A Morbid Beginning

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." Father Jack Rogan concluded, marking only the middle of the worst day of my life. I didn't get to leave the nearly-empty church yet, though. Being a pallbearer, I had to carry the casket containing my dead stepfather out of the church and into the hearse, which really wasn't something I was looking forward to. Even so, once Father Jack gave us the nod, my two best friends, Dirk and Brady Fischer, my uncles, Dirk and Brady's uncle John, and I stepped out of our pews, took hold of the casket, and slowly carried it through the church. The organist was playing an over-played depressing funeral song, which wasn't helping my mood.

When I say that the church was nearly empty, I wasn't kidding. Literally, there were about 33 people in the entire church. There was one other man who caught my eye as we rounded the turn to head out of the main church doors who wore a long black cloak, black clothes and shoes, and a black top hat that I couldn't place from anywhere, but at the moment, it didn't really bother me. A mysterious man at my stepfather's funeral was really the worst of my concerns at the moment.

As we neared the hearse, I realized just how humid it was on this cool day in August. We were barely three steps out of the church and I was starting to break a sweat because of the humidity. We got up to the hearse and the driver opened the door in the back. I must have been either slightly shaking or breathing uncontrollably, but I was losing grip on my handle so much that Dirk, who was to my left, put his hand on my shoulder. "You okay, Drew?"

I nodded and he took my handle for a second. "I got it, man."

I wiped my hands on my pants; it must have been the humidity, because my hands were drenched in sweat. I took the handle back from Dirk. "Thanks, man."

"Anytime." He patted my back and regained control of his. We slid the casket up into the hearse and secured it into place - well, you wouldn't want a dead body to be rolling around in the back of a car, now would you? I shut the back of the hearse and rested my hand on the door and sighed. My mom and Cheryl came up behind me, my mom with one arm around my little sister.

"Drew, are you ready to go?" my mom asked.

I nodded again. "Yeah. Let's go."

We walked to my mom's truck and I jumped into the driver's seat. I would've driven with Dirk and Brady, but I had literally just passed my driver's test and hadn't gotten my legit license yet. My mom got into the passenger's seat, and Cheryl hopped into the back. I saw the hearse begin to pull out of the parking lot, so I put the truck into gear and followed it out.

"Make sure you follow the hearse out to the cemetery, Drew. Remember, you're leading everyone else," my mom said as she strapped in.

"Mom, I know where I'm going. I've been there before."

"Yeah, but he might take a different route than you're used to taking."

"Mom, we gave him directions a few days ago. Remember? They're the same route we always-"

"Andrew." My mom looked at me with that look she has when she's just too tired or depressed to do anything, let alone argue a point that she's wrong about. "Please. I'm not in the mood to argue about anything right now."

I sighed. "Fine. Whatever." I kept driving, making the same turns that I knew we were going to take, but didn't argue because I didn't want my mom to hurt me or something.

"Hey, Mom?" Cheryl asked as she pulled the bottom of her skirt down past her knees. "Do I look okay?"

My mom turned around and looked at Cheryl. "Yes, honey, you look absolutely stunning. Don't pull on your dress, sweetie; I don't want you to tear it, it's brand-new."

"Okay... When can I take this off, Mom?"

"You can take it off once we get home."

"Thank God," she said under her breath. Although I do admit, she did look really nice in her dress and heels and make-up, and her hair done up all nice in curls and everything, this wasn't my little sister. My little sister played basketball and softball and wasn't afraid to get dirty or break a nail. She wasn't afraid of sweating or getting into fights, and she almost never wore any make-up at all. While other girls her age wore booty shorts and strapless or spaghetti-strap shirts and flip-flops, Cheryl was most comfortable in basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. She wore rubber and string bracelets and saint necklaces constantly, but the only jewelry on her today was a simple cross necklace and a pair of studded earrings. "I can't wait to get this junk off of my face."

I scoffed quietly and imagined what it must feel like to have all of that crap on your face in this humidity. I kind of felt sorry for her as we pulled into the driveway to the cemetery.

Our Lady of Perpetual Faith, run by Mr. and Mrs. Fischer, was a large, but quiet little cemetery near Taylor, Michigan. It's the kind of place that's very welcoming to families that are new to the idea of death. There was a little island with a large cross and flowers and stuff, the main office was on the left, and the walls with all the cremated people was to the right. There were a lot of roads that weaved in and out through the cemetery.

