A/N: Alright...not a lot of time to chat....

Thanks to those who reviewed: TNPD, RavenForever, DarkAngelGuadianLight, Stacey, and Angels624. Now, who wrote "...", and what is that supposed to mean. Whoever that was, could you please write more next time, because I can interpret a great deal from just "...". THANKS.

Don't cry too hard and please...ENJOY!

Chapter 2: Eulogy of Weeds

The funeral was nearly a week after the accident. Flo and Bob Spinelli took over the arrangements and for once in my life I was happy they excluded me from something having to do with their daughter, my beloved. It was all a masquerade of grief, really, everything felt like a ridiculous and pathetic circus.

Flo paraded around in a black dress and veil, a handkerchief was constantly dabbing her cheeks, and she spent a great deal of time at the Church she and her husband attended. She spent the time talking with the preacher. It was where they'd chosen to bury her, my wife. The last place in the world she ever wanted to be buried. Whatever happens, don't ever let them lay me to rest there.

Bob was the one that made most of the arrangements, which still amazes me he was capable of doing while all I could manage was to stare blankly into empty space. He called all the family and informed them of the morbid news. He picked out a coffin for the funeral guests to look at and pretend a body occupied. He chose the day, set up the hall, picked out the flowers, and the pictures of her that would adorn the church. It was all very sickening to me.

They hadn't spoken to their daughter in two years. It was a lie, as far as I was concerned. Like I said, it was all a masquerade of grief. Before, the only times they would speak to her were to criticize the choices she made. They would tell her how disappointed they were, what a screw-up she'd turned out to be, what a deadbeat she'd married, how her life had turned into one mistake after another. She often left those "conversations" hating herself. To her credit, she never cried, though I don't know if that was for the better or not. She would lock herself away from the outside; from me and spend hours on end screaming and berating herself for every little flaw she had, for every little thing that was wrong in her life. She'd cut into herself with a razor edge, pretend it was her parents and watch the blood puddle in the sink. I couldn't stand it. When she had finally broke, pounding her fists against the shower tile, sobbing alone, as the water rushed over her and she howled for a better life, I finally broke. I went to her parents' house and had a "conversation" of my own with them. There was shouting, swearing, and accusations. They said I took their baby from them. I said they were ruining her life. I told them what she was doing to herself, what they were causing her to do to herself, and Bob swung at me, leaving my cheek bruised. I told them that since they couldn't recognize the pain they were causing her, I wasn't going to allow them near her anymore.

They didn't believe me at first, but I did whatever it took to shut them out of her life completely, though it wasn't that hard, as they already weren't a huge part of her life, just large enough to do damage. I had our phone number changed, and since they never came to visit our home, I simply had her stop going to theirs. It wasn't hard to convince her. She wanted to stop hurting herself as much I wanted her to, and that's exactly what she did. Of course, her parents used the situation against me, telling anyone who would listen that I was abusive towards her.

It was probably why everyone from the Spinelli family would shoot me dirty looks whenever they saw me. I overheard an aunt that I didn't recognize whispering to a small, huddled group of old women, "that's the controlling husband. At least now, little Ashley is free of his hold." I know I should have said something, but my wife was dead, what did my dignity matter?

So we sat there, staring at that mahogany box envisioning a beautiful young woman's dead body laying in it, though we all knew it was empty, and listened to the preacher speak.

"Ashley Spinelli was..." her parents had made it clear that her maiden name be used in the eulogy, "A gift to the world. She was cherished by friends and family alike..." I stared blankly at that preacher, my face as emotionless as it had been for the past several days. The gang surrounded me crying; Gretchen, Vince, Mikey, and Gus. For a moment, I thought, I could make it. I could sit there and take the speech, and the crying, and...and I stood up, pushed my way to that long walkway, and headed towards the double doors, slowly and unhesitatingly.

"TJ?" Gretchen whispered after me through a half-sob. Some part of me was aware that every eye in that church hall was watching my retreating back, and that soft buzzing murmurs of confusion and general distaste were rising amongst the mourners as I left that small building behind. But I doubted I could have been anymore apathetic.

