Home for a funeral.

My friend Chris’s death had me numb for days never really acknowledging what had happened. To me it was all a misunderstanding, Chris didn’t die in Afghanistan. They made a mistake. I haven’t talked to Chris in quite some time. After High School he went off to be an American hero while I went to college and decided to tell dick jokes for a living. (I don’t actually tell dick jokes.) We were good friends in High School and were always making jokes and doing things to get on various teacher’s nerves, the one that sticks out is Mrs. Friend who taught us English 12.

I got in late last night because I had a show in Raleigh, I go on facebook which is a ritual right before I go to bed. I see that the Wilkesboro Baptist Church will be protesting Chris’s funeral. This enrages me, I stayed up half the night thinking of what I would say or do if I saw them at the funeral until I fell asleep. The dream that followed opened the door of emotion that I had padlocked and boarded up.

I was standing outstide of Crest High School where everyone was gathered to remember Chris. I am walking around and everyone seems happy and I am thrown off by this and ask the first person I see “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting so strangely?” his reply was “Oh, Chris is alive. He was just injured in the bombing and the bodies were mixed up because there was another 6’6 guy in the van.” This made little to no sense to me. How could you confuse Chris with anyone else. His size alone would tell you it’s Chris or some mythical beast. So I didn’t believe it for a second. Everyone in my town has lost their damn minds. Until I see someone approaching me. It’s Chris, he isn’t as tall as I remembered him, he is actually my height and he is looking me right in the eyes. I energetically throw my arms around him. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch.” I said. “It’s been a long time.” He replied.

Then I woke up.

I wasn’t very emotional even after a dream like that. I got out of bed and began to pick out my clothes for the funeral. That’s when in hit me. My friend from High School, who was my age was killed. I hold back tears and go into the kitchen to eat breakfast with my family. My mom sits down and places a ” I heart NY coffee cup” that my sister brought back from her trip. I stare at the coffee cup and think that when 9/11 happened little did I know that it would lead to my friend dying years later.

I lost it. I fucking lost it.

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