All I can say is that I never really consciously thought about it or meant to do it, but pretty soon I was hiding in the bushes across the street from her house.
It’s not like I expected to see her or anything, but I stayed in the bushes awhile, just thinking about her, and other stuff, too, but mainly her, and that’s when she came out of the house.
Laura didn’t look like herself. That’s her name, by the way—Laura. She looked older. Serious and somber. Like a real young woman, not a girl anymore at all.
She looked different than I’d ever seen her.
For one thing, she had on this very sheer black dress that went down to her knees. It shone really brightly against the green grass of her lawn. She didn’t usually wear such stuff. Her hair, which fell to her shoulders and is dark brown, shone too, just like the dress. She had a little shawl around her shoulders, black as well. And she had on black shoes with pretty high heels.
She looked beautiful, as usual. Except her face. Her face looked terrible. I don’t mean she wasn’t pretty anymore. She was always pretty. But she felt sad. I could tell.
More than sad. She felt terrible. I could see it.
Something awful had happened. I didn’t know what.
Her mother was there with her. She also wore black. Not Laura’s dad—he was off somewhere on business, probably; he always was.
Her brother, Jack, was there, though. Big guy. Football. Stanford, I think. He didn’t wear black. I seem to remember he didn’t wear any black at all.
They stood there a moment, close together, in front of the very green lawn in front of their house, in relief, almost, because of all the black they had on—except of course for Jack. None of them said anything. It was like they needed to take a moment, or hadn’t quite made up their minds about something.
Then they all piled into their car, which was parked on the street, and headed off down the road, with their headlights turned on, even though it was daytime.
I watched the car drive away. But it didn’t feel right just to stand there. I had to know why she looked like that. So I came out of the bushes and followed them.
Well, I don’t know if followed is the right word. Let’s just say I walked in the same direction they drove, because it isn’t like I could keep up with the car or anything. It was out of sight pretty quickly.
But other cars came by, with their headlights on too.
I knew what that meant. The cars were driving to a funeral.
So every time I saw another car with its headlights on, I just kept walking, and it turned out all I had to do was walk straight about a mile and down a big hill to York Road, which separates the rich area from people who are really pretty poor, but there are businesses and stuff on the street, because York Road is a big wide street in my city, with plenty of businesses and gas stations.
And a funeral parlor.
When I got to York I stood on the corner. Passing traffic blew up clouds of gritty dust from the street. I spotted Laura’s car parked on the side street beside the funeral parlor, which was on the corner right across from me. Her car was easy to spot because it was long and black, and everything else was a junker.
All I did was sort of dart across the street, between buses and cars because the traffic was pretty heavy there, always is. I just slipped through, and I’m sure nobody really saw me.
When I was across, I went up the side street and crouched between Laura’s car and this beat-up Toyota behind it. I waited a minute, listening, and when it seemed everything was settled inside the funeral home, I went around front.
The window was crowded with flowers. I looked through. I saw a bunch of people with the usual sort of attitudes. I knew the deal; I’d been to a couple funerals before. Some of the people were crying, a couple women, especially. Most were just standing around. It was a closed coffin—I could see that when the crowd parted. I didn’t see Laura; she was buried in the crowd. There were more flowers everywhere and the room was white.
Two men in suits came out front and started smoking cigarettes. I turned and acted like I was waiting for a bus, standing behind this pretty thick telephone pole next to the bus-stop sign. I seriously thought the men didn’t see me. I’m actually sure they didn’t. But I could hear them pretty clearly, despite the rush of the traffic, because I stood so close.
They talked about what was going on. The actual funeral had been at a church up the road. Just family. This was for everybody else. A kid had died. He’d killed himself. I listened very closely as they talked, and one of them said he’d ridden his skateboard under a bus, on purpose. People had seen him do it. It was some kid I probably didn’t know. Some prep school kid Laura must have known; she knows lots of kids.
Hell. I can think of a lot of ways to die, but that’s the last way I’d choose.
The people started coming out, carrying flowers to their cars. They were all leaving. I was going to leave too. But the men had mentioned where the burial was going to be. I knew the place, and it wasn’t too far.
I didn’t really want to go. I mean, this was private, and I’d seen those women in there crying, really crying.
But I had to see her again. Just once more.
So when the bus came I got on it and rode a few miles.
I got off in this neighborhood