-0-0-0-0------------------Monday, the week after the wedding------------------0-0-0-0-

Spinelli shuffled through her school locker, mentally running through which books she would need. She was taken aback when she closed the swinging metal door to find the shimmering faces of the frizz-ball sisters; Maggy, Susie, and Sally, mere inches from her own.

"Is it true?" Maggy asked, or was it Susie? They both wore braces, and they looked so similar they could have been twins.

"Is what true?" Spinelli snarled, clutching her books tightly to her chest.

"That you are now joined with Theodore J. Dettwieler..." they all swooned at the mention of TJ's name, what with being the official governing body of his fan club, "In holy matrimony?" Spinelli narrowed her eyes to steel-edged slits at the three mop-heads.

"Where did you hear that?" she demanded.

"We cannot, by any means, reveal our sources," Sally, the one with the nasally voice, and the president of the club, said. Spinelli tightened her hand into a fist.

"By any means, eh?" she began, stepping forward threateningly.

"So, it's like, totally true then?" a girl piped from the other end of the hallway.

"Damn," Spinelli spat, "I know that voice." She turned to scowl at the four primly dressed girls glowering at her from across the hallway. "Ashley A., Ashley B., Ashley Q., Ashley T.," she greeted between gritted teeth, "Kindly spill as to what the hell you mean by that."

"Only that it's like all over school that the slut princess is dragging down the respectable and oh so drool-over-able, TJ Dettwieler to her level," Ashley Q. explained curtly.

"Like, what did you wear for the occasion, anyways?" Ashley B. asked snidely.

"Like, what do you wear to a shotgun wedding?" Ashley A. smirked maliciously, "Frayed shorts and a plaid halter, no doubt."

"Like, ew!" the four Ashleys squealed as one.

"Now listen very carefully, because I'm only going to say this once," Spinelli hissed, annunciating slowly the next words, "It wasn't a shotgun wedding"

"But you don't deny there was a wedding," Sally spoke up, and Spinelli faltered.

"Um..."

"That's means you've..." Maggy or Susie, or whoever the hell it was, cried out miserably, "With TJ!"

"He can't be taken," the girls cried, "He just can't!"

Spinelli readied a physical assault on the annoying girls, when she felt a form sidle up behind her and an arm snake about her waist. She saw the frizz-balls pale, their mouths dropping slightly.

"Ladies," TJ greeted, resting his chin atop Spinelli's shoulder and grinning broadly at the three curly topped girls, swaying and blushing. He brushed his lips against Spinelli's neck.

"We need to talk," he whispered in her ear.

"Then talk," she replied, fighting the urge to giggle. She refused to giggle at school, despite how giddy TJ made her feel at times.

"In private."

"Oh," she murmured. TJ took her books, and then her hand, weaving casually through the labyrinth of people, gently leading Spinelli to a small crevice between lockers. Spinelli leaned against the cool blue metal of the wall of lockers, looking up at her obviously distracted lover.

"My parents called their lawyer last night," he told her and she frowned, eyes downcast until he rested his hands on her hips and smiled reassuringly, "In order to get the marriage annulled, they either have to be able to prove that we were not maturely capable of the decision and didn't fully comprehend the responsibility it entailed; which they can't, or they have to have our cooperation, which they don't. So, there's nothing they can do, Spin." His brow furrowed as she smiled somewhat half-heartedly. "What's wrong?"

"My parents kicked me out."

"They can't do that."

"I'm eighteen, Teej, yes they can." Spinelli shook her head, "They said if I was old enough to get married, I was old enough to leave the house." TJ stepped back, looking away into the hallway, watching the people pass by.

"My parents won't allow you over."

"I'm staying with Gretchen, at least for a couple of days, until my parents cool down," she sighed heavily, "Then I'll go back. They won't leave me out in the street. After they've had time to think things through..." Her voice broke, "Why are they doing this? So we got married a little earlier then scheduled..."

"We'll move out. I'll start working full-time and..."

"No, Teej, it's not part of the plan," Spinelli sunk against him, wrapping her arms tightly about him and closing her eyes tightly.

