Disclaimer:I own nothing. The characters belong to James Merendino and the song "Curse Of A Fallen Soul" belongs to the Dropkick Murphys.
Summary:SLC Punk! It's written from Stevo's point of view. Stevo is still trying to come to terms with Bob's death.
Curse Of A Fallen Soul:
A Premature Goodbye.
I've watched you go and seen you pass,
I always knew it wouldn't last
We'll Drink the beer and hang out where death took another son.
So all for one and one for all, do we ever wonder why.
Though the reasons clear,
This friend so dear was taken before his time.
I stuck around the funeral home long after the wake had ended. It was surreal seeing Bob lying there in the casket. He was my best friend, practically my brother and now he's gone. I'm not one for emotions but seeing him lying there arose all sorts of feelings in me. Grief, anguish, rage, and defeat were all bubbling inside me, and I didn't know how to quiet them.
I should have known that this would happen. What's that song by Billy Joel? Oh yea, Only the Good Die Young. Truer words were never spoken, err.. I mean sang. He did not deserve to die; there were plenty of so-called "punks" who lived harder and faster than him. But because of some unlucky stroke of fate, he's dead and I don't have a best friend anymore.
I feel a gentle arm wrap around my waist, and cock my head to the right to see Brandy standing beside.
"I thought I was alone." I whisper.
"It's just me," she tells me. Her voice brings comfort that I have never felt before. I caught myself searching her deep brown eyes for some kind of solace, anything that would give me an explanation as to why this had to happen. "A bunch of your friends went back to the apartment. They want you to meet them there." She's looking up at me, trying to discern whether or not I'll be ok. I hate to see the worry and concern etched on her face.
"Oh," I say, trying to buy a little time. I need to be sure that I can handle what I'm about to walk into. I haven't been back to the apartment since Bob's death and I would rather not go back there. I know I will though for closure, or whatever the physiologists are calling it these days. "You'll come with me, right?" I turn my attention back to Brandy. I feel like a little kid asking his mother not to leave. God, I hate feeling vulnerable.
"If you want me to," she answers back. I just nod. "I'll meet you out in the lobby, ok?" She gives me a reassuring smile and once again all I can do is nod. She disappears and I allow myself to take one last look at him, my brother in arms.
"I love you, man. I'm not going to get all sensitive and shit, but I just want to make sure you know that." I kiss him quickly on the forehead before heading towards the lobby.
So may this round be on the corpse of a dead man,
With a toast that tells of a love you never shared.
So as we dance on the grave of the misbehaved.
Raise your glass! And sing the praise of a fallen soul.
I can feel the butterflies in my stomach when I enter the apartment. I take a quick glance around the living room to determine who is there. Trish is sitting on the couch with Mike and Eddie. Mark is sitting in the chair in deep conversation with Chris. I'm surprised to see that Sean made the trip out of his house. He's sitting in the corner talking to himself, but he's here.
"Hey Stevo." My pulse begins to race when I recognize the deep throaty voice. Sandy.
"What's up?" I ask trying to walk past her to the kitchen. I can hear her footsteps. Great, she's not going to leave me alone, now.
"Are you alright?" She asks. Yea, I'm great. My best friend just died, but I'm doing just fine.
"I'm good," I mumble with my back to her as I reach in the fridge for a couple beers. When I turn around she flings herself into my arms. She's crying and I can hear her whispering apologizes and I love you's in my ear.
"I can't do this, Sandy." I tell her as I'm pulling away. Her eyes are engulfed with hurt and I almost feel bad. Almost. "I'm not your toy anymore. You just can't take me out and play with me whenever you feel like it. I've moved on." I say the last part quietly. A part of me still loves Sandy and I don't want to hurt her, but an even bigger part of me says I'm doing the right thing by being with Brandy.
"Everything ok out here." I see her standing in the doorway. She looks a little bothered by Sandy's proximity to me.
"Yea, everything is good," I answer. She just not nods and grabs one of the beers out of my hand and heads out to the living room. I follow her, leaving Sandy alone in the kitchen.
"I have something to say," Trish gets up from her position on the couch. "Bob was the most decent man that I have ever met. He has affected everyone in this room in one way or another and I think he deserves one last toast from all of us. So, here's to Bob, probably the purest punk in Salt Lake City," she's giggling softly at the last part and it doesn't take very long for the rest of us to join in. I raise my bottle up along with everyone else and we all drink to Bob. I can feel Brandy's eyes on me; wrapping my arm around her shoulders I pull her a little closer to my chest. "It's the way he would have wanted it." I say softly and she just nods.
Many bow their heads for this man they know so well,
With solemn thoughts they'll drink and drug for a resurrection. (Facing death we fear no danger)
While Mothers shed their tears through a veil of desperation
These fiends of a vicious breed raise holy hell.
I have never been to a burial before. It was a lot harder than I expected. Bob didn't have much of an immediate family; therefore the space around his resting place was filled with friends and random townspeople who barely even knew him. I couldn't quite figure out why most of these people where here, probably something to do with religion. I stood in the back taking in the sight before me. Bob's grandparents came and his grandmother had tears coursing down her cheeks.
The preacher was reading out of the bible and I caught myself wondering if Bob even believed in God. We had had many religious talks, mostly about Mormonism, but Bob was usually pretty indecisive on the topic. I hope that he believes in God, at least a little bit, because I'd be pissed if I was him and my funeral was wrecked by preaches I didn't even believe in. How can a funeral be ruined? I laugh at the thought, I bet he doesn't even care; he went with the flow of life and didn't let things bother him. I always was the dramatic one who liked to stir up controversy.
I realize that the ceremony must be over because everyone is placing their flowers on the casket. I wait for the crowd to disband slightly before making my way to the front. "Fuck Yooooooooouuuuuuuuu." I yelp softly at the closed wooden box. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the cover booklet to Rush's Hemisphere album. I laugh, before placing it atop the flowers.
When I walk away I feel better, this must be that closure that I was thinking about yesterday. I see Brandy waiting for me a few yards away and for the first time in a week I feel good. I'll never forget Heroin Bob and I know I'll see him again sometime. I can already hear the first words out of his mouth.
"I thought only fucking posers die?"