Ray's grave was fairly close to the entrance, but we had to follow the hearse to the back, where the little chapel was. Once we got back there, I helped the other guys get the casket out of the hearse and into the chapel. Everyone, including Father Jack, slowly filed in, and Father said a final blessing over Ray's casket. I don't even remember what he said; I really wasn't paying any attention. As far as I was concerned, the time I had with and to say goodbye to Ray was growing shorter with every second that ticked by.

Once Father Jack was done, the six of us carried the casket back into the hearse so we could go to the gravesite. I parked around the huge crane that would lower him into the pre-dug hole in the ground. We waited around while some of the others slowly filed in near the gravesite, so I decided to take this quiet opportunity to hang out by Ray's casket, still in the back of the hearse. I ran my fingers along the corners and borders of the casket. Out of all of the decisions that had to be made before the funeral, picking the casket was the only choice I got to make on my own. It was dark red mahogany with gold detailing, which included the corners and borders the detailing.

I just thought about all of the things that we had done together and that he was there for, like my first guitar, my first performance, working in the business with him. I thought about all of the things he would miss, my graduation, my potential wedding and kids, my driver's license, my first car. It's your fault, you know, I thought to myself. The sickening thought came to me as a reminder. You're the one who insisted on going downtown to that concert, and look where that's gotten you.

I shook the thought from my mind. No, it wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know that guy was gonna be in that alley? I couldn't have possibly known, so I couldn't blame myself. I sighed deeply to myself and rubbed the details on the top a little bit. "God, Ray, I miss you already," I whispered.

"Drew?" I turned to find Dirk standing a few feet behind me. Everyone was now standing around the grave, staring at me. Some looked annoyed and just wanted to get on with it, others had a look of sympathy and concern, and still others looked pissed off that a random kid was rubbing the casket. I nodded at Dirk, but didn't move. I didn't want to leave yet. I wanted to prolong the inevitable for as long as I possibly could. I didn't want to have to bury my not only my stepfather, but also my mentor and best friend. Dirk came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, Drew... I know you don't want to do this, but it'll all be over soon."

I turned to look at him. He didn't understand; this pain would never go away. Besides, I wanted to get every second alone with Ray that I could. "I don't want it to be over, Dirk. I don't want to forget."

"Hey, no one said anything about forgetting. I just meant that we're almost done, and that soon this portion of the pain will be over. Come on, man... It's alright. We're right here, okay? Me and Brady and Uncle John; we're here for you, Drew. Come on, we've gotta get going."

I took a deep breath and sighed, nodding my head. Dirk patted my back and we went over to the crane again. The pallbearers took the casket out of the hearse again and held it while the crane operator attached the chain and hook to the casket, and Dirk, Brady and I walked over to my mom and Cheryl. As it was slowly lowered into the ground, I heard Cheryl sniffle beside me, so I gave her a hug. This, of course, made me start to tear up, and I felt another hand on my shoulder, but this time it was Mr. Hooper, Dirk and Brady's Uncle John.

He was standing behind me, comforting my mom and me at the same time. As the crane operator scooped each pile of dirt back into the hole, I thought of every good thing he had ever done for me, for my mom, and for Cheryl going back into that hole, almost as if they weren't any good anymore, or as if nothing he had done mattered. After a few agonizing minutes they finally finished putting the dirt back onto the casket. Everyone started going back to their cars except me and Cheryl, my mom, the Fischers, and Mr. Hooper.

"Are we still okay coming over for dinner tonight, Lynn?" asked Mrs. Fischer.

"Yes, of course you are, Donna. You five are always welcome at our home," my mom said through her tears and sniffles.

"See you later then, right, Drew?" asked Mr. Hooper. "Maybe you can show me the famous Ray Mern Guitar and Pick Collection. How about it?"

I smiled and nodded. "Sure, Mr. Hooper. Sounds great." He and I had always gotten along really well, especially with Ray. Ray had always talked about showing Mr. Hooper his very large and expensive guitar and pick collection, but had never gotten any time when Mr. Hooper was in town. Since he lived in Montana, he wasn't in town a lot.

"So I guess we'll see you guys at six for dinner?" asked Mr. Fischer.

"Yes, Toby. We'll see you then," my mom said.

We said our goodbyes and got back into the truck. It was a very quiet car ride home, mostly because none of us had anything worthwhile to say, but also because the only thing on our minds was Ray. Once we got home Cheryl and I bolted out of the truck towards the house. I wanted to get out of my monkey suit as fast as I could, and just as much as Cheryl wanted to get out of her clothes and make-up. I mean, it wasn't like I was wearing a tuxedo, but I was wearing one of Ray's old dinner jackets over my school shirt with a black tie, but I still wasn't comfortable in it.