"I was busy last night too," TJ whispered gently, "Looking into colleges. I picked out a few, called them to get information; they're sending me the applications. I'm going to tell my parents, when we graduate, about the scholarship."

"So they can tell you which school to go to," Spinelli snorted, "They're not going to listen. They'll want you to go to the best school out there, an Ivy League. One that won't have dorms for married couples. I know how you are with your parents."

"They don't have that much persuasion over me," TJ grinned, "I married you didn't I?"

"Speaking of which," Spinelli pulled away, leaning back into the lockers, "I thought we were going to keep this thing a secret."

"We are."

"Then why does everyone at school know about it?"

"Oh man," TJ groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I hate living in this town. It's probably on the front page of every local newspaper. Is that why everyone was looking at me strangely when I walked in?"

"No stranger than usual, I'm sure," Spinelli shook her head, startled when the bell rang for first period, "We better go," she said, pulling her books from TJ's hands, "I'll see you at lunch." TJ frowned, but kissed her as she turned to leave.

TJ made his way into his first period class, scowling at the rowdiness of his peers, Irwin Lawson at the center of the ruckus. He turned into the aisles, making his way to the desk when the teacher, Mr. Folly cleared his throat.

"Mr. Dettwieler," he said and TJ turned. The older man was waving a thin slip of paper in his hand.

"Already?"

"Counselors office," Mr. Folly told him, glowering over the top of his glasses at TJ, who made his way back to the desk and took the slip. "And congratulations on the wedding." TJ shook his head, groaning inwardly.

"Yeah," Lawson called out, and a delicate hush fell over the room; a fragile bubble of silence ready to burst into laughter at the next idiotic words to escape the ringleader's lips, "Tell us, Dirt-wieler, how far along is she?"

"I don't know what you mean," TJ muttered, begging himself to ignore the jabs.

"Spinelli, how far along is she? When do we expect the bouncing baby?" The class fell into an uproar of snickering and chuckles. TJ glanced to the teacher for help, but after years of teaching, Mr. Folly had learned that students would pay attention to whatever they wanted, and no amount of yelling or threatening would change that. So, of course, the old man was busy writing the day's lesson on the board.

"Shut up, Lawson," TJ hissed, "I'd tell you not to talk about things you don't know about, but then you'd never be able to say anything."

"Are you sure it's yours though?" Lawson went on, ignoring the danger in TJ's voice, "I, myself, can't say I've taken my turn on the girl but I know a whole score of guys that have. Hey, Dirt-wieler, you planning on sharing? Because you can't really expect to take the town bicycle and lock it up in a garage, can you?" There was no warning when TJ lunged on the boy startled out of mid-guffaw. Fists flew until the teacher and a few students were able to break them up, TJ panting and Lawson huddled on the floor.

TJ wasn't sure what had come over him. He usually had a high-tolerance for taunting. He had been proud of his clean record, the only boy in the school never to have gotten in a schoolyard brawl. Needless to say, this would mar that proud achievement. He hadn't even realized he'd attacked until he was being pried off of the older boy.

They'd both gotten in pretty good swings, and walked painfully from the classroom at the command of the very disgruntled Mr. Folly. Though it was his own fault that he didn't intervene before the brawl broke out. Lawson was on his way to the dean's office, while TJ made his grimacing way toward the counselor.

Mr. Gritty, the counselor at Washington High School, was a thick bald man. He had a total of five strands of hair, which he treasured like gold. Every morning he would gel these five strands and slick them over the top of his baldhead, so they were plastered just around the large mole that adorned his shiny hairless top, which at least one of those five strands of hair could be accredited to. He sweat, profusely, and always wore an expression as though he'd eaten something sour. TJ hadn't been to his office often, though Spinelli had weekly meetings with the butterball of a man, that she more often than not ditched. Something about anger management. He had been the gruff man that informed TJ about the scholarship, and the many options of higher education that the intelligent goof-off boy could look into and pursue.

