Not only was it hard for me to find out that an old friend of mine died but packing a bag and booking the next flight to New York was worst. What else irritated me was the nonsense photos people were posting from my old high school about her.

Or sharing the suicide hotline.

I had to log out of all my social media platforms before I angrily comment below all the posts that they haven't spoken a word to Rubies since graduation. They don't deserve this attention and how a dead girl can make them vulnerable in a state like this. I can guarantee this, they haven't shed a tear while choosing old or random photos off Rubies profile of her graduation photo or a photo of her in front of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. It's attention and I hate attention.

I hate it the most now.

Clarry told me that they viewed her autopsy but haven't publicly shared the cause of death. In the end, I don't even think I want to know. She's dead anyways, so why does it matter.

I contacted Francine the night before I booked the flight and noticed her about delaying my upcoming meet and greets. Although she sounded fussy about it (occasionally when money is involved) she sent my condolences and safe travels.

"When will you be back?" She asked me right when I was going to hang up.

I sighed, "I don't know. Going back to my hometown might take longer than expected."

"Any work on the new book?" It fumed me for some odd reason that Rubies is dead and she's asking me about the new book that I haven't thoughtfully tried to write. It's as though she knew because in that moment, I was sitting at my desk—the document opened and blank.

"Yes, I got a few pages in." I lied, hoping to spark some great ideas for Francine to create for the public. I clear out of the document and close my laptop. I spun in my chair while Francine babbled on about having to cancel some upcoming events.

I didn't listen because I was too focused on what to wear the day of the wake.

~*~

Clarry came home before me and offered up her home during my stay. I obliged after she guilt tripped me on not having a sleepover in such a long time.

I take an Uber to her house from the airport and she is waiting at the front door when I arrive and in seconds, we pull each other into a warm hug. I settle my bags in her room and silently browse her bookshelf.

It's been a while since we've last seen each other and it's the moment I realize that videoing chatting isn't enough. Clarry walks in and I hold her for a second longer.

We are quiet for the first hour, no one is home yet and it is past dark. As instinct, she makes me a hot cup of tea and I let it steam in my hands. There isn't much to say anyways. Why talk and catch up when we are back in Port Jeff for something so morbid. It doesn't sit right and makes me queasy at most.

After washing up, I lay on the floor in her bedroom that will be my bed for the stay. Layers of foam and blankets until it's as comfortable as it can be. I don't mind as much because it reminds me of the nights we were in high school, pulling all-nighters and talking about boys, books and the latest trends.

Her brother still lives at home and that's the other occupied bedroom.

"Clarry?" I call out in the dark after a long moment of silence. Her breathing isn't heavy, so I know she isn't sleeping. My arm is resting above my head, grazing my hair.

She moves and I see a dark figure towards the end of the bed.

"Yes?"

"Do you think she killed herself?" I ask in a whisper. Clarry doesn't respond and it makes me wonder if she will cry.

"I do." She mutters in return, in fear that someone will hear us, but no one can. The door is shut, and the ac is purring loudly.

"Do you feel guilty?" I do. I fucking do.

Clarry moves again and she exhales deeply. Now, we are both staring up at the ceiling in complete darkness. It helps because she can't see the hopeless tears escaping my dull, tired eyes. I wipe them away while I patiently wait for a response.

"Not really, no. She was probably battling something, and no one was able to save her."

I nod although she can't see. I keep my hand over my mouth, so no low sobs escape my parted lips and she has to hold me as I cry. I hate crying in front of others even if it's my own best friend.

"How about you?" Clarry questions and I clear my throat to act as though something was lodged in it.

"I just feel bad."

~*~

I dress too modest. But how am I supposed to look at a wake? It's not the fondest of days to look the best. I straighten my black dress pants with my palms and stare at myself in the mirror.

I rub the bruise on my forearm.

Clarry comes into her room, her wet hair smelling of lavender. She leaves a trail of droplets of water behind while she holds the towel wrapped around her body. Unraveling it, she begins to put on her black dress.

"Since you are here, are you going to visit your dad in the city?" Clarry asks me, her gaze through the mirror. I tuck my blouse in my pants before tugging it out a little.

I shrug, "I don't know. No one knows I'm in New York. I'm trying to keep it on the down low." Clarry makes a grunting noise before brushing her hair out and going back to the bathroom to blow-dry it.

I touch up my dark spots and lighten my eyes with some liner. Lastly, I apply burgundy lipstick and press my lips together. I stare at the photos stuck on the side of her mirror. Photos of us in high school during celebrations. Football games, homecoming, prom, firepit nights.

Photos of all of us.

Minutes later, Clarry comes back in and sees that I'm looking at them.

"Yeah, this room has been frozen in time. I haven't tossed anything out."

I can see that. Piles of random objects and things that have lived with her since she was a kid. I smile because I wasn't able to have that.

"You don't need to." She returns the smile, slipping her wedges on and asking me if I'm ready to go to the funeral home.

~*~

The closer we got, the worse my anxiety became. Clarry offered to drive and the funeral home is about fifteen minutes away. My leg shook the entire time until I place my hand over my knee to stop myself. I feel as though my legs are buzzing with numbness and I am going to collapse the moment I get out of the car.

Clarry pulls into the lot and parks in the last spot. We silently walk into the funeral home and the funeral director guides us to the room Rubies wake will be taking place. As I stood outside the doors, the casket was open and in front of her stood her parents.

My throat balls up into a tight lump and I try my hardest to walk. I try to think of the appropriate thing to say to her parents when I'm next in line. I'm not good with words, that's why I write.

Clarry goes first and when I catch a glimpse of Rubies Mother's face, I feel mine tingle and my eyes swell with tears. She has grown with age and today doesn't help with wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and the furrow brows that close in together with... confusion? I can't read her correctly. Maybe lost.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, so it stops falling over the side of my face. As Clarry moves onto her Father, I grab a hold of her Mother. When she sees me, her face crumbles and she begin sobbing into my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I mutter with a rasp, unable to hold her up myself.

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

Her Father says something to her before grabbing her away from me. She buries her head into her hands when she falls into the chair. I hug Rubies Father and he grunts into my neck. I clear my throat when we pull away and although his eyes are shallow and glassy, he still holds a forced smile.

I gnaw at my lip when he clasps both of his hands over mine and nods his head. A vein bulging at his forehead, his neck red.

"You've been doing amazing things, Theo. Congrats."

This moment, this absolutely terrible moment.

I want to scream, cry or even cuss at him. His daughter is dead and he's telling me congratulations for everything I have achieved. If there was a cave anywhere near, I'd go in, vanish and never come out.

Without a hiccup, I close out his wife's cries and give him a firm nod of my chin before walking away. I recognize Clarry's back in the front of the casket, covering Rubies upper half of her body and face.

Every wake I've been to, I never got too close to the body. A body that will never move again. Open its eyes or even smile. A body that doesn't contain life anymore. Alienated into nothing but a cold, dead cadaver that doesn't function like us. Why should I talk to a body that will never hold the soul that lit up the whole room? I wanted to ask Clarry who is she really talking to?

That's not Rubies anymore. I'd rather talk to the sky.

~*~

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