Chapter 11. Wow, I don't even know what to say. Did you know the 'n' in the 7/11 logo isn't capitalized?
There are original lyrics in here that I wrote myself. The tune is a cross between All Too Well by Taylor Swift, Vanilla Twilight by Owl City, and Hero from the Starstruck movie album.
I'd like to shout out Iconic Bubbles and L.E-Rae.
Iconic Bubbles – Thanks for being so patient with me, my forgetfulness, and my picky asterisks! You were super impressive with how much you knew about grammar and word choice. Thank you for all your help! I hope we could work together again, and feel free to enlist me if you ever need some beta-read!
L.E-Rae – This beta reader, unfortunately, had some things come up in her life and had to stop betaing for me, but I still wanted to thank them so much for the work they did on this story! They were so helpful in making sure Rachel was a strong and uplifting character, and also helped me make sure they weren't coming off as too annoying! Super, super great help!
I don't own Grojband
The Power of Prayer; The Rubicon(Rachel's Memoir)
Rachel approaches the wrapped copy of her book with the utmost reverence. Mom, Dad and I all stand crowded in the door way as she opens the letter affixed to the top of it. She recites it aloud for all us, but most of the letter notifies us of prices and deals the company offers. The personal notes from the editor are all in her book, which she opens with utmost care. She reads a few things off, and a couple are hurtful, but uplift her. She poured her soul into this, and it is beautiful.
In the back of the book is a list of possible companies that publish books like hers – in case. She decides to call each on the phone to narrow down her options. After that, she'll mail a copy to each so that she can see who will take it for the most.
I don't understand a lot of the things she talks about. The terms the book industry uses are so different from the music industry. Still, some of them make sense to me. A media platform, market rates, percentage of profits among others.
Rachel spends an hour on the phone and decides on a company called Weinefield which offers a 12% rate for the author. The numbers seem low to me since Grojband is paid a 26.6% rate. After I text Corey though, I learn that our number is higher than most other artists and bands. In the United States, it's common for artists to receive 6.6% of the money. Since I'm the producer and we're our own songwriters, we make more money than the average person in our business. That's a business move I myself proposed when we first started out. Who knew it'd make such a difference? On top of all these factors, we have a generous record label we go through. My dad helped me find it back when we looked to record our first studio album.
On the subject of our band, Rachel has a whole slew of lyrics she's decoded for our more upbeat pop-type song. I look over them, and can't find any faults, so I tell the band we're headed over and I drive to Corey's house. Mom sends us off with a large plate of cookies.
We arrive there before Kin or Kon, but Corey sits on the front step of his house to wait for us. His whole face lights up when he sees us, and he gives me a quick hug before he turns to smile at Rachel.
Rachel smiles back, and he lets us both into the garage. Kin and Kon show up about five minutes later as Corey reads through the lyrics with reverenced awe. "Wow." He says, breathless. "These are incredible."
"They are," I say as I reread over his shoulder. I put my hand on his shoulder. Kin doesn't look at anyone, only goes straight to the piano without a word.
"I can't wait to hear them." He calls as he sits down and plays a small intro.
"Is that for the other song, Kin?" I ask.
He nods his head. "I worked on it while Rachel was away."
"Here," Corey says. He picks up a recorder on the table and tosses it over his shoulder at him. "Record it and we'll work it later." Kin nods, and we all fall quiet as he plays. We look over all the lyrics and examine them for any final faults. The silence is helpful though because I can hear every note that Kin is playing, and they all break my heart. A ballad; this will be a ballad if the lyrics work well enough with it.
He keeps the song low, but there are moments where it climbs and builds. I glance up to gauge everyone's faces and see Rachel, who stares over at Kin, brow furrowed as she thinks. My only thought is "A great event is about to happen." I keep my eyes peeled for it.
After a while, Corey makes us all stand up and start rehearsal. Rehearsal helps. My fingers ache, but it helps ease the ache that lingers in my heart. Our big gig is now only a month away. For the first time, we play our song all the way through, and it is amazing, a crescendo of our souls. Rachel begins to cry at the end, but after such a long day I have no tears left.