It was in the waiting room that TJ sat, a pack of ice pressed firmly to his cheek, a gift from the school nurse. He watched the school secretary busy herself with answering phones and clacking the keyboard of her computer. The door swung open and a freshman girl made her way out, tears spilling in long flowing streams down her acne-covered cheeks. TJ watched in awe as the little girl ran from the office and down the hall. Mr. Gritty took a stance in the doorway and pointed at TJ, who gulped, standing and making his way into the office with trudging steps. Mr. Gritty shut the door behind them and hobbled to his desk, where he took a seat in his gargantuan plush swivel chair. He pointed to the plastic student chair across from him and TJ felt like declining the seat, but didn't and plopped down.

"I've been hearing rumors," Mr. Gritty started.

"Good or bad?"

"Very bad, if they're true," Mr. Gritty cleared his throat, and leaned forward on his desk, his hairy, sweating arms sticking to the many papers scattered across the tabletop, "I heard that you and a young female student, Ashley Spinelli, were married."

"Um...why's that bad?"

"You have a future, Theodore," TJ winced, he hated being called by his first name, especially by an adult, it made him feel as though he were in trouble, "I understand that you feel you have a responsibility to this young woman, and I respect that, but I would have felt better if you'd come to talk with me first." The man shook his head, cleared his throat, and sat back in the chair again, "You know you can talk to me about anything. My door is always open."

"It's closed right now, sir, and it was closed for about twenty minutes before."

"Figuratively speaking," Mr. Gritty snarled, "There are more options out there than marriage and throwing away your future."

"Sir, I think you need to tell me what you're talking about before we go any further, because, with all do respect, I don't think we're on the same page."

"The pregnancy, Theodore," Mr. Gritty growled, TJ froze, lowering his head and looking up in disbelief at the large counselor through his eyelashes, "There are several options. You could have looked into adoption, abortion...this young woman will need to be sent to another school, one with facilities for pregnant teens, where she can learn to be a mother. Now, there is one school in the town here like that, it's small and will help her get the medical and financial..."

"Have you spoken to Spinelli about this?" TJ questioned, halfway out of his seat.

"Um...she's due for our weekly meeting in a few class periods," Mr. Gritty shrugged, "Why?"

"Because you shouldn't talk to her about this, and I don't think you should mention a pregnancy, either," TJ warned, making his way to the door, he stopped, the door halfway open and turned to look at the pudgy, confused man, "Because Spinelli isn't pregnant." He left, slamming the door shut behind him.

-0-0-

Spinelli tapped her foot, tightening her hold on her lunch tray and watching the kid in front of her chose what he wanted.

"I don't know if I can take this anymore," she said to Gretchen, who stood beside her.

"What do you mean?"

"The looks people keep giving me, the stupid insults they're whispering under their breath..." Spinelli shook her head, "Half the girls at this school hated me because I was dating TJ, and now they all do because I..." she dropped her voice to a low whisper, "Married him."

"Oh, come on, not everyone hates you," Gretchen tried to reassure her, she smiled, "I mean, Debbie the lesbian probably doesn't."

"Yeah, she probably hates TJ," Spinelli muttered, and the two broke into laughter. Spinelli was the first to falter, taking a deep breath, "They all think I got pregnant, or something. They're calling me a slut, and saying that I...that I'm ruining his life. They're saying he'd never marry me for any other reason..."

"Spinelli," Gretchen soothed, "You and TJ know the truth, and we know the truth. Remember, your friends? Who cares what everyone else says? Not the Spinelli I know and love."

"Well, why'm I taking the rap for all this anyhow? It's all my fault that good, sweet TJ had to marry me and..." she shook her head, "You're right. Why should I care what they say? Why should I care that my English teacher won't call on me anymore, even though none of those other puttses know the answer? So what if I got people dropping nasty letters and trash in my locker? What does it matter if the girls in my P.E. class are planning on jumping me in the locker room later today? Why? Why should I care?

"You know, I was so happy that day. I got to wear this pretty cotton dress, and Vince put flowers in my hair, and I got my hair all curled, and I wasn't gonna wear the make-up, there was no way in hell...but...I felt so pretty, and I felt like a lady. Then I get back here," she spat, "And everyone's treating me like a tramp."