I unlocked the door to the house and ran inside to my room. I ripped off the dinner jacket, remembered that it was Ray's, and instead of crumpling it up and throwing it down the shoot I put it on a hanger, crept into my mom and Ray's room and hung it back up in the closet with the other clothes we didn't want to give to the Salvation Army. Some of his clothes were going to me because I was the only one who would fit in his shirts and pants, but some things, like his socks and shoes, were going to the Salvation Army because no one could fit in them. Some things had sentimental value to my mom, others to me, others to Cheryl, so we all helped to decide what would stay and what would go, but most of Ray's shirts, especially his plaid shirts, I really wanted to keep.

I went back into my room and changed the rest of my clothes. I took my dress shirt off and put that, my socks, my tie, and my pants on the back of my desk chair so I could wear them on Friday when we started school again. I know it's weird to start school on a Friday in August, but going to a Catholic school like Sacred Infant meant you went to school before Labor Day and started in the middle or end of the week. I got a pair of shorts and a clean tank top out of my drawer and opened a different drawer to grab a pair of socks, but found instead a picture I hadn't looked at in months, with a face I hadn't seen up close for over fourteen years.

The picture was of me, my mom, who was pregnant with Cheryl at the time, and my dad. Unfortunately, my dad- whose real name, I am told, is Johnny- hadn't been around my family since I was three. You see, he had had some issues with drugs before I was born, and after I came along it only got worse. He had been busted by police twice for drug possession in the three years he and my mom had been married, and right before I was to turn four he got busted again, this time for possession of a half-pound of crystal-meth, which landed him 25 years in prison, no parole. I mean, it was stupid for him to even have the drugs in the first place, but to just go and get caught again while your wife is pregnant and your son needs you? I've never been able to forgive him for that.

I remember a little bit of the night he got arrested.I remember wondering what that big truck was with the bright flashing lights, wondering why Dad was leaving, why those men were taking him away, why he was being pried from my weeping mother's arms. That was the last time we'd ever seen him. Even though he's had the chance to contact us, he never has, which just makes him even more unforgivable. I just think about all of the things he's missed of both mine and Cheryl's - birthdays, confirmations, graduations, parties, school, playing catch - and it makes my face heat up and my hands turn to fists. Cheryl hadn't even known him; she hadn't even seen the picture, and I wasn't planning on showing her anytime soon. I didn't want her knowing about what a b*****d her real father was.

The only reason I'd known is because, once I got into high school, my Uncle George - my mom's brother- and my Uncle Bill - my dad's brother - sat me down and told me what he was like, what he had done, why he wasn't there with us. I'd had fantasies about where he'd gone, but hearing the truth from my uncles, the ones who had known the story best and had the heart to tell me about it, had only made my anger towards him deepen and my blood boil.

What's even worse is that I inherited his looks. I had the same jet-black hair, the same naturally tan skin, the same broad build, and the same handsome facial features. The only thing that wasn't the same was our eyes. He had brown eyes, I had green. Thankfully, Cheryl's the only one who had brown eyes, which is good; they look natural on her. They'd just make me look out of place. I couldn't stand to keep thinking about him and all of the mistakes he'd made and things he'd done wrong, so I buried the picture again underneath pairs of underwear and socks, grabbed what I had gone in there for, and slammed the drawer shut, hoping to have a very long time before I saw the picture again.

I slipped on my socks, my black Converse, and my keys and did my best to creep down the hall and out the door without being noticed by my mom, who was in the living room. Unfortunately, our floorboards must have been the creakiest in the entire state, because even creeping along the sides of the floor made loud squeaks.

"Drew?" my mom called from the other room. I stopped short and rolled my eyes. You know that thing moms say about having eyes in the backs of their heads? My mom had that times, like, three. "Where are you going?"

My mind started racing. I couldn't tell her where I was actually going; she hated when I went there when Ray was alive. There was no telling what she would say if she knew I was going there today, of all days. I walked back to her chair, where she was sitting, still in her dress from this morning. I had used this cover before, and it had bailed me out several times in the past.

"I'm gonna go up to the store. You know, just check things out, and see if they need any help."

My mom nodded. "Okay. Just make sure you're back by five thirty, so you can clean up for the Fischers and Mr. Hooper."

