom finished doctoring my eye, I fixed a heaping plate of French toast, bacon, and eggs.
With a pained expression on her face, Mom sat down next to me. “I’m so, so sorry I won’t be able to be with you at the funeral today, sweetie. I tried everything to get out of this C-Section, but I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” I mumbled, through a mouthful of food.
“Grammy will be there, and so will Uncle Mark and Aunt Eva,” she informed me.
All through my childhood, Grammy had been the ‘stand-in’ when mom couldn’t make it to things. But there were few times that I didn’t remember my mom being there. I don’t know how in the hell she did it, but she did.
“It’s okay, Mom. I mean, you spent all of yesterday at the funeral home with the Nelson’s. I’m sure they understand, just like I do.”
Her brows creased in worry. “I hope so.” Her expression then turned quizzical. “Are you nervous, you know, about singing?” she asked.
“Yeah, a little,” I lied. She didn’t need to know I could practically hurl the entire contents of my stomach up at the thought.
“You’re going to do great, Noah,” she replied. When I didn’t answer, she patted my hand. “It’s going to be fine, sweetie. I know it’ll make Mr. and Mrs. Nelson very happy.” I shot her a look, and she smiled. “Well, maybe Mrs. Nelson at least since the A*shole probably won’t care one way or the other!”
I laughed. “Nice language, Mom.”
With a wink, she replied, “I try.” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Better hurry up and eat. You need to get ready.”
The talk of the funeral had completed wiped out my appetite. I laid my fork down and pushed my plate away. “Yeah, I think I’ve had enough,” I said.
Mom nodded. “Okay then.”
“Thanks for fixing my eye.”
She didn’t blush quite as much this time. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh yeah and for fixing breakfast.”
“Once again, you’re welcome.”
I smiled at her and then hopped up from the table. I headed upstairs to take my shower. After I got out, I eyed the black suit my mom had laid across my bed. If it’s possible to actually hate a piece of clothing, I did that suit. My mom had bought it when my grandfather died. That was the only time I’d worn it. Now two years later, I had to wear it to Jake’s funeral. Who would have ever imagined? Of course, I’d had to get new pants since I kept shooting up. Another reason for Mr. Nelson to think I was a total fruit since what self-respecting 6’2 kid didn’t play basketball?
A*shole.
When I slid the jacket on, I cringed. Like most guys, I guess I’d never really dealt with my grief over Granddaddy’s death. I’d stepped up to the plate and been a man—you know, the strong, stoic one who everyone could count on, not the grieving grandson whose heart was shattered in jagged shards. My mom needed me desperately since she’d gone to pieces after Granddaddy died. As I slid on my tie, I tried to remember if I’d shed one tear since he died. The harder I tried, I still couldn’t remember the last time. I could feel the sobs rising slowly from the pit of my stomach—the same kind that had overtaken me at school. But I wouldn’t let them—not now. I had to keep it together.
I could almost hear Jake’s voice echoing through my head. F*ck dude, I’m really touched at this emotional shit-storm you’re going through just for me. Who knew you’d turn into such a sentimental p-ssy over my death? You’re one step closer to growing a vagina!
Those thoughts brought a welcomed smile to my lips and a burning pain through my chest. Even though Jake ragged the hell out of me, I missed it—I missed the jokes and teasing at my expense. That was just who he was—as Grammy would say, ‘It was all part of his charm.’ I paused in straightening my tie to rub my chest. Glancing up at the ceiling, I nibbled on my bottom lip for a minute. “Hey man…Jake…if you’re up there and you’re listening, I could really use some help to get through today. I wanna do right by you—I mean, your funeral is the last thing on earth we all can do for you. So give me a little of your swagger to tackle today, okay?”
Silence echoed back at me, but I slowly began to feel lighter—like peace was chasing away the heavy feeling. I cocked my head and grinned up at the ceiling. “Thanks man.”
I then hurried out of my bedroom and pounded down the stairs. After giving Mom a final kiss and hug, I hopped in my Jeep and headed to the funeral home. Instead the of the mini-panic attack I braced myself for when I pulled into Whitfield’s, a sense of calm washed over me and stayed with me through the next two hours before it was time to start to the church for the funeral.