"Spin..." Gretchen wrapped her arms about her friend, "They're just jealous." Spinelli jerked back from the embrace.

"If one more of you guys tells me they're just jealous..."

"Because it's true," Gretchen hushed her, pushing the baby hairs from her face, "TJ loves you so much that he doesn't even realize anyone else exists, and they hate you for that. Because none of them can get a guy that great. Not to mention you hang out with some of the more popular guys at school. Vince, MVP of the year in every sport. And the shy cuties, Gus, the pumped army brat, and...um...Mikey, the only guy in the school that can make grunge work. I mean, sure you knew them all back when no one would have ever given them a second look, but still...that's why all those rumors spread about you, because people were jealous."

"Why didn't any spread about you?" Spinelli raised an eyebrow at the tall lanky girl, "And don't tell me it's because you're a nerd..."

"No, it's because I'm not dating the infamous TJ Dettwieler, while not the most popular boy at school, he ranks pretty damn high," Gretchen grabbed a salad, examining it, "I wonder if these are GE vegetables, and how are we supposed to know what kind of insecticides were used on them and what effects they'll have on us?" She dropped the salad back down and grabbed a bag of chips, "

"You've been talking with Mikey too much. He's sucking you into his organically grown world," Spinelli shook her head, grabbing the salad and receiving an odd look from Gretchen, "I'm thinking of dieting."

"What for?"

"So I don't get fat and aid people in the misled thought that I'm pregnant," she explained.

"Spinelli," Gretchen mused, "I don't think you could get fat if you tried."

"Ha, ha, don't tempt me," Spinelli shook her head, "I'm Italian, we're prone to over weighted-ness. Besides, I'm not that hungry." She eyed TJ making his way through the cafeteria towards them, and turned back to the tray. Most of the people he passed greeted him like normal.

"Hey," he said, jumping over the bar for the lunch line and finding a piece of Spinelli's exposed flesh to plant a kiss on. She frowned at him, noticing the bruise on his cheek. "What happened?" she demanded, tracing her fingers along the raw skin.

"It's nothing," TJ shrugged grinning reassuringly.

"No, seriously, who do I have to kill for messin' up my baby's face?" Spinelli pressed.

"No one, Spin, I'm fine."
"Is that from Lawson?" Gretchen inquired inconspicuously from the counter, loading a slice of pizza on her tray.

"Lawson?"

"Look, it's no big deal, alright. He was saying something stupid and..."

"I'm gonna kill him," Spinelli made to move out of the line as TJ wrapped his arms around her, holding her back as she struggled, "Where is the idiot anyhow?"

"He got sent home," TJ explained and she fell limp.

"Lucky bastard."

"Hi, Gretchen," TJ nodded to the awkward young woman who was beginning to think she'd melded into the background.

"Oh ho, he notices me," she mocked.

"Sorry," he said, leaning forward to give her a small peck on the cheek, "Are you gonna buy me lunch?" She smiled wryly.

"Ha, that's a good one," she walked forward, slapping money on the lunch lady's counter top and waited for her food to be rung up.

After Spinelli paid for her salad, they made their ways to the table that their three other friends had already occupied. The bag-lunchers. There, the six friends were in their own world, secluded from everyone else. They could laugh about jokes that no one else understood, talk about things that no one else knew about. Everyone else in the cafeteria faded away, no one else mattered. Even as Vince's jock buddies would walk-by and shout their greetings, he'd give a short wave before laughing at a joke TJ was telling. Or when Mikey's drama club friends passed, he'd nod to them, before giving a reading of a poem he'd recently written about the school food, or a particular girl he had a crush on but couldn't work up the nerve to speak to. No one could touch them. In one another's company, they were safe.

They broke from the closeness of their group when the bell rang ending lunch, and continued to their classes. It was a period of time in which TJ wouldn't see Spinelli until the final bell rang, dismissing all the students for the day, and then after school, his mother picked him up to ensure that he came home that evening.

It was later that night when Spinelli sat in Gretchen's room in front of a vanity mirror. Gretchen stood over her, braiding her hair.

