We Remember Him
"Are you really going to wear all black?" Jason asks, eyebrow raised.
Nadia stares into the mirror. Her round face was in a fixed expression, and had been every moment she had any control. Jason had liked it when she wore things with color. She doesn't own anything with colors that fits. Damn.
Just in case, she goes through her pile of clothes again. Nothing. She rechecks her closet drawers, and, pushed to the far back, are the earrings her dad had given her. She immediately puts them in, enjoying the memory of her and Jason dancing around together after auditions. Her mind quickly reminds her there's no chance of that again, and she goes back to looking. Why does everything have to remind her of him? Fucking twin.
She digs deeper in the bottom-most drawer, finally seeing the bright green sweater that she'd outgrown two years ago. "C'mon, sis, you need something school colored," Jason told her, chuckling, when she opened her Christmas present. She turns to look out her window. It's hot and cloudy outside. Fucking New Jersey. Well, it's that or the black ensemble.
"Are you really going to wear all black?" he asks her again.
---
Nadia looks in the mirror and grunts. Sweaters are not her thing, as proven by the way the damn thing clings to her every fat roll. She looks like a bumpy blimp, her eyes are swollen, her earrings are dumb, and green is nasty on her. Especially when it's bright, florescent green. And if the lack of air flowing through her window in any indication, she will certainly have a heat stroke at the grave site. Problem solved, she'll be with Jason again.
At the hospital, Nadia's father broke down. He yelled at her, "It should have been you to die!" in the morgue. Her mother begged him to stop making a scene, and begged Nadia to not listen to him. When he calmed down, that was it. None of them have spoken to each other since then, unless it was to discuss funeral plans or her father mumbling the question, "God, why not her?" Nadia just tightens her jaw as he cries in the driver's seat, repeating it again and again. Silently she wonders, Why not you?, but regrets it immediately. No one should die. This is too miserable.
When they arrive to the funeral home, Nadia makes a beeline to the pet shop next door. Peter is sitting on the sidewalk in front of the parking lot. His face is red and his eyes are swollen, but there are no tears. He must have cried them all already. She knows that feeling.
"Hey," she says, trying to sound strong and cheerful. She sounds quiet and strained.
Peter looks at her, eyes empty. "Am I still not allowed in?"
"Dad's an asshole," she answers.
"What the hell?! Why is he doing this? Shit, it's not even just to me. He's not letting anyone but your dumb family in! No offense, but you and I were more his family than anybody. Jason was my--" he chokes on a sob, pulls his knees tight to his chest, and squeezes his eyes shut. The visitation and funeral had been designated as family only, despite the desires of a broken community. "Too embarrassing," her dad had told her mother matter-of-factly while she cried into her vodka. It was no secret that it was an easy way to keep Peter out too.
Nadia sits down beside him, and awkwardly rubs his back. He leans back, and calms himself down. He had also thought he was out of tears.
He stands up and holds a hand out to her. She ignores it, and stands up on her own.
"They're going to close the casket soon," she whispers, as if saying it loud would make it happen faster.
Peter tries to hold back a whimper. "Yeah. I guess I'll see it when they move it to the hearse. Mom and I are going to follow the procession so I can... when it's over...," he sighs.
"That's a good idea, I guess."
The pair walk over to the hearse. Peter runs his hand along the side, staring at it as if he needs to memorize every detail. He gives Nadia a vague wave as she silently makes her way for the front door.
The family tries to hug her as she hustles through the crowd, but she jerks away from them, not listening to Grandma McConnell's tongue clucking or the worried whispers between her aunts and uncles.
Jason and his casket have been deserted in the chapel. Most of the family got their goodbyes out at the visitation. Her mother must have just left because she could still smell the trail of some French perfume. Nadia walks up to it, to him, and stares at Jason in disbelief. They have never been apart since conception. Then the thought really hits her --
This is the last time she'll see her brother face-to-face ever.
"Damn you, Jason," she says, trying to control her tears. "I fucking love you." Her voice cracks, shocking her a little. She bends to kiss his forehead, and holds his hand. She didn't get this kind of private time yesterday.
She leans in closer to get a good look at his face. Jason looks peaceful, but it's all wrong. They shouldn't have arranged an 18 year-old boy's features into the numb, dead expression Grandpa McConnell had worn. Jason was never calm. He was always busy, always smiling, and, really, always faking people out.
The fierce desire for him to do that now causes her heart to leap, and then shatter. He isn't faking her out. He can't be busy anymore. She has never known so many things about him. They hadn't ever talked the way she had dreamed they would, the way he probably needed. Now he is a deceased, decaying body of an 18 year-old drug and suicide statistic.
She prays. She prays one last time to wake up.
She doesn't.
God hates her.
She runs her fingers through Jason's hair and whispers, "I love you."
Nadia forces herself to turn around right then and leave. Her cell phone says they should be lining up to go to the cemetery any minute. She suddenly realizes she didn't say anything for Peter, but she can't turn back now. Nadia thinks back to Jason, Peter loves you too, and wants to be right here, but, of course, Dad is being a motherfucking asshole.
She hurries outside, and meets Peter in the pet shop parking lot.
"How does he look?" Peter asks, trying to act like he doesn't care that he couldn't go see for himself.
"Old," Nadia responds vaguely, as if it doesn't matter.