It begins to rain outside as we finish up. When it rains in February, sheets of ice fall from the sky and cover everything. We rush outside and manage to pull Rachel's car into the garage. Another minute and we would have had to pick two inches of ice off the hood and windshield. Even so, ice covers it all. Corey leads Kin and Kon inside the house to call their parents. I start to follow, but then I hear a beep from one of the speakers in the garage.
I peek my head back in and see Rachel's sat down at the piano. She fiddles with the recorder Corey tossed Kin. She faces away as her long fingers struggle to turn it on and find the right track.
Silence, and then piano music. Kin's lithe fingers play ivory keys even though he is not present. He starts to build up the ballad, and I start to imagine the other instruments we could add. A freight train of pure emotion stops my thoughts as Rachel sings off a piece of lined paper.
"You pulled me down under, skin to skin.
Smiled before you forced me to give in.
Burned me and left me crying on the wayside.
I was clutching my bangs and thinking I'd lost my mind.
The red of the river tore into my soul.
The worst part was how you left me all alone."
There's an octave of high keys which I devised on my math homework. I can't believe this has come together so perfectly. I catch my breath.
"I thought we were friends, well I was wrong,
You put your hands places they didn't belong.
Silent agreements we made in the sun
Were broken as soon as the light was gone."
Rachel takes a deep breath. As for me, I have to remind myself to breathe as I wait for her to plunge ahead into the song.
"And I was falling, shattering like glass.
Twisting, and you started kissing;
Was 'no' too much for me to ask?"
"Pertinent, Persistent, Problematic,
Pretty wallflower,
Leaving the sting in the shower
Please watch the hour
Before you're losing your 'our'."
The music starts to climb. Like a little stepladder. Rachel's hand comes up to fix her curls before she belts out the prettiest notes I've ever heard.
"We crossed the Rubicon,
You're no longer my someone.
We lost it all.
You took my a, a, all!
My trials and their recompense
Customize my confidence.
In moments of silence, you haunt me, and I can't get away."
She's not the best singer. She spent years learning to write, not to sing. But I'm amazed by the sheer amount of power she can pack behind each phrase. She needs to learn better song annunciation, but there's so much emotion here that I'm amazed nonetheless. I clasp my hands to my cheeks in a mixture of shock, and sorrow, and amazement and my cheeks are wet. I guess I do still have a few tears left to spare for this, the prettiest song someone's blessed me to hear.
"Oh, oh, the Rubico-on."
I can hear her take a breath to steady herself, and then she continues.
"You asked for forgiveness,
Tried to fix your own mess
I laughed because I recognized how your lies would regress."
"Against cold bare stones in shades of blue,
The smell of new became the smell of you.
So the story goes, so they say.
No jewels could reclaim the price I paid.
For trusting you; for reasoning
Not going home, for continuing."
"When we crossed the Rubicon,
You lost me as your someone,
We lost it all when you took my a, a, all!
Now my trials and their recompense
All customize my confidence
In moments of silence, I can't scream, I can't sing,
I don't understand how your mark remains!"
Two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight counts she holds out that note, on a high Adele-type note. The kind that will echo onstage and reverberate into your skull. I feel like I'm about to faint.
"I'm forever looking for ways to escape,
To make sure I never have to break.
I have to watch the way I play.
Check all the friends that I gain,
Guard myself from the pain.
The sweat breaks out when I hear you
All alone, staring down the mirror,
It took years to learn to love myself
While I learned to be someone else.
My mind is filled with the scars of your plans.
All I know is that I never want to feel your hands
Again."
The music takes those low notes and scoops them up to turn them into a crescendo somewhere on Phantom of the Opera levels before there's a pause and Rachel can take her cue to start to sing.
"I will never forget the Rubicon,
Where you left me all by my lonesome.
I lost it all because you stole my a, a, all!
My trials and their recompense
Helped after you claimed my confidence!
