"Say goodbye, the hundredth time, and then tomorrow we'll do it again." ~My Chemical Romance, "Drowning Lessons"
It had been the best day of his life, back when his name was Cameron.
He remembered that feeling now, as he watched the tiny computer screen, and saw himself when he was only seventeen, chosen above every other candidate for this performance. He'd said that he was stoked for it, but "stoked" didn't begin to cover it.
He could recall, even after fourteen years, the feeling of unparalleled excitement that had filled him almost to bursting when he received the news that he would not be playing some random extra in this video, which would've been honor enough, but the sixth pallbearer. He, who had always considered himself just another fan, just another life saved, was selected for this.
His eagerness only grew as he watched the other fans file into the chapel, and as they all sat in the pews and filled the air with a hum of energetic talking, he knew he had been given something truly special. To be worthy of carrying the coffin that contained (albeit metaphorically) the beloved grandmother of the people he owed everything to was beyond belief.
So he waited, basking in pride and bliss, as the actors, dancers, and choreographers did their thing. He was struck with a nagging impression of similarity, an unfortunate déjà vu, as he realized that this church looked almost exactly the same as the one he'd gone to at the age of eight for his mother's funeral service.
He shook his head to clear out such thoughts: this was a happy day, not a time for reliving sad memories. All the other fans had testified to this in their interviews, and he himself had said what a great time this would be. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that his mother should've had a send-off like this.
That thought only intensified when it came time to shoot the pallbearing scene. The sky had darkened considerably by then, and a light rain was beginning to fall. He quickly adjusted his sleeves as the director called him outside, covering the tiny, horizontal scars on his wrists- he didn't want to further the image some people had of My Chemical Romance as promoting suicidal ideation, after all, and it was better to forget that he'd gone through such a sad time anyway.
He hefted the casket onto his shoulder and at first was surprised by how light it was: he'd have thought a large, wood-and-metal container would be heavier, even if it was empty. But as they started down the steps, past the umbrella-wielding dancers, it seemed like all the weight of the thing alternately floated up so that he thought he would lose his grip, and, right when he took a step down the stairs and needed his balance most, crashed down on his left side.
Despite the difficulty that carrying the heavy casket presented, he was determined to stay strong, even when the director stopped them halfway down the stairs to talk about the final verse of the song and they awkwardly lowered the casket onto the handrail. This was, after all, the most important thing he'd ever done.
He shifted under the weight of both the coffin and his lurking feeling of sadness as they continued shooting. He was ecstatic, of course, but he still wished that his father had thought of doing something this grand for his mother's funeral. It was monumental while still being traditional, the sort of thing that his mom deserved. He couldn't help but think of her as he watched Gerard, his idol, lip-synching his favorite lines: "Well, if you carry on this way, things are better if I stay. So long and goodnight…so long and goodnight."
Finally, they approached the hearse and shifted the casket together, resting it on the edge of the rear section. On cue, they slid the casket into the hearse and began to walk away. And as Gerard closed the door with a tiny click and peered through the glass, the sixth pallbearer turned back briefly, knowing how stupid he was to do this, and whispered, "Goodbye, Mom." The curtains came down.
The video ended there, but the freshly-renewed feelings of guilt and sorrow did not, and so the beaten-up, burnt-out owner of the gas station went to bed that night with tears on his face. He wept for the boy he had been, the mother he had lost, and the man he had become.