Blue skies, but the sun is not
shining. Warm day, but inside feels cold. That is what many people feel on a
school day of May. A few students are too sad to attend classes, being among
the first several to learn of the latest events. In particular, a funeral
parlour but a few buildings away from said school has a ceremony and wake. As
scheduled, the service begins at eleven a.m.

One particular
boy having recently turned eighteen remains vigilante, pestering the many to
waltz in, dressed casually, to turn off their cell phones and whatever other
devices they are carrying. This boy has a girl his age accompanying him. Like
him, she makes sure that no one will be looking at or playing on their devices.
Even like the cafeteria, the entering crowd comes off as the overused cliché of the jocks and the nerds.

The people to fill the auditorium—the
red-carpeted floor having church pews for seats, dark red walls, and a low
stage with a brown podium and black symbolic coffin—were teenagers and teachers.
Even the principal was there. Only when the host, a minister, tests the
microphone, the talking crowd starts to quiet down. Told to be stubborn, he
announces, “Silence, please. We are about to begin. If I can have your
undivided attention." He adds other meanings of the request until there is only
silence. With patience not needing to be tested, he gives the introduction.

What two particular teenagers hear from the
host and minister are all too cliché. Empty words from what every funeral host
says. For this ceremony, to decorate the symbolic casket, there is a printed
photo of a teenager with short jet-black hair surrounded by lilies. There are
two other hosts, those two teenagers, who cannot wait to be given the floor.

Together, the boy—whose build is average,
has brown hair, and is clad in a black suit, black shirt, and black tie—and the
girl—clad in a long-skirted, long-sleeved and open-back black dress, her
shoulder-length blonde hair rippled, and having a slim build—stride toward the
podium, holding hands. In stark contrast, the boy, named Mark, is stern, and
the girl, named Annette, looks like she could cry at any second.

Mark speaks, “Whatever reason you're here,
change it. This is a place to respect the recently deceased and their families.
This time and place is not about you. It's not even about me; it's about whom
we came to mourn, Truman Keuhner.

“Truman and his dear sister knew what the
world is like. It took something fucked up for them to realize that the real
world doesn't give a shit about you and real life is unfair. The same is said
for me. Truman and Nettie were treated horribly as little kids. At a time when
I was afraid of the worst things to happen to my parents, they saved Truman and
Annette. Before then, all that they had was each other.

“If it weren't for my parents to save them
from the ones to fuck them up, I would've never got to open up to my best
friend, let alone his loving sister. I would grow a burning resentment for my
dad, blaming him for my mom's death, but he gave me two people I can sympathize
with.

“I remember meeting them in grade nine. On
the very first day of high school, I sat alone during lunch. Only on the second
day, I noticed Truman and Nettie sitting alone together. I would watch them for
the next two weeks, wondering why they preferred the corner of the cafeteria as
I did. It was in the third week, I finally joined them during lunch. Little by
little, we would talk, and we would open up to each other. Truman and I would
start brawling. I didn't fault him for snapping; he thought likewise. So, we
would keep up with personal sparring, and that's how I started bonding with two
great people."

The boy pauses to catch his breath. He
continues with more sadness than information, “They would eventually tell me
why they hate the world, which made me feel like trash. They were under tyranny
and abuse of two people who were supposed to give love and support. They took
it well when I told them of my mom, the cop, dying in action. She never got to
see my dad become a detective. Then, that piece of their past caught with
Truman and Nettie…"

He feels his eyes well up, but keeps up with
his sternness. “It always seemed that no force could tear these twins apart,
but it happened. To those of you asses gossiping about the abuse victim killing
himself because he couldn't take anymore, fuck you. He didn't die by
depression; Truman Keuhner, my best friend, died doing what he thought was
right, and his instincts served him. The two monsters to make him and my girl
what they are, deserved what they got."

The tears finally fall. “This day is about
Truman. To me, no one in the world can replace him as a friend or as a brother.
He was smart and he was brave. If your parents went through an ugly divorce, if
one or both parents of yours are dead, if your house is foreclosed on, or if
you've been abused—don't think the world gave up on you. We need to stand
together; we are stronger that way. Let that be what Truman has taught you."
Annette squeezes his hand at that last statement.

The pair shift. Annette mutters a quip: “I
don't know how I can top that." She holds a paper that she had unfolded on the
counter. She looks at it, thinking of what her boyfriend has just made a point
about.

She looks up from the paper, to speak into
the microphone. “Mark is right about everything. He had a lot of philosophy in
mind, but those are emptier words than the introductions. Before I met Mark and
his family, Truman was all I had, and all he had was me. No one likes what
comes to them. No one likes being beaten up for no reason. No rape victim
deserves slut-shaming.

“As twins, Truman and I had a strong bond. I
loved him. Even long since we were put in a foster home, we never let our
guards down and spent more time watching each other's backs than on anything
else. Like Mark, we had a wall built around us. Thanks to him, that wall broke.
Truman knew Mark to take crap from nobody like we do."

She continues with a choke. “Truman and I
spent most of our lives in fear and picking fights. Mark welcomed the
challenge, which made him want to be better. The first time Mark invited Truman
to his house, I overreacted. It was the first time I would be alone. Then, when
he invited me to his house the first time, Truman must've felt the same
way. Like Truman, I also opened up to Mark's sister, who would become my best
friend. We became like a tribe—two families bonding."

Her voice cracks a little, but she holds stoic.
“Almost four years of Truman being close to Mark, and me being close to Simone:
those might have been the best days of our lives. When Mark and I started
dating, Truman took it so well. I always thought that my brother and I were
inseparable, but it was death that made that happen. I will miss my brother
more than anyone else in this world. I hope to think of only the happy memories
of him, the best brother ever." Despite having held firm throughout, she now
must let the tears fall. Mark hugs her and rubs her back, crying as well. He
walks with her off the stage, holding hands again. When together, they can help
each other through the mourning.