My dad was to be commended to God at St Catherine's - the church where I first took communion; the church I ran away from.
I walk in; everyone stares. Some looks are confused; others in wonder; others surprised. I genuflect and sit next to my mother. Jon - my younger brother - sits down in the pew behind us. I turn to shake his hand. Nothing and he looks away. Mom rolls her eyes. Fuck.
I sigh and turn around. Right as the opening chords of Be Not Afraid start, Chloe sneaks in four pews behind me.
The priests begin.
"Do not remember his sins but look upon his sufferings and grant him peace."
Dad in a coffin. Mom sobbing. Jon can't look at me. Chloe.
The mass droned on. Numb.
"Forgive us our trespasses..." Jon's pointed look... "Let us offer now a sign of peace" Nothing.
"One day we shall joyfully greet him again when the love of Christ..." Doubtful. The bastard can rot in hell.
I follow the coffin out next to mom. "I know that my redeemer lives" the organ intones. A hand on my shoulder. I look - Chloe. She smiles sadly. I touch her hand briefly as we walk out of the church. The last time we were in a church...
***
... Chloe had left her house. She was fighting with her mom. Chloe knocked on my parent's front door. Thankfully I realized it was her before my parents did. I went outside to talk to her.
"What's wrong?" I asked concerned.
"Mom's being a bitch again. She threw a jar.."
"Are you alright? I asked.
"Yeah. Stupid bitch missed," she said. "Let's get out of here."
"Okay. Church yard?" Chloe's favorite place to hide was the cemetery next to the church.
"Let's go." I yelled inside that I was leaving. I didn't wait for a reply. We got into Chloe's beatup Thunderbird. Tires screeching. Windows down. London Calling.
Chloe parked and reaches behind into the back. She pulls out the emergency vodka. I shudder thinking of the last time we broke out the emergency vodka. "Is it better than the last bottle?" I asked.
"Better? It fucks you up. What could be better Garrett?" she said.
"You'd think if you were going to steal vodka, you'd steal something decent," I say. But Chloe is already walking ahead.
We went into the cemetery. It's quiet as usual. Peaceful. Chloe comes here for the stillness. We go to the usual spot - her uncle's grave. He died when she was young. The top of his gravestone is easy to sit on. Chloe pours a shot onto his grave, takes a pull, wipes her mouth, and then hands me the bottle. "Hi Uncle George," she says.
"Here we go again," I say as I take a slug. The vodka burns as it goes down. I try to suppress a cough. Chloe laughs at me.
She frowns. "How much longer?" she asks.
"How much longer for what?" I say.
"That we have to run and hide like this," she says.
"I don't know. Too long," I say.
"Uncle John was the only family that was ever good to me. Maybe it's because I don't remember him well anymore."
A moment passes.
"Let's get out of here together Garrett," she say.
"What about Jon?" I ask.
"I don't know," she says. "He can come with us."
I reach over and kiss her. It has to be enough for now. Chloe returns the kiss as she puts her hands on the back of my head.
"How is Jon? He never comes out with us anymore," Chloe says.
"Okay," I said. "The old bastard has been tough on him lately."
"Since he's given up on you?" she says gently.
"Yeah. I think so. I feel bad for him... I don't know how to help," I say. "The old bastard told him that he'd never amount to shit. Like me."
"Sometimes the only thing you can do is survive."
"Yeah, but it shouldn't be like that," I say. "I should be able to make it better."
"I know." Chloe says as she gently touches my cheek.
I sigh. "It looks like rain," I say as as I point to the clouds.
"It feels like rain," Chloe responds as the wind starts to kick up. "Let's go!" she says as a cold rain cuts through the summer day. She points to the church and grabs the vodka bottle. We both scamper for the side door. The front doors are too foreboding.
We sneak in the side door as the first crash of thunder hits. We're in the left side of the nave. Chloe shakes herself dry and squeeze the water out of her hair. Her makeup is starting to run too. I stare at her. She rolls her eyes and grabs my hand. We sit down in a pew.
"I don't understand why she has to be such a bitch. I'm not the reason her life is a disaster," she say quietly.
"Yeah. You don't deserve it," I say.
"Neither do you," she replies.
"Eh", I say.
"No seriously. You don't deserve it either."
"I know," I say quietly. "Is she at it again?"
"Yeah. She was on the floor yesterday when I came home," Chole says. A moment passes.
"Do you think he cares?" She gestures up at the crucified Jesus.