All the time, every day, you haunt me,
And I, will never get… away."
She doesn't sing again. Kin finishes the song all on his own without any vocals, except for an interruption from Corey, who says: "Okay guys," at the end. Rachel sits still at the piano and wipes her eyes. Finally, she turns, swings her legs up over the bench, and stares straight at me. I don't know if she knew I was there or if she has to hide her surprise.
I walk over and look at the paper in her hands. "Here, take out Pertinent, Persistent, Problematic and it'll flow better."
She nods and avoids my eyes. "It's a beautiful song," I reassure her. "And you have a lovely voice."
"Thanks, Laney." She whispers.
I pull a box of tissues off of a nearby shelf and hand them to her. She wipes her eyes and blows her nose before she tosses it into the trash.
"Rain still going?" She asks. I nod.
"How are we going to go home?" She wonders.
"Well, you can still drive in the ice, but you'll need snow chains and the defroster on high."
"Sounds dangerous."
"It is. We could stay the night if you like?"
"I'd rather go home." She says. I understand and so I nod to show my support.
Corey's dad loans us snow chains, and we drive slow as we go home. Mom's left the porch light on in the dim light, and rock salt is already on the front walk to help prevent us from slipping. We run inside, take off our wet clothes, and she hands us hot chocolate. She leaves warm kisses on our cheeks and whispers that she's glad to have us home safe. We gather as a family in the living room and watch Rachel open her presents from Christmas time. She laughs with us, and there are four members of my family.
Rachel shows me all the things she brought from Vienna. Mom gets a pretty dress, and Dad gets a fancy watch, and she gives me a pretty little-carved gondola. For the first time in two months, I fall asleep to Rachel's music from her room. This time, both our doors are open, and the music thrums into my soul, massages my hurts, and guides me off to sleep.
Mom turns off Rachel's music later that night because she falls asleep with it on.
The school's delighted to have her back. Everyone waves and says: "It's good to have you back".
On the way home, Rachel and I spy a billboard that advertises the Battle of the Bands. We pull over and take a selfie. She puts it on her Facebook with the caption "It's almost here people! March 5th in Alms, live on the air at 8:00 Central Time! Tune in to see my cousin Laney and her band air two of their new songs!" My mom shares the post.
I receive lots of emails that ask me to schedule band gigs and promotional photo shoots. The whole band also gets lots of fan-mail to wish us luck. When I'm older and have the money to pay for it, I'll have a professional email filter that'll stop this problem. For now, I roll my eyes and click delete a lot.
Corey begins to freak out as the date grows closer. The calendar fills up with day-to-day band practices and meets grow longer as his anxiety mounts. Meanwhile, Rachel and I have our own special types of anxiety.
Rachel's comes in the form of roses, and cheesy cards, and boys who blush as they ask if she has a date for Valentine's Day. I can almost feel her mountainous guilt as she rejects each person as kindly as she knows how. Mine comes in the form of a single, deadly child's valentine.
"Will you be my valentine?" It reads. From Bryson. A little note is scribbled on as well: 'Can I pick you up for the fourteenth?' I show Rachel the card with a sigh and she pats my shoulder in sympathy. I don't know what to do. A solution presents itself though. Kon asks if I would like to spend the night together because he has similar problems. A bunch of fans have figured out he works at the animal shelter. With the looming concert and holiday, they've been hitting on him hardcore. He, like me, wants an easy way to let someone down. I tell Bryson how sorry I am that Kon already asked me, and Kon informs his fan circle he's already taken. For the holiday. We aren't desperate enough to pull off a fake relationship.
Since Kon and I don't exactly get along by ourselves well, we try and rope the rest of the band in with us. Kin's already has a date himself, who isn't Antoinette, so he bales. Corey has plans to pine after Rachel, who's condemned herself to the house with a box of chocolates for the night. We pull him along. On the 14th, we end up with this awkward threesome of Kon, Corey and I. We hang out at the café and buy milkshakes. Kon and I hand our money to Corey because he's the best talker and the two of us pick a quiet spot in the café corner.
