Part 13 (2/2)

His parents walk by. They've shrunk, fallen in on themselves. Grief makes gravity even stronger. His older brother's face is blank. Looking at them makes my eyes sting. They sit at the front near the flowers and the coffin. I've been trying not to look at it, but there it is, dark wood with golden handles. The shape and size are wrong. It doesn't seem long enough. Zach was tall.

Almost all the seniors walk past, teachers, too. The guys wear suits; the girls, black dresses. They don't look like themselves. I'm in the same black-dress disguise. The ones who notice me look away, disgusted. Only Yayeko and Sarah say hi. I lose track of Yayeko. Sarah sits down in front with Zach's family.

Detectives Stein and Rodriguez walk past me. For a moment I am afraid that they will arrest me. They don't nod. I'm not sure they see me.

The church is approaching full. While there's still somewhere to sit, I slide onto the edge of a pew two rows from the back. I don't recognize any of the people near me. That's a good thing. None of them will whisper and point. The dress I'm wearing itches.

I wonder why I'm here. Zach knew I liked him. It doesn't matter what any of these other people think of me, or of me and him.

I wonder what Zach would think.

But Zach doesn't. Not anymore. He's going into the ground. Or into the flames. I'm not sure which.

I try to remember the last time we saw each other. Once again. I try to pull together every detail. What he looked like. What he wore. I don't really remember. The details are blurring. It hasn't been that long and already I'm forgetting things.

The preacher drones a welcome and starts talking about Zach as if he knew him. But I can tell from what he's saying that he didn't. It's easy to block the preacher out. An older man stands up a few rows in front of me and moves up to the podium.

”Scoot over.”

I look up.

Tayshawn. Wearing a suit. I almost laugh even though he looks good. I've never seen Tayshawn in jeans before, let alone jacket and tie. He's always wearing a tracksuit or shorts and jersey so that he can transition into playing ball at a second's notice. He's not nearly as good as Zach but he loves the game way more.

There isn't a lot of scooting s.p.a.ce. I turn to my neighbor, a fat old white lady in a black cotton dress. I wonder how she knew Zach. She glares at me, but turns to her neighbor, and they make more wooden pew emerge. Tayshawn squeezes himself onto the last few inches, trying not to press into me, as I try not to touch my neighbor.

”I hate funerals,” he whispers to me.

I nod. Though it's my first one. They can't all be like this.

”Some of us are going to hang out after. Drink and stuff. At Will's place. You wanna come?”

I don't drink-one of the many things doctors have forbidden me-but I don't tell him that.

”Not sure,” I whisper back. The woman beside me s.h.i.+fts her body in an I-disapprove-of-you-whispering-at-a-funeral way. I lower my voice. ”I don't think I'm welcome.” Not here. Not at Will's place.

Tayshawn looks at me. I can see him thinking about lying, then deciding not to. ”I guess not,” he says. He smiles at me. ”So you know-I don't believe any of that s.h.i.+t about you.”

”Thanks,” I say. I mean it.

”Hush,” the lady next to me hisses. ”A young boy died.”

I almost tell her that he had a name and if she actually knew him she wouldn't be calling him ”a young boy.” I want to tell her that Zach was my-my what? What noun comes after ”my”? Running partner? Friend? Best friend? No, that's Tayshawn's. Boyfriend belongs to Sarah.

”You wanna go?” Tayshawn asks. ”I really hate these things.”

I look at him, at the cranky lady next to me, at the old guy leaning into the podium, talking about Zach's unfulfilled potential, his brilliance on the court. Must be his coach, I guess.

”Sure,” I say.

Better to be anywhere than here.

AFTER.

Sarah is sitting on the church steps. She does not look all right but Tayshawn asks her if she is anyway.

”No,” she says, looking up at us. ”But I'm not going to be sick if that's what you mean. It was too much in there.”

She's also wearing a black dress. It makes her look older. Mine is my mom's. I wonder if hers is too. Her eye makeup is smeared from crying.

Tayshawn s.h.i.+fts his weight from one leg to the other and back again. I clasp my hands and stretch my arms out behind my back.

”Where you two going?” Sarah asks.

”Dunno,” Tayshawn says. ”Away. I don't like funerals.”

”Who does?” Sarah asks. ”I can't go back in there.”

Tayshawn nods. I bite my lip, wonder what to say.

”Can I come with you guys?” she asks.

”Sure,” Tayshawn says. ”We wasn't going to do anything much.” He shrugs.

The plan was getting out of there. I haven't thought beyond that. I think about the time Zach and me walked the whole length of the island. We started down at Battery Park and wound up here in Inwood. Well, not this here, this church, but farther up, on Broadway, at the bridge to the Bronx.

”Micah?” Sarah asks.

”Yeah?”

”You don't mind if I come along?”

”No,” I say, realizing that I don't. She knew Zach better than I ever did. Tayshawn has been best friends with Zach since the third grade. They are the two people who knew him best. They are who I want to be with. ”Sure,” I say.

”We could walk,” Tayshawn says. ”Down to the park.”

Sarah nods, standing up slowly. She has a tiny black sparkly purse looped over her shoulder. ”You live around here, too, don't you?”

”Yeah,” Tayshawn says. ”This is the neighborhood. Me and Zach, we used to, you know. . . .”

For a moment the weight of Zach's death is too much. I feel my throat and chest tighten.

”I could show you. I guess.”

Sarah blinks back more tears. ”Please,” she says.

FAMILY HISTORY.

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