The Last Time I Saw Brad

A boy that I went to high school with died the other night. The 26 th of
December, can you believe it? His car drifted off the road in the early morning (and
the snow had been coming down pretty steady, with everyone praying for a white
Christmas and all), and that wasnt even what did him in. He was walking-walkingdown the road, looking for help, and a car hit him. The car just hit him and kept
driving. He probably flew through the air like a rag doll, boneless, and cracked his
skull on the dark asphalt road. I bet that was a sight to behold, that pool of crimson
surrounding his head in a halo upon the purity of the white snow, the epitome of
death itself.
Hes dead. That boy is dead and for some reason I just cant seem to shake
him from my mind. I cant seem to think of anything else. Not when Im with my
mother, who seems to be overly confident in her decision to leave my father. Not
when Im working my life away at the pizza shop making a slaves wage. Not even
when Im on some other level, floating high above the clouds and stars and sky.
Even then, a part of me remains tied down to that dirty road, tainted with the blood
of some kid I barely know.
Excuse me, some kid I barely knew.
I can see the road from the window of this dingy little diner which I always
seem to find myself at for breakfast. As much as I hate coming back home to this
teeny little town for college breaks, you cant seem to beat a hometown diner.
When I was younger, I remember coming here with my grandparents after church
on Sundays. The smell of warm cinnamon mixed with the hiss of the coffee brewing
brings about a strange sense of nostalgia. The red vinyl seat squeaks as I wiggle
slightly to get comfortable. The waitress who walked me over to my booth was
actually one of my best friends from a lifetime ago. Its funny, I used to go swim in
her pool all summer long, before our bodies developed and our hormones kicked in.
Girls barely like themselves at that age, let alone other people.
What can I get for you? she asked me, pulling out a small notebook from
her worn out jeans. God, she was barely twenty one and already has a kid on the
way. I can see her stomach peeking out from her worn t-shirt, a little bump of new
life.
Emily! Hey! I shot her a smile, even though I hadnt talked to her in years,
How have you been? I actually was just going to get coffee and a couple eggs, over
easy, with country toast. I handed her my menu, and she left me alone with my
thoughts.

Isnt it funny how it all works out? Here I am, enjoying a nice breakfast as the
coffee warms my hands, watching as older couples order their usuals, counting
the snowflakes that fall outside the window, and that kid, the one that died, will
never eat breakfast again. I mean, unless they have an ALL-You-Can-Eat breakfast
buffet in heaven. If you believe in heaven, which I cannot say, with certainty, that I
do. I feel as though it is only appropriate to say that one believes in heaven only if
they believe with every fiber in their being.
Parker? someone says, and I recognize the voice instantly.
I sigh a little under my breath, sometimes I like to be left alone to my own
thoughts, and plaster a smile on my face, Alex! What are you doing here?
Just picking up breakfast for me and the boys, he says, coyly. He had three
bags in his hand, with four boxes in each.
Jesus Christ, breakfast of champions, I say, poking fun at my overly
masculine ex-boyfriend. He and his boys hit the gym at least once a day, for hours
at a time. Still, who am I to complain? I cant say I mind his rock solid figure. His jaw
is cut perfect, and even though I know he spends more time on his looks than I do, I
cant help but enjoy the view and pat myself on the back a little. Alex is a die-hard
Born Again Christian, but he cleans up well. The whole time he was trying to help
me find God, I was trying to get him into bed. Still, weve put aside our differences
and remained good friends.
Gotta treat yourself every once in a while, he winks at me. He actually
winks at me, and Im not even embarrassed for him. How many people can actually
pull that off?
Well, just watch yourself, I reply, You know what they say. A moment on
the lips is a lifetime on the hips. Emily brings over my plate of food, and I can see
the steam.
Careful, its hot, she gives me the standard warning.
Thank you, I try to smile at her one more time. No can do, she walks away
without even making eye contact.
Wait, are you really eating here by yourself? Alex looks around, probably
hoping to see someone else he knew.
You caught me on an off day, Allie, I tease him. I dont mind doing things by
myself, but he can never spend one second alone. I sip my coffee and look out the
window, just a quick glimpse, of the road where tragedy struck.
Whats on your mind, there, Parker? Alex asks me. He always was a nice
boy, genuinely interested in my well-being. Still, I look down at my mug of coffee

and cant seem to look up. It was such a comforting mug, a warm white with specks
of black. Little pieces had chipped off around the rim and handle, but I didnt mind;
it gave the mug life.
Did you hear about that kid that died a couple days ago? I ask. Alex is a few
years my senior. In fact, we were never in high school together, so there is no
reason that he should know about anyone my age.
Yeah, actually, that Brad kid?
Well, yeah, him. I dont know, I just cant seem to shake him from my mind.
I still cant look up from my coffee mug, You know what I keep thinking about? His
younger sister. They were so close, they even hung out with the same people. You
know whats crazy? That from now on, whenever she meets someone new, they will
never actually know her older brother. Anyone that she develops a relationship with,
and kids she has, will never know him. Hell be like a fictional character to them.
This person with whom she had such a strong connection, this person that she
talked to every day, this person who knew her better than she knew herself, wont
be real anymore. One day, shell be 30, at a Christmas party with her new family,
and hell just be a memory.
Alex loves these stupid philosophical conversations, I know he does. His mind
is reeling as he is trying to find an answer to accommodate his religious morals and
my atheistic views on the world.
I think that this opportunity presents itself in two ways, he starts, I think
that it was a matter of chance, and he just happened to draw the short straw. On
the other hand, there lies some sort of opportunity in her circumstance not yet seen
to her, possibly.
Good, his response was nice and broad, tip toeing around the subject, just
like I remember. Yeah, I guess. I smile feebly, trying to be convincing.
Alright, Parker, Ill see you around, Alex says as he stands up to leave,
Time to go feed the sharks. I smiled as I watched him walk away.
I was alone with my thoughts again, and this time they were racing. Does
everyone dream of being something great? Something greater than they ever
actually will be? Do people determine where they end up, or are we all putty in the
hands of an All Powerful Being? Is there a God? Is there a purpose of a God
anymore, in this day and age? Why do some people attain the unattainable, while
others know nothing more than poverty and despair their entire lives? Is it fate? Or
karma? Could it be bonus points carried over from a past life for an exceptionally
good deed, like sacrificing yourself for someone else, or dying a virgin?
Why was he dead?