Corey slides my shake in front of me and Kon's to him when he sits down. Corey remembered that I like chocolate, but he still buys a banana shake and guards it from me with a furrowed brow. Kon feasts on a strawberry shake with a goofy smile. I bought gifts for both of the boys: chocolates with little cards. Kon squints at his card and reads it aloud, which makes Corey laugh.
Corey leans back onto his chair and skims his card. I hold my breath in that special way you do when you wait for a miracle. He won't notice that I dotted all the 'I's' with little hearts, or that I signed it with love.
He doesn't, by the way.
Kon and I try to engage him and each other in conversation, but all our attempts seem to fizzle out after a few seconds. He is solemn.
Something I've been thinking a lot about is Cleo. The school announced her death on the announcements, like always, and her funeral is in a few days. The anger has fizzled out, and I understand what Rachel told me about. The hate doesn't change anything but me.
None of us have a car, so we're all picked up when it starts to snow again. Kon, who lives closest, leaves first with a handshake and a "Thanks for saving my butt, Laney."
Corey and I stand inside the double door area. We shift our weight atop soaked carpet where people have stomped snow off for hours. "Who's picking you up?" I ask as he flicks his wrist up to stare at the reflective surface of his watch.
"My dad." He murmurs as he focuses on bouncing the light of the street lamp onto the wall.
I shift my weight and examine my red boots. "At least you don't have to deal with Trina."
He nods. "I won't have to deal with her much longer at all. She was accepted to college."
"No way. Where?"
"Somewhere out of the province, I can't remember where. Dad told her she should do it."
"Let me guess, she wasn't sure about leaving because of _"
"Hunky Nik Mallory?" We say together and laugh. Nik Mallory is Trina's crush. When we were in middle school, we'd always use him to incite her in the hope she'd vent her feelings in her journal, so we could steal it. I fiddle with my scarf. I wish I'd brought a thicker jacket. Someone opens the door and I shiver. A heavy weight falls around my shoulders. I look up as Corey adjusts the collar of the jacket he just took off around my neck with a furrowed brow.
"Oh, you don't need to do that," I say. He waves me off.
"I brought two heavy coats." He laughs. "The way you dress Laney, I mean, you'd think that life in Canada would have taught you to dress warmer."
We laugh together, with the comfort of years between us. Then we stand side-by-side and watch the snow fall outside for a minute. "You dress like Rachel." He murmurs, too quiet. We watch a car speed past the café. Slush spits out from underneath the wheels and splatters against the window.
He sighs and rubs his face a little. I put my hand on his shoulder. He too has gotten taller this past year. I feel like I've shrunk. "Corey, I'm sorry," I mutter.
"Not your fault." He whispers.
"Corey," I say, and search for the words. "Rachel… she- she's not interested. She's not."
He sighs. "It must be me. What am I doing wrong? We've been friends all this time, and I don't understand."
"Corey, it's not your fault." I hush him. "Listen, Rachel, I don't know what's going on with her, but she's seen some real stuff, Corey. And she doesn't want people to come on to her. And you haven't been trying to be her friend; you've been trying to be her boyfriend." I put my arm around his shoulder as best I can and lean my head onto his arm. "I mean… back off. She doesn't want that right now."
"Well then when?" He growls, frustrated with himself.
"Never?" I whisper. He sighs and shakes my arm off. I swallow, and turn away, but then his hand falls on my shoulder, again.
"Sorry." He mutters. "I didn't mean to hurt you… pushing you away I mean."
I try to shrug. "It's whatever." I breathe. We lock eyes. Everything feels still. Almost like the ventilation has stopped working in this room. I gulp. His hand slides down my arm and his fingers graze my wrist. I move my hand to take his, and our fingers lock. He blinks, long and slow.