"Do I really look like a slut?" Spinelli asked, pressing a careful finger to the Band-Aid pasted over the scar just under her left eye.

"You look like a punching bag," Gretchen conceded, picking up the comb to work on a knot, "You could have always ditched gym."

"Nah," Spinelli shrugged, pouting slightly to examine her swollen lip, "I lose a letter grade if I miss another class. I held my own pretty damn well, if I do say so myself, it's just...some of those girls got real long nails. I don't look that bad. No black eye, no visible bruises..." She turned to face her friend, "You think TJ's mom hired them to attack me?"

"No," Gretchen chortled, "But I wouldn't put it past her." There came a tap on the window and the girls turned, Gretchen making it to the window first and tossing it up. "What are you doing here? I thought you were grounded." TJ grinned.

"Where are your parents?" he questioned.

"They went out to dinner."

"I snuck out. Can I come in?" Gretchen moved back, lifting the window high enough for TJ to crawl through. He frowned at Spinelli, standing to the side.

"What happened?" he demanded, eyeing the makeover the girls in the locker room decided to give her.

"Well, you see," Spinelli's eyes lit up, "There were ten guys, big strong guys, I mean, there was no way I could take them all on by myself! Anyways, they wanted my backpack, I don't know why, but I had homework stacked in there that I absolutely had to do, and..."

"The girls in gym class ganged up on here," Gretchen interjected.

"Gee, thanks, Gretch. Make me sound pathetic, please," Spinelli shook her head, accepting a gentle kiss from TJ, and trying to hide the wincing it caused.

"Why'd they do that?" he asked, running his fingers along her cheek.

"Well, let's see...they hate me...that's a good start..."

"You two are quite the pair," Gretchen shook her head, "Sporting awful injuries from schoolyard scrapping." She made a face as TJ placed a deeper kiss to Spinelli's face and coughed slightly.

"Gretch," TJ murmured, breaking away, "The guys are downstairs."

"Thank you," Gretchen exclaimed heading for the door, "Don't do anything in my room," she said, turning on them.

"We weren't thinking of it!" Spinelli snapped defensively. Gretchen narrowed her eyes pointedly at TJ.

"What?" he asked, "Why's the guy always taking the heat for that kind of thing? Contrary to whatever you may believe, my mind is not always on sex." Gretchen stared at them suspiciously, warningly, as she slipped from the room, "For about five seconds each day I think about something else," TJ added after the door shut. Spinelli shook her head at him, dragging him into another kiss.

"You okay?" he asked, as they finally took a breather, lying on Gretchen's bed.

"It's just hard is all," Spinelli shrugged, "I mean, this isn't how it's supposed to be. We aren't supposed to be sneaking around behind our parents' backs to get a few moments together. We're supposed to be together all the time. I'm not supposed to be staying at a friends house, sleeping on her couch, we're supposed to be sharing a bed..."

"We are sharing a bed," TJ noted, receiving a scowl.

"You know what I mean," she muttered.

"All we have to do is put up with this for another month and a half, at the very least. We can do that," TJ smiled, "It'll work."

"The things you get me to do, Teej..." Spinelli shook her head, "Why'd I have to fall in love with such a trouble-maker?"

-0-0-0-0------------------Present Time-------------------0-0-0-0-

I found a tree on a grassy knoll, overlooking the cemetery where the empty coffin "containing the spirit" of my wife would be buried. I could see clouds gathering in the distance, smell rain in the air. I sighed, laying the back of my head against the trunk of the tree.

"God?" I whispered, feeling slightly ridiculous for a brief moment, "Why her?" I could feel my voice croak, breaking under the pressure of my misery, "You could have taken anyone. Why her? Why did you take her?" I closed my eyes, and shed the tears that were gathering in the corners of my eyes, "People keep telling me that you took her back because they needed more angels in heaven, or because it's all part of your plan, or because it was her time. That's a load of shit, sir, if you don't mind me saying. Wait, scratch that, I don't care if you mind me saying it," My voice was teetering dangerously on the edge of a shout, "She was all I had...