"Alright, Mom," I yelled as I ran out the door before she could change her mind. I ran to the garage door and grabbed my bike. I turned around, only to be startled by Cheryl, who had apparently snuck up behind me once I had gotten outside. She, as I had predicted, was in a t-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes, without make-up or earrings, with her hair in a simple ponytail. She had put on different bracelets and a necklace by now. "What do you want, Squirt?" I knew she hated when I called her Squirt. She resented the fact that I pretended I was better than her, regardless of the three-year age difference between us. I had to start treating her like the freshman she would be in a matter of days, and what better way than to act like this?

"Where are you going?"

"None of your business. Get lost."

"You're going to the Shack, aren't you?"

"What does it matter to you where I'm going?"

"You know Mom doesn't like you going up there."

"Yeah. So? What's your point?"

"Why do you insist on going there even though Mom doesn't like it?"

"When was the last time I voluntarily did anything Mom asked me to do?"

Cheryl glared at me. I knew that glare. It was the glare that acknowledged that I had outsmarted her, but that she had one thing she could still do. "I'll tell Mom."

"No, you won't." She'd tried that trick with me before, but she knew Mom would fly off of her semi-stable emotional rocker if she knew I was going to the Shack, and not the shop. She and I both wanted to avoid that, so I knew she wouldn't tell.

"Wanna bet?" We stared at each other for a while, trying to figure each other out. The only reason she was being so desperate that she'd tell Mom was probably because she wanted something.

I sighed. "Okay, what do you want?"

"Once you get your license, I want you to take me and Natalie to the mall every Saturday for a month."

I groaned. "Okay. Fine. Can I go now?"

"I guess. Don't get hit."

"Thanks, Sis." I hopped on my bike and rode out of the subdivision and onto the main street.

The Shack was about two miles away from my house. Ray couldn't have built it in a better spot; it was right in the middle of the school, shop, and our houses. The four of us had built it ourselves the summer before we started high school. Ray had been collecting the metal and furniture and stuff for it for years. It only took us one summer to build it, and Ray gave us free reign over the Shack - we couldn't come up with a better name and it kind of stuck after that - and the forest around it. He even made us all our own keys; that is, on one condition: we weren't allowed to bring girls into the Shack. He explained his reasoning: he knew that as we got older, we would want to bring girls there to mess around. He told us he didn't want us getting into any trouble like that, and that if he found out we had brought a girl in there, he would take our key away for good. Well, being three teenage boys with a lust for freedom, we followed Ray's only rule down to the letter. To this day, even, no girl - not even Cheryl - has stepped foot into that building, and we were proud of our ability to listen to Ray, no matter how tempted we had been to break it in the past three years.

There are three main ways to get into the Shack: one fast, paved way; one longer, semi-paved way; and the longest, scenic route. I don't know why, but the latter of the three options was always the route I took to get there. I guess I just liked going that way and looking at all of the trees and stuff that was there. It was never a smooth ride going down to the Shack - but it was totally worth it.

I pulled my bike in front of the main door and leaned it against the wall. I pulled my key out - it had an engraving of a pillar on it -turned it in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside.

It never ceased to amaze me how something that could look so God-forsaken and ugly on the outside could be made to be so flipping awesome on the inside. Ray had designed it with that in mind - that way, no one would go messing around with it. The metal Ray collected were long sheets of rusted metal. Once you stepped inside, though, it became a whole new world.

Once you walked in the door, there was a large carpeted room with a comfy couch and two end-tables on the wall in front of you, and an entertainment center on the wall behind you with not only a huge TV with three or four different gaming consoles. When you walk through the walkway in front of you, there's a full wet/dry bar to your right, and closets to your left. Hanging on the wall inside this room were three or four of our most prized instruments: my first acoustic and electric guitars; Ray's favorite acoustic and bass; Dirk's first pair of drumsticks, and Brady's first electric guitar, the one he learned his first guitar lick on. There's a whole game room with a pool table. There was a bathroom, complete with a shower. Attached to the game room was a music room, which had a drum set inside. The one issue that all of this posed was how were we going to have plumbing, electricity, and wireless Internet? Well, Ray used to work for the city, so he was able to pull a few strings to get a plumbing line up into the shack, underground electrical lines, and a wireless link that was hooked up through the one at our house. It was a refuge for the four of us; a place we could go and just hang out, play our instruments, and just... be ourselves.

I don't even know why I went there that day. There was nothing for me to do there without Ray. I didn't have a partner to play pool; there wasn't anything good on TV; so I just did what I thought was natural: I started singing.