"What is this?" He mutters quietly. We move closer. I can smell banana on his breath. For a moment, I think we're going to kiss. I know he thinks it to because he slows his breath down and bites his lower lip for half-a-second. But without a verbal agreement, we both agree to miss each other. I put my chin on his chest with our hands still tangled between us. His other hand comes up to comb gently through my hair. I hear him breathe a sigh of relief. I breathe one too as I turn to look out towards the road.
Another car comes spitting through the slush. The grey watermarks climb higher on the glass. One more follows behind it and pulls into the parking lot. It parks in front of the diner, and my phone buzzes against my stomach. Corey lets me go. I look at my phone. "Here." A text from Mom reads.
"My mom's here," I tell him. He nods. I loop my arm through his for a moment, lean up and kiss him on the cheek. "Bye Corey," I say.
"Happy Valentine's day." He replies with a single, true smile. I go to take off his jacket, but he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
"Keep it for tonight." He says. "You know where to find me." I nod. We untangle our arms, and I step out into the snow. I hold the hood out in front of my face and bend forward to avoid the knives of cold that slash my cheeks. Inside the car, Mom's already turned my seat warmer on. She hands me a mug of hot chocolate and checks my seat belt before we go anywhere. It is only on nights like these I fear a car crash. I watch the flashes of lights slide by on the car's paint, and almost fall asleep to the snowfall.
Once inside our home, Mom kisses my forehead and whispers: "Love you." I stumble up the steps and turn the corner into the upstairs hallway. A voice comes from the bathroom.
"You promised you wouldn't. You promised." A hiss, a cry of a voice. Rachel, but I tone I've never heard her take. I swear I don't mean to eavesdrop, but somehow, I find myself leaning towards the door.
"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh." She whispers. The sound slides under the door. I hear coins rattle before they all fall to the ground. "Get it together." She hisses. I hear her exhale.
"I promised I wouldn't hate you. I promised myself I wouldn't hate you. And I will get over this if it's the last thing I ever do."
I raise a knuckle to the door and tap. Her breath stalls.
"Rachel?" I call. "What's going on in there? Are you alright?"
The knob turns, and Rachel appears, leaning against the door frame. She holds up her phone with a smile. "Everything's fine Laney." She smiles. "I was watching a movie."
She's smudged the corners of her makeup. As she flicks her phone up, I see messages covering her screen. Her voice is off-key.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
She nods.
I force a smile and lean forward to hug her. She hugs me back, and I lean up and whisper: "Liar." She flinches, and I swallow.
"Don't hurt yourself. Please. You can talk to us. Mom or Dad or I. We're here." She nods and focuses on the ground. "Goodnight," I tell her.
"Goodnight," she says. She closes the door and I hear the shower start. I wrestle out of Corey's coat and my clothes in my room and fall asleep with my radio on. The last song I hear is 'A Pill in Ibiza', which has always been an ominous warning to us in the band. I shiver before I drift off, and not from the cold.
I've never been religious, cue backstory where my parents both didn't like church. Rachel goes every once in a while, so she tells me. On Christmas and Easter, for sure. Out of everyone in our household, Rachel's the most religious, but she traveled too much to make church work before she came with us. Now, she hasn't tried.
The church is cold when we first step inside. It's a stone structure that carries a draft no matter how much plaster is on the wall. It smells like flowers and an unholy stench of rot that may be the corpse. I take a stronger whiff. Yes, that's it.
Mom's walks in with me, but my right side feels bare with the cold and without Rachel to guard me. She's out of town for the weekend, stuck in a conference of things I don't understand for her book.
We pick an empty row near the front of the chapel. The Pastor comes by to thank us for coming. He asks us our names, asks whether we go to church, and Mom smiles and deflects the second question.
Cleo's mom is an overweight lady who, despite having packed on a few extra pounds, is quite lovely. She looks like she has a lot of baby fat. She wears grey, which helps give her the appearance of basking in moonlight. She could be a magazine feature if not for her devastated expression.
Her dad stands a short distance away and talks to someone who looks like a church official. He has a strong jaw and big ears. He looks like a Chinese man I saw speak in a documentary in science class once. Maybe that's where his family comes from. His eyes and nose are small and red from crying so much. These are the people who have to lay their daughter to rest today.
