CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Funeral

All the funerals in the movies take place on cold, rainy days, but it isn't usually like that in real life. Most funerals I've been to, and I've been to many, were during bright days when you just might have been fooled into thinking that the day was pleasant.

But this funeral for James Wilson was just like the ones in the movies. Not a glimmer of sunlight was seen. Storm clouds were dark and threatening as light rain drizzled down upon us.

I helped House walk along with the others, and this time, he didn't protest that he was fine walking alone. He let me help him. It was the first I ever remember House allowing anyone to lend a hand to him, except maybe Wilson.

Wilson and House had been best friends when I started working at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. I don't know how long they had been friends, but whenever you'd see them together, it seemed as if they had known each other since the sandbox.

I knew that probably wasn't true, but at that moment, it was a nice image. Little House and little Wilson playing on the jungle gym in elementary school. And then the bell rings and they scurry off to class, where they sit in the back passing notes about which girls they fancy. Wilson has a load full of choices already; House has selected the one girl that challenges him. And they chatter away until the teacher asked irritably, "James, Greg…do I hear you talking?" And House would give him a look and reply, "I hope so, because if you don't hear me talking right now, you might be hearing-impaired." Wilson laughs and says, "Good one, Greg. You totally told him!"

Yeah, that was a nice little movie I played out in my mind as we sat down at the funeral. I looked over at House, his skin pale, his eyes paler. His weak hand gripped tightly to his cane. He hadn't spoken since we got in the car, and I couldn't blame him. I knew what it was like to lose someone, but the difference was, I never really knew what it was like to lose someone I really loved.

The rain fell down harder as the priest said all those things priest say at funerals. Then it was time for the eulogy, which was to be delivered by Mr. Gregory House. I helped House out of his seat, and as he stood before all of Wilson's friends and family, he seemed to freeze up. He looked at each face, but said nothing. I looked up at him, my cerulean eyes widening a bit in anticipation.

Finally he spoke. "James Wilson…he was…he was the best friend I've ever had. Heck, he was the only friend I've ever had. He was the only one to understand me and support me, even during the many, many times that I was a jerk to him and everyone else. He still stood by me, he still was my friend. That kind of loyalty is rare, it really is. I'm not sure why exactly he loyal to me, why he cared about me as his best friend.

James was the most kind and benevolent person I ever knew. Everyone loved him. He could've had plenty of best friends. I've never figured out why he decided to stand by me of all people. James was selfless, he really gained nothing from me, but that didn't change anything. He was brilliant, generous, a great doctor, and a better person than I could ever be."

He paused for a moment. "And I couldn't even pick up the phone. I couldn't even pick up the blasted phone and call him to see how he was. I was telling my friend, Robert, just the other day that he was an idiot for letting one fight dictate his relationship will his sister. That he should get over himself and give her a call! You only have one sister. And I only had one best friend, but because of one past falling out, we hadn't spoken in years. I couldn't even bring myself to follow my own advice. That night I took the phone in my hand and began dialing James' number, but after the first three digits, I hung up.

I was too stubborn, too stupid to let my guard down and be happy. And that night…that night was the night that James decided that he felt like going out, meet some new people. Felt like a good time at a bar was the cure for his loneliness. Had a few drinks, got in his car to drive home, and…well, you know what happened from there. The point is that if I had just called him, he might've stayed home that night and caught up with me. And if he was meant to die that night, if I had just called him, at least he would died happier, at least he wouldn't have died knowing that he was alone," House finished. He limped away from everyone, his leg paining him more than ever. The faces in the audience were astounded and filled with the kind of sadness I had only seen when I looked in the mirror each morning.

I hurried after House, wanting to help him get back to the car. Wanting to tell him that it wasn't his fault that Wilson died. But I had a feeling that even if I said that, he wouldn't believe me. He wouldn't forgive himself. Ever.