Even though Jake had been cremated, his parents had selected eight guys to be honorary pallbearers. It ended up being Alex, me, Bubba-Sean and Ryan, and several of the football players. We each had a blood red rose on our lapels. We rode in a separate car behind his parents and brothers. As we got ready to pull into the church, I had never seen such a crowd. Cars were even parked along the highway. I shuddered at the thoughts of all those people—all those people I’d have to sing in front of. But more than anything, it was all those people I had to try to keep a hold of myself in front of.
The car pulled in the front of the parking lot, and we all hopped out. The funeral director started lining up the family members, and then he positioned us in front. I drew in a deep breath as he threw open the double doors.
The sound of everyone rising to their feet rumbled through the church like distant thunder signaling a storm on the horizon. As we moved towards the opened door, the aisle to the church altar stretched out endlessly before me. Jake’s urn sat on a pedestal at the top of the altar. It was bathed in multicolored light from the stained glass windows and surrounded by baskets of flowers. I could practically hear Jake’s voice in my ear. “Damn, makes me look kinda fruity, don’t ya think?”
Pastor Dan started in first—somber-faced and outfitted in his black mourning robe. The pallbearers were to go next. From all the way outside, I could hear the weeping. That same weeping had remained a constant ringing in my ears for the last forty-eight hours. It closed in around me, shrouding me in darkness.
I just wanted out.
I wanted to turn and run just like I had that day in the counselor’s suite. I was under water again—fighting to reach the surface, fighting for air, and most importantly, fighting for life.
A hand on my shoulder jolted me out of my thoughts. It was one of the funeral directors. “It’s time, son,” he whispered.
I nodded but putting one foot in front of the harder turned to be harder than I thought. Alex, who was walking beside me, gave me a little tug on my suit sleeve. Finally, I was able to lift my feet and start the march down the aisle.
The first pew on the left was reserved for us. The funeral director moved the red velvet rope blocking it off the same way a bouncer would at a club. Jake’s parents, brothers, grandparents, and slew of aunts, uncles, and cousins would be sitting on the right side.
Once all the family had filed into the church, Pastor Dan motioned for everyone to be seated. He gazed into the crowd and cleared his throat. “It is with heavy hearts that we come together today to say farewell to Jacob Anthony Nelson. Jake is survived by his father, Martin, who always supported him on the sidelines of sports and life.”
“A*shole,” I muttered under my breath.
Alex shot me a look.
“His loving mother, Evelyn, who…” I tuned out as the nerves overcame me. After the opening introductions and prayer, I was up. A sickening knot twisted in my stomach. I wasn’t ready for my first real performance to be in front of almost a thousand grief-stricken mourners. I tried to remember my mom’s reassuring words, but in the end, it didn’t help.
“Now, I’d like to ask our associate pastor to lead us in prayer. Let’s all bow our heads.”
I lowered my head, but it was a sham. I twirled my guitar pick anxiously between my fingers. I must have been pretty jerky because Alex leaned over and put his hand over mine. I didn’t realize I was practically bouncing the entire bench.
“Amen,” echoed throughout the church, and I jerked my head up.
“And now Jake’s best friend, Noah Sullivan, is going to sing Jake’s favorite song,” Pastor Dan said.
I practically bolted up from the bench—overcome with nervous energy. A hush came over the mourners as I strode across the pulpit. For once the cacophony of sniffling and sobbing ceased, and the sound of my shoes tapping along the floorboards echoed off the walls. Easing down in the chair, I propped the guitar on my thigh and adjusted the microphone. I drew in a ragged breath—trying to fill my lungs and steady my already out of control nerves. The irony that I was singing a song by a band who had lost members in a fiery plane crash wasn’t lost on me.
As I strummed the opening chords, I could almost see Jake in my mind—lighter in hand and a wide grin on his face. “FREE BIRD!” his voice screamed in my mind.
I pinched my eyes shut—fighting back the tears. I willed myself to focus on the chords—they were the only things keeping the melody and my sanity in check.
“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?” I sang. While the words flowed out of my mouth, I detached from the crowd and even myself. I wasn’t singing in front of a mass audience. I was somewhere else like in a weird out of body experience. It was truly freeing, and it was the only way I think I would have ever gotten through that song.
After I finished, the last chord still echoed off the walls. It was kinda an awkward moment because I don’t think people knew what to do. Should they applaud? Wouldn’t that be disrespectful? In the end, I just eased the guitar back onto the holder at the edge of the pulpit and went back to my seat. Alex gave me a reassuring smile and thumbs up sign. I mouthed a quick thanks.