"What possible reason could you have to take her away from me?" I screamed into the wind, "You can't tell me you needed her, because I need her more. You can't tell me that I have some bigger purpose that she's not a part of, because she was my purpose! Loving her was my purpose in life and you took my purpose...

"People say you exist, and that you love all your 'children'. There was a point in time when I was starting to believe that. Is this a test? Are you testing me? I mean, because if you wanted my faith, you fucked up," my anger boiled over then, "Give her back," I screamed, "Give her back," my voice faltered, and fell into a heap beneath that tree, burying my face in my arms, "Or at the very least, take me with her."

I felt them surround me, a form fall beside me, and thin, yet strong arms wrap tightly about my shoulders. And together we cried. They were all silent, but I knew that they were all there. Vince, Mikey, Gus, and Gretchen, whose gentle arms rocked me. I finally composed myself enough to sit there, staring out at them standing around me. Vince leaned heavily against the tree, the big shot baseball star. He wore his team jacket over his suit, the pendant of a golden baseball that Spinelli had given him when he'd reached the major leagues securely in place over his right breast. He wore it to every game, and although he had sat on the bench the whole time, the game three days before was no exception. Mikey was incognito, expensive sunglasses adorning his face, and clad in a designer suit. He being one of the most well known faces to the public; having recently been rated one of the hottest actors in Hollywood for a recent poll in People Magazine. He still carried pictures of the entire gang in his wallet, and I knew that he'd moved Spinelli's up to the front. Gus stood straight and tall, his primly pressed general's uniform was decorated with several different medals, as well as a locket filled with Spinelli's face. He'd had the locket for so long, but never had a picture to put in it before. Gretchen, the doctor, was dressed practically in a loose fitting black dress; her red locks tied away from her face, her eyes rimmed red. She'd been Spinelli's best friend, and no matter how distant they had to travel from one another, Spinelli had made a habit of always calling her once a week, usually on Wednesday, but sooner if she couldn't find time on that day.

"Why did you leave?" Vince inquired quietly, his voice hoarse from so many days of mourning, "They're all talking about it back there. I know it's hard TJ, but you should have..."

"It's a lie, Vince," I interrupted, my words harsh and cold, shaky, just above a whisper, just below a scream, "It's all a lie. I couldn't sit there and stare at that box, that she isn't even in, and listen to that preacher, who never knew her, talk about how great she was, and how wonderful she was, and how perfect, and sweet, and loved. He didn't know her. He didn't know how sweet she really was. He didn't know how beautiful she could be in the morning, he didn't know how she felt wrapped in a hug, he didn't know how amazing her smile was, and he didn't know what she sounded like when she laughed. So I'm not going to sit there and listen to him talk about her as though he did."

"TJ," Mikey started.

"What?" I muttered.

"We were thinking..." Gretchen started, but trailed off, unable to find the words.

"Maybe we could..." Vince attempted.

"Have a funeral procession of our own," Gus picked up, "I mean, just us. Her closest friends." I couldn't comprehend why I felt so choked up by it, that simple offering. I nodded, pulling myself up and helping Gretchen to her feet.

So we stood around in a small circle, lying on the ground in the middle of us pictures and remnants of her, while taking turns talking about how special she was and what she'd meant to us. We laughed at the happy memories, of her childhood habit of beating people up, cried over the sad times like when her dog died and we helped her bury it, sometimes we'd argue over the accuracy of a memory, which always ended with either Gretchen or Mikey setting the record straight, and I listened, feeling safe in that group. We fell silent when from the corner of our eyes we saw as the mourners left the church into the cemetery, carrying amongst them that mahogany box.

"She's here," Vince whispered to all of us, "Not in that box. She's with us, where she belongs." And for some reason, those words brought me to my knees, overwhelmed with grief. They tried to console me, but I didn't want to be consoled. I wanted to fall into my misery, let it engulf me. Because Vince was wrong in a way, she was nowhere really. She was just gone.

END A/N: I know, I know...sad...I hope the Spinellis and the Dettwielers redeem themselves before this story ends, because they're turning into real bastards.

Alright, I have to go to work, so, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

PLEASE REVIEW.

And thank you for reading....adieu.