.
THE DAY AFTER
5. The Prowers That Be.
[TAILS, David Macintyre]
Sometimes I think the Powers That Be get their kicks out of fucking with my life. Not to mention my mind. Too much insane shit has been happening to me lately to have any other explanation.
That's the only thing on my mind now, that and how worried I am that I or any member of my family could be next, when I'm supposed to be thinking about how much I miss Meaters already. I'm probably one of only four people who aren't crying at the moment, out of something like fifty. A Prower funeral always turns out to be something of a family reunion.
The first person not crying. Me, obviously. I've got a lot on my mind, okay? Sue me if you think I'm being insensitive.
The second, the bishop himself, reading out his psalms or hymns or whatever the fuck they're called. He wouldn't be crying anyway.
Third, Meaters himself, so horrifically dead that he was cremated BEFORE the service began. I can't imagine a whole lot of people would want to be saying goodbye and holding his hand when he looks like a piece of very stiff, wrinkly paper. Besides his reddish fur, anyway. He even still had his face locked in a scream.
And fourth, most surprising of all, Meaters' own little brother, Kays. My cousin, probably my favorite cousin, Amy's age. He's two or three years younger than Meaters, but taller. Definitely taller than me, by about shoulders and a head. I'd think HE of all people would be the most affected by the death, besides his parents. But no.
Kays is sitting next to me, matter of fact. I can't really tell what his expression is. His red hair is nicely combed, as always, hanging down to the middle of his shoulder blades. His forelocks hang on either side of his eyes, covering part of his mouth. I can't tell if he's got that scheming smile he always seems to wear.
Like me, he's wearing a tux. But mine has a gray jacket. His entire outfit, minus the white shirt, is dark matte black.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure how much time he actually spent with his brother.
The dark, wooden seats, fancily dressed preacher, and stain glass windows that bring on a depressing atmosphere don't seem to do much for his usual nonchalance.
It's a sobering thought to think that lately, I've been becoming more and more like him.
He's a little different from me when it comes to his thoughts, though, but in a nicely blending sort of way. He schemes, I build. He's the talk, I'm the do. I'm the brains, and he's the mastermind. A lot of the family think that if we hung out more, we'd eventually be famous for some half assed reason.
It seems like we should be closer than we are. Hell, most people would think we'd be inseparable. But we're not. End of discussion.
I hear him sigh loudly. It sounds like a mixture of remorse and boredom, but there's no sadness in it.
Cold. Frigid. Stone. No sadness for the death of his older brother.
I'm just becoming
More
like
him
I really
shouldn't
be
like
this
It's not
something
to
be
proud
of
Why
am
I
acting
like
this
I
was
a
hero's
best
friend
once
Now
I'm
just
acting
like
a
total
dick
"Wake up, man."
I look over to the left at the sound of Kays' smooth voice.
I notice a glimpse of moisture around the bottom of his eye.
At least he's not totally cold.
"Is it over?"
Apparently so; the family and whatever friends are here are all standing up to organ music, filing out of the room while some of them go to collect the body. Or what's left of it.
"Yeah. I suppose we go to bury him now, huh?"
"That WOULD be traditional. But I suppose keeping the box of ashes on the coffee table would make for a good conversational piece."
"Ah. Of course, 'Tails' Prower and his famous sense of good décor."
Surprisingly enough, we choose to walk to the burial when asked, rather than ride with our parents. Hell, it's only a block.
A few others have followed in our footsteps, an uncle and some niece of mine I don't know about. I try to keep my voice down when Kays talks to me.
"So… you worked with that Sonic guy, didn't you?"
Sensitive topic.
"Think he did it?" he asks.
I don't look towards him.
"I KNOW he did it."
"Yeah, well… you know, the police were probably waiting for a chance like that. Make some big news, frame him by faking a DNA test. Big news."
"Ah. Of course, Kays Prower and his famous sense of needless skepticism."
"Shut up, Tails."
This is why we aren't closer. We'd rather be rivals. If I was the same height as him, it might help. If I got as many girls as he did, it might help. If I looked as cool in a suit as he did, it might help.
"You know, you don't seem too choked up about it. He WAS your brother."
"That BOY was an idiot," he says coldly, his eyes still not turning to mine. "I feel the way the rest of the family does, dead on the inside, but unlike them, I'm not openly soaking my crotch over it."
I'd forgotten how dark he could be.
He didn't used to be like this. Truth be told he was once the crybaby of the family. Then when he turned thirteen he started becoming somewhat cynical. Like I am now.
Maybe this is a genetic thing. Maybe I can't fight it. Maybe it's just natural.
I keep mulling over it the whole way through the burial. I still can't shed a tear for my dead cousin. Again, Kays gets a little moist, but it doesn't last long.
I don't want to end up like him.
So what should I do?
I go to the only person I know who can help.
.
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