Free Breaking Dawn by Donna Shelton Page B

remind myself to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. I can’t do this. I want to run. Just turn around and run away.
    ‘Dawn?’
    I jump. I turn to the familiar voice and familiar face and look at him. I know this person. What’s his name? I know his name. Of course, it’s Brian. A brief smile curls one corner of his mouth.
    ‘You look like you need a hand to hold.’
    I look down as he holds out his hand to me. Maybe a familiar touch will bring some comfort. Maybe it will be the distraction Ineed. I reach out and he closes his fingers gently around my hand. I am surprised to see him here. I am surprised to see Carla and the teachers. They are mostly here out of a sense of obligation. Perry really didn’t have many people to care for him. There are still many empty seats in this room, the smallest room available.
    I walk with Brian around the laid-out seats and up towards the front where Carla is talking with Mr Valentine. I try not to look over at the casket. We are so close now that I am afraid I might accidentally see what lies inside.
    ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Mr Valentine says, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. ‘If you need anything, I’m here for you.’
    How am I supposed to respond to that? ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Have you seen him yet?’ Carla says.
    ‘What?’ I look at her.
    ‘They did a good job with the make-up, you can’t even tell…’
    ‘Carla!’ Brian interrupts.
    A look of disgust is written all over my face, but I know Carla just doesn’t think before she speaks. She is an idiot.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Carla says as she is ushered away by Mr Valentine.
    ‘She doesn’t think,’ Brian says, shaking his head. ‘Do you want to see Perry before the service begins?’
    Brian motions to the priest who is entering the room. I look the room over once more. I guess this is all who will be attending. This is all there is for Perry, my best friend. I glance over at the casket. I feel like Perry’s spirit is calling me over to say hi. Stupid, I know, but…
    I hold Brian’s hand a little tighter. Maybe I can draw from him the strength I need to walk by the casket and peek inside.I know I have to go over there. ‘Come with me?’ I ask him.
    ‘Sure.’
    Slowly, we walk up to the casket, a shiny wooden box containing my friend. I am afraid that once I look into the box, I will scream or burst out crying or faint. And I can’t do that. Perry deserves better. I look into the casket and there, surrounded by white satin, his head resting on a small white satin pillow, lies my friend – the shell of my friend.
    I look at his face and study the make-up . He looks more like a doll. The hair is arranged to hide the sewn up hole in his head. The suit he is wearing, furnished by my parents, is dark blue and would have complemented his eyes. I look at his hands, folded peacefully over his stomach, and for a moment I think I see a finger twitch. I stare harder, watching his chest, thinking if I stare hard enough I might see him still breathing. And I do see this; I see what I want to see. But I know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Horrible, cruel tricks.
    The person in the casket looks like Perry, but it isn’t Perry. It’s just an empty shell resembling Perry. I wonder if it’s right to mourn a shell. I reach out my hand and touch him, slowly extending my fingers to stroke his cheek. He is cold to the touch. Do I really expect it to be any different? This isn’t real. This isn’t Perry.
    The priest is up at the podium, waiting for the mourners to be seated, so he can begin the service and read his prepared eulogy. Brian and I take our seats in the front row, next to my mom and dad, as the service begins with a prayer. I let go of Brian’s hand. I’ve been holding onto him so tight our palms have become sweaty.
    I bow my head and pretend to go along with the prayer, and when the priest begins his eulogy I just stare at the casket. Even though I believe the priest is trying to deliver a fitting