The four of us had this band going: I was rhythm guitar and lead vocals; Ray was on bass, but he knew guitar; Dirk was on drums, and Brady was backup vocals and lead guitar. It wasn't much, but we covered a lot of songs from a lot of different bands, ranging from All Time Low to Panic! At the Disco, from Three Days Grace to Fall Out Boy; all of the good stuff from the 70's and 80's. I'd been told I had a good voice, and I have to say it was true: I could go has high as Kellin Quinn's highest, as low as Adam Gontier's lowest, and everywhere in between. I had practiced a lot of singing in here, so I just did a line or two from the songs we had played the most, the songs that had the most fun vocal slides and ranges.

"But I got a girl

Who can put on a show

The dollar decides how far you can go, yeah."

That was the prechorus from my favorite My Darkest Days song, "Porn Star Dancing". I walked through to where the guitars were, near the game room.

"Drag Melody

My percussive feet

Serve cobweb headaches as a

Matching set of marching clocks

The slumbering apparitions

That they've come to wake up."

That was a Panic! At the Disco song, "Nearly Witches". That was the first song we had ever covered, and I brushed my hand across my electric guitar.

"So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm wrong

Hold me when I'm scared,

And love me when I'm gone

Everything I am

And everything you need

Wants to be the one you wanted me to be."

My favorite 3 Doors Down song, "When I'm Gone". I grabbed my acoustic guitar off the wall holder and went back in the other room, sitting on the couch. I made sure it was tuned correctly, and put the capo on the first fret. I started playing and singing the first song I had ever learned on guitar: "Remembering Sunday" by All Time Low. Just playing the intro brought back so many memories, good and bad. Most of them were of Ray and me, sitting for hours in here, just practicing and playing, him teaching me more and more the longer we sat in there. But it also brought back an unwanted memory, a memory I had tried for the past few months to forget, to just wipe it from my mind forever and move on. Obviously, it hadn't worked.

I stopped playing and sighed, playing the memory back in my head. It was of me and my ex-girlfriend, Chloe Santos. The last time I'd played that song was the day before I had found out she had been cheating on me for a few weeks. Dirk had accidently mentioned going to the Shack in front of Chloe, and she had wanted to come and see it with me. Alone. Just us. I knew full well what she wanted to do with me, and no matter how many times I told her I had wanted to wait, she didn't want to hear it. She just wanted to do it so bad with me. She expected me to break a promise to my best friends and my stepdad just to make her feel good. Well, she had gotten sick of being rejected and started sleeping with the one guy, Brendan Okrent. I tried to tell her that I still loved her by playing this song for her, but the next day Brendan told me everything. The worst part of the whole thing was neither of them looked guilty or ashamed or anything. At the very least, they looked proud and happy.

I ran my fingers through my hair and leaned back in the couch. "God, Chloe," I sighed. I took my guitar and put it back on the holder, then turned everything off and locked up. I don't know what I was looking for at the Shack, and I didn't know how it would help me cope with losing Ray. Not sure what to do, I got back on my bike and took the long way home again.

I looked at my watch. I hadn't realized that it was already five twenty, so I pushed my bike pedals as fast and as hard as they would go, and the rocks on the ground only slowed me down. I crossed Inkster without thinking about looking for cars - there weren't any, surprisingly, this time of day - and booked it back home, just making it home at exactly five thirty.

Making it home in less than ten minutes made me exhausted and sweaty, so I ran inside and took a shower. I pulled on a pair of dark jeans and an undershirt, and snuck into Ray's dresser to see which of his plaid long-sleeve shirts were clean. I dug a little bit into the drawer and grabbed a green one, buttoned it except for the top two, and rolled the sleeves up. I went back in my room and put on a few bracelets and my favorite necklace. It was simple, but Ray had given it to me. It was a saint necklace that had Pope St. Gregory the Great on it - the patron saint of musicians. Just then, there was a knock on the front door. I rushed to get the door, but my mom was already on it.

In filed Dirk, Brady, Mr. Hooper, Mr. Fischer, and Mrs. Fischer bringing up the rear. "If you would like to, you can go ahead and relax; dinner won't be ready for about a half hour," said my mom.

"Okay. Thanks, Lynn," Mr. Hooper said. He glanced over at me. "What do you say, Drew? How about that collection, huh?"

I nodded and smiled. "Yeah, sure. We have to go to the Shack, though." I turned to Dirk and Brady. "You guys want to come with us?"

"Naw, man. It's okay. We still have stuff to do to get ready for Friday," Dirk responded as he pulled a pad of paper and his brand-new copy of J. D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye and waved it in the air.