"Does this church believe in the afterlife?" I ask Mom. She shrugs, which indicates she does not know.
I leave the room and go to wander around the small church. I sing a little because the rooms have good echo and singing helps me relax. I guess everything sounds better at church.
I stand for a long time under a gruesome painting of the crucified Christ. To some, it may be glorious, but to me, it is only upsetting. I turn my head away and return to the chapel.
The room has begun to fill. People are everywhere. It's like I'm trapped at portrait day with my family again. Mom has dissolved herself into conversation with the other mothers. I go to stand by her, hoping a purpose will come to me in this quiet room.
"Here she is." Mom murmurs when I sit beside her. "This is Laney, my sunshine. I didn't know Cecilia, but Laney did. I'm here for her." Cecilia? That was her name?
"Yeah," I say. "We weren't close friends, but I tried to be there and…" The words freeze in my throat. I blubber like a fish, trying to figure out why they won't work.
One of the moms puts a hand on my shoulder. "That's quite alright, dear. We're all upset she's passed now." Passed? She took herself out, and they're making it sound like she fought a disease and fell through in her sleep.
I smile and nod and turn away again. I hear a faint quack, and my eyes flick all the way across the room, where I see a yellow fluff walking along the back of a pew. I rush over and discover Antoinette hiding as she watches Ames waddle along the wood.
"Hey," I say as I stand above her.
"Hey cuddle bug." She says. She sounds dehydrated. I fish in the pocket of my dress for chapstick. "Here," I say as I hand the tube to her. "It's brand new. You can keep it." I laugh a little. "Put it in your locka or somethin'." She smiles and sniffles. I pick Ames up and put him on her shoulder. "Come on. Let's put some water in you."
I guide her out into the foyer and we find a little water fountain on one side of a hallway. There are pieces of gum that clog the drain a little. Must be the holy gum.
I stand over her while she takes a long drink, and we lean against the wall together.
"Her name was Cecilia?" I ask.
"Gosh, I ain't called her that in years." Antoinette remarks as she holds her stomach. I wonder when the last time she ate was.
"How'd she get the name Cleo?"
"Her momma called her that. I elongated it." She says, enunciating every syllable in 'elongated'. She sniffles. "Mah poor Cleopatra Sugar-Shins."
I hug her. "Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not. I'm… gonna leave here soon." Antoinette doesn't meet my eyes. "My mom checked me into this rehab center. Hopefully, it'll help me calm down and recover." She holds up her shaky hands.
"Oh," I say. I sound hollow. "When will you be back? Can I write to you?"
"No. They don't let me have contact with friends. Only parents. I'll be back in May if everything goes okay." She tries to swallow. "I wanted to see her funeral before I go. Have you – Have you seen the body yet?" She asks with her lower lip trembling. I shake my head. I'm not sure I want to. Even so, Antoinette determines to show me. In a side room off the chapel, people walk in a long line to see the deceased. It smells like metal in here. My stomach rolls.
They picked out a lovely coffin. It's almost gold in color. Antoinette is the one who leads me up to it. I can't walk. When I see her, my heart doesn't make the jolt I thought it would. She looks lovely, much lovelier than I ever saw her in real life. Almost as pretty as Rachel. You could never tell when she was alive because she cried all her pretty away. They've curled her hair and it looks like it's true brown instead of that dead-dirt color. They've closed her eyes and put mascara on. The eyes that were always red are now covered with sparkly eyeshadow, invisible to the light. Her eyeliner has patterns, with dots scattering the expanse of her eyes. An off-red, summer canyon color graces her lips and looks almost natural. They corrected the tear damage with even layers of foundation and blush. The smallest of beauty marks graces her upper right cheek. She looks girlish, with a round face and her plaited lip. A memoir to how young she was when she left us. She even wears a girlish dress with a high waistline on her ribs. Her hands lay folded across her chest, nails white with little red dots. I swallow.
"Who did her up?" I ask.
