When we got home that night, we were all completely exhausted. We had stayed at the wake until 5 and then had gone back for the later viewing as well. It had been ok up until the very end. After Steve had calmed down from first seeing us, he'd come back upstairs with me and Darry, and we'd all sat together at the front of the room until he was distracted by other people coming in. The first viewing ended without incident, and we all went to eat before the second one started.

Even the second one was going along ok until there was about 15 minutes left, and that's when the funeral home guy asked if either Steve or his mom wanted to them to open the coffin one last time. Steve's mom shook her head quickly. I never expected Steve to want anything like this, which was why I was shocked when he nodded slowly. The man in charge walked to the front of the room and asked if everyone would mind leaving so Steve could have this time to himself.

We all stood up, and we were halfway out of the room when I heard Steve's low voice.

"Soda, will you … will you stay?" His voice was almost plaintive, and even though this was the last place on earth I wanted to be, I could not bring myself to say no. I turned back, and as everyone else left, including Mrs. Randle, I took her seat at the end of the first row and just watched Steve. I tried to concentrate on the back of his head and not on what I could soon see once the guy opened the coffin.

I heard Steve's involuntary gasp, though, and was out of my seat before I realized what I was doing. I got to him in time as he started trembling and collapsed against me without even realizing what he was doing. I put my arm around him and looked straight ahead.

"Easy, buddy," I said softly. I never looked down into the casket, but I stayed with him for as long as he wanted, and after a few minutes, he took a deep breath and looked at me. The tears were streaming down his face, and his eyes were swollen.

"I didn't hate him," he said simply, and his voice shook. He shook his head, and I knew he was frustrated by his inability to control himself.

"I know," was all I said in response. "I know."

A few minutes later, he wiped his eyes furiously and sniffed.

"Ok," he said, and I knew he was ready to leave. I had started to walk to the back of the room when I realized he wasn't with me. I turned back, and he was staring at me with a dawning realization.

"Soda, I … I can't go out there looking like this."

I sighed, but I understood. It would be impossible not to merely glance at him to see just how hard he'd been crying.

"Come this way," I said softly. I knew all the back ways of this place as much as I wished I didn't. I led Steve out the back stairs, and as we walked out into the cool night air, we both let out deep breaths. We looked at each other, and Steve said,

"Soda, thanks. I don't know how I'd be doing this without you."

He bit his lip. The emotions were still awfully close to the surface for him, so I hugged him quickly. "Always, Steve," I muttered. We stood there for a few seconds longer, and then he broke away, his head down. I watched him walk home with a heavy heart and then went back in to rejoin my brothers. I knew they'd be wondering what had happened to me.