"Okay, dude. Mom, we'll be back."

My mom looked concerned but reluctantly let us go. We got into their car.

"Now, you have to tell me where I'm going, because I have absolutely no idea."

"That's fine. Go out to Inkster and hang a left, and then turn onto the dirt road from the woods."

He glanced at me. "The woods?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He shrugged, pulled the car into drive, and blasted AC/DC on the radio. "As you say, Drew. As you say."

We were rocking out to "Highway to Hell" when he pulled into the first driveway, me giving him instructions along the way, telling him where to turn. We got up to the front door of the Shack, and he put the car into park. "This is it?" he asked.

I pushed the car door open and hopped outside. "Yep. There's not much else out here."

We got up to the door and I pulled my key out. Mr. Hooper looked at the key. "That's a pretty strange key. Never seen one like it before."

"There's only three others, besides mine."

I opened the door, and Mr. Hooper followed inside. "Whoa," he said. He had known about it from Ray but he had never had the time to show him any of it.

"Yeah... Come on, the collection's this way."

I took him into the band room and pressed a button on the wall. The shadowbox case that Ray had installed into the wall lit up, revealing at least a hundred or so signed picks, three signed electric guitars, and four signed acoustics.

Mr. Hooper looked amazed as he brushed his hands against the glass near the guitar signed by Eddie Van Halen. "He actually got one signed by him?" he asked.

I smiled. "Yeah. That was one of his favorites. He always talked that one up, when he mentioned it at the store."

He looked to his left and saw the acoustic signed by Adam Gontier. "Adam, too?"

"Yeah, that was my first concert. It was awesome, meeting him. He's so cool and just a nice guy."

"Yeah, I'd bet..." His voice dragged on as he saw the empty guitar stand, which used to hold one of Ray's basses. "Lose one, by chance?" he asked.

I didn't want to revisit that night, but I did for him. "That, uh... used to be where his old bass was... he brought it with him when we went to that concert... a week or two ago... when... you know..."

He glanced at me apologetically. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot, Drew..."

"Yeah... I know..." He grabbed my shoulders and looked me in the eye.

"I'm really sorry, Drew. I can't imagine what you went through, having to see him die in front of you like that."

I looked down at the ground. "Hey," he said. I looked back up at his serious look. "It wasn't your fault, Drew. It was a freak accident. No one could've stopped it."

"Yeah... I know...It's just that I had wanted to go to the concert so bad, and he'd had other things to do, and we didn't expect to be out that late, parking that far away from the stadium..."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make it your fault. Got that?" I nodded. "Good." He glanced at his watch. "We should be getting back, don't you think?"

"Yeah, probably."

I turned the showcase light off, and Mr. Hooper was already at the door. "Hey, I've got a question."

"What's up?"

"Well, you said there were four keys; one for you, Dirk, and Brady. Who's the fourth?"

"Ray. He had his own key."

"Where is it now?"

"In the ground. With him, where it belongs." Dirk, Brady, and I had agreed that that would be the best place for it, since we weren't planning on giving it to anyone else.

"Right." We got back in the car and drove back home. We pulled into the driveway and got into the house.

"Oh, good, you guys are just in time for dinner," my mom said.

"Great, I'm starving," Mr. Hooper said as he rubbed his hands together and got into his seat.

It was some kind of pasta, but it wasn't quite ravioli. It looked like it, but it had, like, cheese and stuff inside. I really have no idea what it was, but it was really good with the bread Mrs. Fischer made and the iced tea my mom had made earlier before the funeral. I had absolutely no idea what everyone was talking about; I guess that day I was just really out of it. I still couldn't believe what had happened in the past week. I really didn't know what to think of it. I really missed Ray now, because he always struck up a conversation with me about something during dinner. I was missing his voice, his questions, his face.

The Fischer's didn't stay very long after dinner, so I locked myself in my room and went to bed early. I kept tossing and turning, thinking about what I'd be doing right now if that night hadn't happened, if I hadn't insisted on going to that concert, if we hadn't have had to park so far away in that dark alley...

Even though I went to bed around eleven, I don't think I fell asleep until around three or four in the morning, which wasn't exactly the way you would want to walk into your stepdad's... I mean, your, guitar shop on the first day back. Ray had left the guitar shop to me in his will, which meant that I not only had to make sure all of the paperwork was done, but also that the other guys in the store knew that I was in charge. That would be no small feat; they barely listened to Ray, so I had no idea how they would respond to me. I decided to leave it until morning, which came faster than I had expected