"Dunno," Antoinette replies. Her eyes shift around the room. She held strong as she came in here, but she fears the human race. Her greatest fear is being hurt again. "Wish they could do me though. I'd like to look like her all the time."
"You're lovely no matter what," I reassure her. Metal rings and shaved hair included, Antoinette is still a picture. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about her.
I look back at Cleo. "Rachel once mentioned she considered mutilating herself so people would leave her alone."
Antoinette nods. "I'd believe it, poor girl. Ever heard of breast ironing?"
"No."
"Awful thing. Don't ever do that." She shakes her head, and I examine the coffin again.
Unlike in movies, the coffin has nothing in it except the corpse. Nothing even clutched in Cleo's hands.
"What was Cleopatra buried with?" I ask.
"Gold, rubies, and riches untold," Antoinette replies. She brushes Antoinette's hair with her fingertips and leans down to kiss her forehead. The nostalgia is stifling. "Wish you could see yourself now, Sugar-shins. You wouldn't want to leave us here."
Her voice breaks, so I put an arm around her shoulder and lead her away. She snags a bunch of tissues on the way out.
"You're getting to be a little more comfortable with people," I mention as we weave our way around a group of women.
"Still have my falling-outs," Antoinette mutters. "Your cousin gave me a little talking-to at your party, and I thought: 'Hey! She can do it.' Gave me goals. Managed to talk to your friend Kin the other day."
"You better watch Kin. He… he has a fancy for you." She nods.
"I know, and I know you have your hopes, but Laney, I'ma stop you right there." She stops in the aisle and pulls me to face her. "It'll never come to pass, Juliet. He's gonna grow up and I'm gonna grow up, and I'm sure he's nice but I have some real crap to deal with. And I'm not there." She laughs. "I swing the other way, cuddle-bug." We resume walking.
Something tickles the back of my brain. "What did Rachel say to you, at my party?"
"Shared her story and thoughts." Antoinette's lip ring catches the light as she turns to smile. I furrow my brow, and her smile drops. "Oh, she not tell you?"
I try to shrug it off. "It's no big deal. She has lots of things she doesn't tell me, because it isn't my business."
Antoinette stares for a while, and then brushes my bangs out of my face. "Dunno who she's fooling." She says. "It's obvious you're growing up."
We sit with my mom during the ceremony. They wheel her out, all pretty, and the audience rises as she passes by. They invite everyone up for one last look at her. Mom and I go up hand-in-hand, but there are too many people for Antoinette. She stays behind.
"Oh." Mom says as we make it up to the front. "She's lovely."
I swallow. "I didn't know her when she looked like this. I only knew her crying." A strong hand lands on my shoulder, and her dad leads me away.
"Miss, what's your name?" He asks.
"I'm um, Laney. Penn."
"Well, I heard you Laney, and I wanted to say I knew she was going through rough times. We got the story from her, and we tried everything but nothing helped. I know what you meant because when they wheeled her out I didn't recognize her either." He gazes back at the coffin, filled only with his daughter's stiff body. "For weeks the only makeup she put on she cried off no matter how waterproof. She'd eat her feelings and throw them back up again. She didn't want to be without us but she couldn't have us in the room either. The boys wouldn't quit, as you know, and they never got evidence to convict." He swallows.
"I didn't know her like this. I only knew her hurting, and little. So, I want to thank you for remembering her alive, but remind you that it's better for her to be gone now." He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and blows his nose. "I'm sorry." His voice is shaky. "I don't remember where I was going with this."
"It's okay." I say to him. I don't understand, but I don't want to say anything. He smiles, and nods, and we all sit down for the service.
I don't go to many funerals, so I guess it's about like every other funeral. They read her obituary, and have people stand up to talk about her. Her dad stands up and shares memories. How she loved carrot cake and would always steal her mother's mascara. Her mother recalls Christmases they had together and talks about how Cleo loved red. She also shares her thoughts on being the mother of such a vivacious young woman.
They don't mention her assault.
The bishop is the second-to-last person to stand up.
