good to see you

It was a fine day for a funeral. Just the sort of spring day where the colors are still vibrant, but with an overcast sky and a sort of thin mist falling, washing out everything but those vibrant colors. And here was everyone in their somber blacks and umbrellas. Some of them were crying. Even the occasional smile was that grim smile--the kind you can only really do when you're finding humor in the worst of situations. In most respects it was perfect. They couldn't have asked for a better day for a funeral.

I never really knew him when he was alive. I was good friends with his younger brother in college--we'd lived together for a few years--but I'd moved on. I was in Chicago now, working in finance. I was engaged to be married in the summer. As far as I was concerned, life is beautiful and there's so much going on. But he insisted, and I was never one to turn down a friend, so I flew back.

I'm not sure why I came here. After all the awkward embraces and weak, consoling smiles, avoiding glances, it's only made me uncomfortable. My friend barely talked to me, which was probably understandable--but the whole affair was, despite its picturesque qualities, starting to agitate me. When I felt I'd made a sufficient appearance, I began walking back towards my car.

My friend stopped me before I could leave. "Hey, glad you came."

"Yeah. You all right?"

"I'll be all right." We talked for a while. I was surprised at how little I was interested in his life, while he seemed fascinated in mine. I was happy, successful, and he--well, wasn't.

"God, you've changed a lot since college, haven't you?"

I said I supposed I had. I never would have looked forward to starting a family, to moving out to the suburbs, then. I didn't comment on how little he'd changed. He still had that quiet unconcerned confidence, like he didn't care if his suit was ill-fitting, that he didn't have a future--like he knew and wasn't worried about it, because it would all work out in the end. Like somehow he'd managed to avoid all of the worry and stress and was still confident in himself at his brother's funeral, holding together and optimistic about the future despite everything.

"I guess I'll let you go. Thanks for coming out, it's good to see you."

"Yeah, you, too," I lied. "Sorry I can't stay longer." I drove back to my hotel and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, completely motionless until I finally passed out that evening.