The funeral directors are assisting the pallbearers with the casket. Peter and Nadia watch it until it is safely loaded into the back of the hearse.
"We are so in love," Peter mumbles.
Nadia squeezes his hand. "We all love him."
Peter jerks and gives Nadia a worried and apologetic expression. "Sorry, I don't mean that you—"
"Shut up, I know," she snaps.
"I need to get in the car. I'll see you later?"
"Okay," she responds.
Nadia stands up, ignores Peter's wave, and suddenly feels like she is headed to the guillotine. She suddenly feels hot again in the ill-fitting sweater, and pulls at the neck. It doesn't help at all. She takes a step, there's air conditioning in the car. But each small step, she realizes, takes her closer to the cemetery, to Jason being put in the ground out of her reach. She bites her lip. Step. Step. Step.
"Nadia, hurry up!" her mother yells. The car is already at the front of the line. It's a huge freaking line, so Peter must not be the only funeral crasher.
When she makes it to the car, she goes around to sit on her side. When they were younger, before Jason got the red Mustang, they each had their side in the car. They always sat on the other's so they could fight the whole way. Maybe this time she'd let him have his side. His party, after all.
Party. Huh. Well, this is the first big party they've ever had separate. Probably a good thing, seeing as Peter is barely getting by, even with her here.
God, today sucks.
She focuses her negative energy on the hearse. She imagines hundreds of crash scenarios, including those with zombies and aliens. She smiles every time the hearse goes up in flame.
Then she realizes her fucking brother is in there. Never mind.
Fuck you, hearse.
She looks at the clock. Three minutes have passed. How is she supposed to survive the 20 minute drive to the cemetery?
"God, why wasn't it her?" her father cries out.
"Go to hell!" she screams. Her mother yelps in pain. Nadia can't take this right now.
"I wish your ugly, fat ass would have stolen those damn pills, and taken them! You could've done one service for your God-damned family!"
"I could say the same to you! You're a hateful, selfish--"
"STOP IT!" her mom yells, collapsing on herself.
Her dad presses his lips into a straight line, tears cascading down his face. Nadia begins crying, looking hopelessly at Jason's side of the back seat.
A quick look at her cell phone tells her it's only been one – oh, wait, two more minutes. Shit.
Maybe it'd be better if they all crashed. Or maybe she should have climbed in the car with Peter and his mother. At least they don't fight.
---
By the time the procession arrives at the grave site, Nadia is a wreck. She pulls her cello out of the trunk, thanking whatever is up there that her mom wants her to play at the funeral. This beautiful instrument has been her savior the past few days. Nothing cares for her the way it can.
Everyone sits down, and Father quickly makes his way up to the front, tripping over a chair. She's never seen him less than graceful before. He delivers the crap they always do at funerals: eternal life and dust to dust. Nadia no longer cares. God abandoned her family. God took her brother. What does she care about him? When "Amazing Grace" is announced she jumps to her feet. She pulls the unstable folding chair in front of Jason, and begins to play.
The weight of her pain flows into the strings, and the notes swim from beneath her bow through the crowd. It's good that she can't sense the grateful, impressed stares with whispers of, "How nice." She wouldn't know how to handle them.
When the song is over, the ceremony is ended with a few more words from the priest. She and her parents watch as Jason is lowered into the ground, and are left alone.
A span of time which is forever and a second passes, and her father says, "Let's go home." He begins to walk away, arm around her mother, and says nothing when Nadia doesn't follow.
b bac 2nite her mother texts her.
When Nadia is sure they are gone, she looks at the hole housing her brother. She wants to cry, but can do little more than grimace.
"I need you, Jason. You're my brother, dammit!" she growls, flopping down beside him.
Peter quietly comes to sit with her, face red and wet. He pulls Nadia to his shoulder. She's too defeated to act strong, and the two take comfort in each other.
After a long while, Peter nudges her. "Lucas sent me a letter from jail."
Nadia's eyes slit in anger. "Yeah?"
Peter sighs. "Yeah. He says he had no idea Jason was going to use it all at once. He thought it would be like a summer stash or something."
She snorts. "Lucas should have known better. He probably did." Nadia blames Lucas completely. He sold the drugs, and Jason died from using the drugs.
Peter shrugs. He doesn't want to argue this with her. Not that he isn't angry at Lucas too, but it could be an honest mistake. Lucas and Jason were friends, and he probably had no idea Jason was suicidal. It probably didn't matter either way. What happened, happened. Whatever.
"Are you going to be okay, Peter?" she asks, her eyes searching his.
"I think so," he answers with some hesitation. "You?"
"I was never going to be okay anyway," she tells him with a forced grin, trying to make a joke, but failing miserably.
"Do you want to come over? Your dad is an asshole."
Nadia nods, and stands up. "We should leave. He'll still be here when we want to visit."
Peter grins. "For once, he'll be easy to find."
They laughed, more to relieve the stress than anything else.
"God, I'm tired," Peter mentions.
"Get over it," Nadia laughs, bumping into him.
They smile at each other, and get in the car. She plans on making time for a long talk with Peter about the Jason he knew. Maybe she can share something, too. They both need Jason, and maybe through each other they can have him.
Claire barely turns on the radio before the two fall asleep. She turns up the air-conditioning too, because Nadia must be scorching in that sweater.
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Disclaimer: I make no money, and I do not own bare.
Notes: This is for quinby on livejournal.