***
A few hours later, I got a call from my friend Lauren.
Hey, she started, and I knew she was about to ask me a favor, Would you
want to go to his wake with me? I graduated with him, I feel like I should go.
I looked at the clock. Yeah, sure, what time were you thinking?
Probably within the hour, Lauren said, Did you need a ride?
Yeah, just come and pick me up, I was scrambling to pick out something to
wear. It needed to be tasteful, mournful, but still hopeful for his close friends and
family. God, it was crazy. How was I supposed to choose something to wear to this
wake, when he wasnt even supposed to be dead?
Lauren came and got me around 5 oclock in the afternoon. Her dark blue
minivan was tacky and old, as any young persons car should be. I got in the
passenger seat, greeted by The Shins The Rifles Spiral, one of our favorite songs.
She wore dark blue skinny jeans, tight to her thighs, black boots, and a flowing
black top. Her outfit was a little confused and uncertain, comparable to my dark
brown mid-calf boots, black leggings, and tight gray dress. I hated my scraggly
brown hair and had it thrown up in a tight bun. My hair matched my dirt brown eyes.
These funeral clothes did nothing to flatter me.
Lauren backed out of my driveway and started heading down the road. Are
you too warm? She asked me.
I dont care. Im fine, I say, Turn the heat down if you want to. She
adjusted the temperature accordingly and we sat in our thoughts.
Im pretty sure the last time I saw Brad was with you, Lauren finally says.
Im pretty sure the last time I saw him was when he was walking across the
stage with you, two years ago, I reply.
No dont you remember? Lauren asks, We saw him at the gas station?
Over summer?
I dont really know what youre talking about, L.
Yes, we were buying stuff for smores. It was him, Dan, and Jim, remember,
because we saw Jims new girlfriend? By the way, I think hes back with Tracy.
The memory finally came back to me. Oh yeah, I say, Youre right, A
pause and then, Lauren? You know what Ive been thinking a lot about? The people
that would end up coming to my funeral.

Lauren thought about that for a moment, I think it really all depends on how
you die. If its, lets say, a tragic accident, then tons of people would go. I dont care
if those people dont know you from Eve, there would not be a dry eye in that
cathedral. People would use your death as an opportunity to point out all the
horrible, terrible things in the world, and that even though death is inevitable, it is,
somehow, preventable, all the same.
At this, she paused and thought for a moment more, And then theres your timely
and predicted death. A long life; wrinkles, nursing home, dementia. That funeral, Im
afraid, would have the least attendance. You probably would have led a very decent
life, raising a very decent family, developing a very decent career. People would say
all the right things at your funeral, react appropriately, pay their respects, and meet
over at Charlies Pub for an excuse to get drunk and cry.
The price one pays for living a 2 by 4 life, I suppose, was about the only
thing I could muster.
***
We finally got to Websters Funeral Home, over compensating for its dreary
inner workings with an elegant exterior. Inside was dimly lit and there was so much
brown-brown walls, brown carpet, brown framework. It was dark. I saw his picture,
sitting on an easel, in the middle of the hallway. He was warm and smiling,
completely alive. Right this way, the picture seemed to say, please look at my dead
carcass and crying family, but try not to stare.
Past the picture, in the viewing room, we stumbled upon so many memories
of Brad. Collages covered with his face, saddened friends, weeping relatives. I saw
the casket and cant help but think that he was just as much alive in this room as he
had been any other time. My, its almost a happy occasion. Weve brought him back
from the dead, everyone can return home now and just pretend that nothing has
happened!
Yet, as we get closer to the casket, my mind begins to race, my heart begins
to pound. I cant look at the body, I cant. I look for an escape, anywhere for me to
run and hide. God, Lauren is pulling me nearer and nearer. Im almost crying. I
barely knew this fucking kid and I have tears welling up in my eyes like we were
best friends. I feel nauseous and weak. Can everyone see how panicked I am? The
beads of sweat glistening on my face? Can they hear how my breath has
quickened? How could they miss it, its so loud compared to his breathing. In, out,
in, out. Not too fast, not too fast, Parker, or people will notice you. But were getting
closer. I can see the shine of his patent leather shoes peeking over the top of one
end. It stings. Brad would have never worn those in real life. In this life. In my life.
Were so close now. I feel as though Im going to faint. I finally have the courage (or
cowardice) to look down.

His hair is slicked back, his skin is chalky. You can see the rosy red blush and
the soft pink lipstick. They had to do anything to make him look natural. His suite is
black and sharp, with a white button down shirt underneath. My stomach rolls over
as I finally look at what is splayed before me; I dont know where Brad is, but it is no
longer here, with us.
And this pathetic, lifeless body; all dressed up with nowhere to go.