Chapter 12
A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own. -Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain, 1924
Tuesday, April 27, 1999
Ethan Lee wore a black Oscar de le Renta suit, black Florsheim shoes and a black, silk tie. He wore on his lapel, a pin from the last year his little league baseball team was together before everyone moved on to legion ball. The pin had a picture of a soldier on a black horse. Its silver inscription read, "Champion Warriors Forever."
Deborah wore a long, pleated black skirt and a black blouse with a suit jacket. Her hair was pulled back and she wore no makeup except eyeliner. Through all his anxiety and pain, Ethan still took the time to consider her beauty.
God, how he loved her.
Before exiting, he took the time to admire his basement apartment, recently cleaned by Deborah. Even Jesus had a polish to him. Everyone and everything looked way too nice.
He sighed.
"I know Babe," said Deborah as she rubbed his stomach. "I know."
Again, Deborah drove, this time to St. Joseph's church to take part in a mass funeral for a mass murder.
Ethan, because he was a eulogist, arrived early to meet with Father Marcus and Reverend John (the clergy introduced themselves without last names).
"The Protestants and Catholics working together," said Ethan.
The bearded minister and the bald priest looked solemnly upon suffering Ethan. He felt
their pity and apologized for the way he mourned this morning.
"That's quite alright," said Father Marcus, who then explained the funeral to Ethan.
Each ceremony would occur one after the other. They were all slotted for different times. Those close to specific victims would accompany their bodies to the burial site while the waiting mourners enjoyed a break. Shermer, Corolla and Mays were all being buried in the St. Joseph's cemetery and were thus slotted first, second and third. A break would then be allotted as the ceremony moved to Winnydale United Methodist Church down the street. There, the ceremony would commence with the burials and funerals of Luke Johnson and Brian Durbin. Afterwards, all could then feel free to go home and kill themselves.
Ethan felt bitter for having lost friends, bitter for the way in which his town and his school were now scrutinized; he was bitter for the destruction of Kip's home, the destruction of all the wilderness of his childhood and the destruction of his psyche and soul. He was bitter about the ceremony and the way it worked, burying these people as though they weren't individuals with individual families and friends. His friends were part of one big death stop for the convenience of the public.
He wanted to throw up.
Derrick May's ceremony was first.
Ethan hadn't known Derrick as well as the others, so he sat in the back next to Deborah. He did not visit Derrick's coffin, nor did he care. He sat and thought about Joe as the organ music played: what would Joe want me to say?
Derrick's girlfriend of three years, Jenny Haskowitz, did his eulogy and burst into tears four times. She spoke of Derrick's kindness, of his talent and his undying love for life, God and her.
Ethan didn't know the guy and Heather's eulogy still broke his heart.
After Derrick's body was in the ground, the show rolled on with Act 2, the ceremony for Joe Corolla, but not before coffee and cake.
Ethan stood in the waiting room next to Deborah and tried his best to dunk his anger in coffee, but failed. Amongst the big, puffy blue, crushed velvet chairs, the light blue carpet and the fake fire place, the people adorned in nothing but black took a much needed mourning break. He heard pieces of conversation that were simply far too normal.
‘How could you give a shit if so and so remembered to take the trash out at a time like this?' Ethan wanted to scream at the young, married couple next to him.
‘Why in the hell can't you stop pretending that anyone gives a shit if you forgot to wear black shoes?' he wanted to scream at the sophomore cheerleader in mourning standing next to the fireless fire place and actually crying-crying, like she knew someone at this damn funeral. The anger built a monster inside Ethan, and the monster was ready to shower the world with his pain and feeling. The monster was ready to cry.
When the ceremony resumed, Ethan held Deborah's hand tightly.
"I need you," he whispered in her ear.
For Joe's ceremony, Ethan and Deborah sat in the first row, reserved section. The priest spoke of the importance of healing; how through God and our Lord Jesus Christ, we could overcome this loss and grow as a result. "Even though the death of one so young is tragic," Father Marcus had said. "We must remember that God has a plan and Joseph Corolla has a part in that great plan."
Ethan did his best to hold back tears through the ceremony. Tears streamed down Deborah's face and Ethan fought the urge to kiss them off her.
He never wanted to see her cry.
He never wanted Joe to die.
He never asked for any of this.
God, thought Ethan, whatever your great plan is, right now it sucks ass.
After Joe's Aunt Flora sang a few sad, Italian songs very well, Ethan was called to do the eulogy.
Looking at the sea of faces that overfilled the entire church, Ethan was overwhelmed by the size of the gathering.
He looked from Father Marcus to Joe's father, Jim.
Ethan spoke, "Joe," he choked up and coughed, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Joe would have never wanted all this sorrow and pain from, well from anyone. I know his spirit is up in heaven, looking down on this and, well, thinking it's all rather sad. Joe taught me, through his years of loyal friendship, that what really matters in life is the simple things and how they make us feel. I'm sure he would agree that death, because it is everywhere, is a very simple thing and that these simple things, these mysterious little pleasures and pains should never wear us down or bowl us over.
"I'm not saying we should throw a party and dance at the death of my best friend, but he wouldn't mind if we did.
"Joe Corolla always helped me. He had a hand ready to help and a smile on his face. He loved life; he loved it like you couldn't imagine. He loved the smell of fresh grass and the splintered sunbeam beauty of early morning sunrises before another day of boring old school. He reveled in the precious freedoms of life.
"Well Joe," Ethan began crying. "Now you really are free. You'll be missed by many, but you are free."
Ethan, crying, walked over to the open casket of Joe Corolla and placed his little league baseball pin in the buttonhole on Joe's lapel. Joe looked so serious and bored, as if he was trying to keep his eyes closed.
"Joe," Ethan said to his departed friend. "You must remember, that rain, snow or shine, a piece of you makes up me, and will never die."
Ethan then closed the casket as his fellow pallbearers approached.
As Ethan and Deborah drove to a diner after the funeral, feeling wretched and tired, Ethan said from the passenger's seat, "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. The victims were caught young, before they'd a chance to rust. Worm food to worm and so the world turns. Ashes and ashes, dust to dust."
Ethan then laughed maniacally.
Deborah, sensing the pain and anguish of her love, grabbed his hand and said, "I know, babe. It'll be better in time. Keep smiling and keep loving, Joe would have wanted it that way. You said so yourself."
Ethan said nothing, just kissed his girl on the cheek and stared out the window.
"Let's get some coffee," said Deborah.
Ethan lit a joint.
"What are you doing?"
"To the simple things, Joe."
Ethan blew the smoke carefully out the cracked window and tried his best to get stoned with his good friend Joe one last time.