After I got settled, Pastor Dan stood up again. “I’ve been asked by the Nelson family to say a few words about Jake. You know, it’s never an easy thing delivering a eulogy, especially for one so young. Jake and I came to know each other under some interesting circumstances,” Pastor Dan paused and smiled as a murmur of laughter rang through the crowd. Everyone remembered that a drunken ride on a lawnmower had brought the pastor and the hell raiser together.
“But I have to say the Jake I knew was quite a remarkable young man. During those two years, I saw him grow and change. He was truly evolving into a spiritual warrior.”
I slowly swiveled my head to look at Alex. He wore the same dumbfounded expression on his face as I did. Did Pastor Dan know the same Jake we did? Jake a spiritual warrior? He was more a Viking warrior—you know, pillaging and raping through villages. But with Jake, all of his women came willingly.
Yeah, it was true in the last few weeks that Jake appeared to be changing, but it would be hard for me to say I saw some ‘spiritual warrior’ in him.
Pastor Dan continued on. “I’ll never forget the smiles he brought to the faces of the children on the Pediatric Oncology floor, or the pride he felt when he helped rebuild homes in Mississippi damaged by terrible storms.”
I turned back to Alex. “What the hell? He told me he went to Mississippi to hook up with this college girl he’d met through Jason,” I whispered.
Alex nodded. “Same here.”
I didn’t dare look around at the other guys. I knew they were all experiencing the same “WTF?” moment I was, and if I saw their faces, I might lose it and start laughing hysterically.
Admittedly, in the last six weeks Jake had suggested he was turning over a new leaf. Making a vow to give up drinking and partying was one thing. But to work with sick kids on the cancer floor and rebuild homes in Louisiana was completely out of my realm of understanding and belief.
Pastor Dan did manage to hit upon some “truthful” things about Jake. He mentioned his gift at sports, his charming smile, and his ability to make girls swoon. I guess saying swoon was as g-rated as Pastor Dan could make it. I guess deep down he knew that Jake was a manwhore, but I’m pretty sure he would never admit it. I’m not sure why he ever let a guy like Jake spend so much time with his very unworldly daughter.
“And now, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson have asked my daughter, Maddie, and myself to sing Go Rest High On That Mountain.” Pastor Dan motioned behind us where I assumed Maddie was sitting.
At the mention of Maddie’s name, I straightened up on the pew. She came by me in a cloud of Noa perfume. I waited to see who would be joining them on the piano or guitar, but no one did. They sang the entire song A capella, and it was amazing. Their voices blended with such harmony that you felt like you were listening to seasoned professionals—not just a preacher and his kid. As a musician, I was floored, as a grief-stricken friend, I was totally moved, and as a red-blooded male, I was moved in an entirely different way by Maddie.
By the time they finished, the chorus of sniffling had returned. “Now we shall move on to the Rolling Hills Cemetery where Jake remains will be interred,” Pastor Dan said.
The funeral director motioned for the congregation to rise. Then he motioned for us. We all quickly hopped to our feet and started down the aisle. As I glanced at the faces, I was amazed at all the different groups of kids who had shown up for the funeral. I’d heard Dr. Blake had made an announcement that all students attending the funeral would be excused without penalty. I don’t know if some of the kids were there truly because of their feelings for Jake or if they were really there just to get out of school.
As we came out of the double doors, sunlight blinded our eyes. Even though I was outside in the fresh air, I still couldn’t get the sickening sweet smell of funeral flowers out of my nose. We were ushered to the car the funeral home provided for us.
The moment we pulled into traffic, Blaine cleared his throat. “So, uh, that was a nice funeral, wasn’t it?”
All of stared at him. I guess he was one of those people who couldn’t stand silence. I decided to take pity on him. “Yeah, it was.”
“Noah, I gotta ask something,” Andy Hiller said.
“What is it?”
Andy looked at the other guys before he responded. “Uh, did Jake really do all that stuff that Pastor Dan said, or was he trying to make Jake sound better—you know cause he died?”
Alex and I glanced at each other before I responded. “I really can’t answer your question. I mean, Jake never told me about any of that stuff, but Pastor Dan is a religious dude, so he wouldn’t have lied.”
The other guys nodded their heads in agreement.
“Maybe there was a lot about Jake that we didn’t know,” Alex suggested.