"I have been a bishop for twenty years, and yes, I have attended many funerals. The saddest ones are always those when the people leaving the world were too young to leave us in the first place. It is always saddening to watch others leave those people who are most precious to them behind. I remember how my heart filled with joy as a young man when my father spoke at the funeral of my grandmother. He reminded us all that funerals, while they celebrate the dead, are for the living. We gather to remember someone loved in the hearts of each of us.
"I would now like to remind this people of our God, who is watchful and mighty over us all. He knows the hurts of your heart over this calamity and will wash our souls in his blood at the last day. There will be an afterlife and the doctrine and gospel of god is true. I know even now that Cecilia is being lifted up into God's arms and he is washing her hurts in the blood of redemption. Dear brothers and sisters, it is okay to mourn. But may we all remember that Cecilia is in a better place."
The pastor sits down, and Antoinette stands up beside me. She walks down to the pulpit, straightens up, and turns her body so she can watch the people behind her. People in the crowds exchange glances. Some smirk and others let out breaths. She pulls the microphone down and takes a deep breath.
"They asked me to speak on Cleo as well." She starts. "But I didn't feel like sitting up here to watch all you judge me because I don't look like you." She twists one of her nose rings. "Cleopatra was my best friend for most of my life. I knew her before she was Cleo and back when she was Cecilia." She snorts. "By God, I hate that name." She wipes her eyes. "Cleo was one of the best people I ever knew because she refused to show herself for anything other than what she was. And what she was was a beauty child. She was tantalizing and loved the feel of morning dew on her feet and the scent of dirt. She liked to grow things like corn, which I never understood because I hated corn."
She wipes her eyes, turns to look at the bishop, and leans back towards the microphone. "I'm so angry at her for leaving. She wasn't supposed to leave me, and I refuse to believe her death was anything but a murder. She held the gun, but others pulled the trigger. I'll never be able to take her to go see that movie Friday night. We'll never be able to find out who wins the basketball tournament together. She won't have a chance to learn physics next year and the last we'll ever see of her is her corpse. Death may be a relief to her, but I hate her for leaving the rest of us to pine. What can I do though? She was never gonna hide herself like the rest of us." Antoinette sets a hand to her cheek and begins to sob. She pushes the microphone away and tries to recompose herself, but it is too late. She hurries off the pulpit and toward our row.
Mom makes it to her first and encircles Antoinette in her arms. I sit there and rub Antoinette' back to try to draw her sorrow out of her. The church sings 'Nearer My God To Thee', and they close the casket. The men wheel the casket out to the church graveyard, where a six-foot-deep grave waits. They lower her down, the bishop blesses the grave, and everyone throws in a handful of dirt. Antoinette leaves early, and after she is gone Mom and I agree to leave.
As we tromp back to the car, the February snow sticks in our shoes.
Easter Eggs:
That song is called Rubicon; Rachel's memoir. It is written about Rachel and dedicated to anyone who has ever suffered an attack or any sort of emotional trauma. As of the time I release it, it will be protected under creater's copyright and also under Wattpad restrictions. All Rights are Reserved, you will need to request written permission if you want to use the lyrics anywhere.
Cleo's entire funeral scene is a conglomeration of the funerals I remember. My Aunt Cathy was one, then my great-grandma and great-grandpa were another, and also a family friend who succumbed to illness before she could marry her girlfriend. It was pretty tough for me to write.
The religion I wrote of isn't based off of any religion. I'm from the Mormon faith, but they don't really talk like this…. I wrote about basic Christian beliefs and I'm not trying to demote a particular sect at all.
The reason they sing 'Nearer My God to Thee' is because that's the Titanic song.
Everyone throwing in a handful of dirt is a reference to Carrie Underwood's song Two Black Cadillacs even though I know people do that normally. I just had her song in mind when I wrote that and that's where it came from.
**One deleted lyric from the two songs here is 'slush spitting under wheels as we made our deal'. It's a derivative from Laney and Corey's moment in the restaurant.**