“He seemed pretty straight forward to me,” Tyler Mitchell mused.
“Yeah, parties, girls, and good times—that was the Jake I knew,” Blaine replied. He looked around at the other guys and shook his head. “I’m not sure I’d even want to believe that Jake Nelson was doing all those things Pastor Dan claimed he was doing. Hell, I liked him just the way he was!”
A chorus of “Damn rights!” rang through the car. Next to me, Alex remained silent, obviously overwhelmed by the drama of the ‘Two Jakes’. I kept my mouth shut as well, and so did Bubba, aka Sean and Ryan. I guess we all realized that driving home the point about Jake’s transformation would be meaningless to this crowd.
The cars wound around the circular main road of Rolling Gardens. It was a relatively new cemetery in town that was close to the interstate. High on a hill overlooking a pond was a mausoleum that held “Cremains”….a term I’d never heard of until Jake died.
The driver parked the car. While the other guys hopped out quickly, it took every last shred of strength and sanity to pull myself from the tinted glass limo. Once I put my feet on the ground, I fell back against the side of the car, shielding my eyes from the intense sun. Why the hell was it such a cheerful day outside? It was almost like the weather was mocking the emotions I felt. Dark clouds should be rolling in on the horizon while icy pellets of rain beat down on my back. Lightning, harsh and jagged as the pieces of my broken heart, should cut across the blackened sky.
Instead, a cloudless, cornflower blue sky stretched overhead. Birds chirped happily from their perches in nearby trees. It was all a f*cking sham.
I drew in a ragged breath. So this was it—the final finish of Jake’s funeral. I wasn’t sure I could stand idly by as they put what was left of my best friend into a mausoleum vault. Mr. Whitfield walked by us, reverently holding Jake’s urn. Suddenly, my mind wandered back to Jake’s “cremains” littering the floor of the funeral home. I wondered how in the world Mr. Whitfield had gotten Jake back in there. I hated to think of him whipping out his Dust Buster and vacuuming Jake up.
Tugging on my suit sleeve, Alex jerked me forward from both the car and my morbid thoughts. The massive crowd enveloped the marble mausoleum. Once everyone was assembled, Mr. Whitfield gave a nod, and Jason and Jonathan stepped forward. They both said a few words about their brother. It was mainly funny stuff that had the crowd roaring with laughter about Jake’s antics. After they finished, each of us pallbearers took off our boutonnieres. One at a time, we walked over to the open vault and laid out flower next to Jake’s urn. Then we stood and watched as the vault was closed. A marble tile already bore Jake’s name, birth and death dates, along with a saying: The life of one we love is never lost. Its influence goes on through every life it ever touched. Yeah, that summed up Jake pretty well.
When the crowd started breaking up and heading to their cars, Blaine stopped me. “Hey man, you’re coming to the party, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Good deal. Alex, you comin’?”
Blaine and I both turned to Alex who continued being uncharacteristically quiet.
“Uh, no, I gotta go make sure my passport is being renewed—you know, for our trip.”
Since freshman year, we’d all been planning on going to Brazil—Rio De Janeiro to be exact—when we graduated high school. My Aunt Eva’s family was from a small village outside of there, and Alex didn’t get to see his Brazilian relatives much. There were five of us going: Alex, Jake, Blaine, Tyler and I. Jake had been thrilled by the prospect of what he deemed ‘international ass’. Now, there would be only four of us unless we invited someone else.
“Bummer. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later,” Blaine said, then went off to talk to some of the other members of our group.
I cut my eyes over to Alex. “What’s up with the bullshit story?”
“What do you mean?”
“You took care of your passport renewal months ago. You did it when I went to get mine, remember?”
Alex shuffled on his feet and refused to meet my gaze. “Oh yeah, that’s right.”
“So what the hell is going on?” I demanded.
“I just don’t think it’s right—partying and drinking right after Jake’s funeral. There’s something kinda disrespectful about it, okay?”
That wasn’t exactly the answer I expected from him. But I understood what he meant. Jake would have thought we were both pansy party poopers, and I’m sure if it had been me that had died, he would have been leading a full charge to the nearest beer keg.
“Yeah, that’s okay, cuz,” I replied.
Alex looked relieved. “So we’re cool?”
I smiled. “We’re always cool, man.”
“Good,” he said. He saw where his mom was waving at him. “Shit, I guess I better go. Talk to you later?”
“Yeah sure.”
***