want to have kids with?"
He swallows. "I'm Catholic."
I don't get it. "I don't get it." I
say.
"We don't believe in birth control."
Whoa, I think, weird. "Ahh." I say. "And you
never plan to have kids."
Schuyler nods.
"Sounds to me like you're believing yourself
right into a corner there, honey." I hold up my hands, palms out.
"Not that I'm pressuring you. I'm just really glad you're here
right now."
He nods again, wide eyed. "Yeah me
too."
"Cool."
"Cool."
"So." I ask. "If I was normal, you'd want
to?"
Schuyler's eyebrows rise. "Oh definitely,
sure." Now he catches himself. "Uh... I mean..."
I roll my eyes. "Its cool, no worries." I shake
my head. "I'm glad you'd want me to have your babies if I didn't
see shit." I say and pop open the door. I get out leaving my bag in
the car.
"Hey!" Schuyler hurries around to my side. "Are
you mad at me?"
I pause to think about it. "No." and its true.
"I was afraid you were gay anyway, so I'll just pretend that you
are."
"What?" his voice squeaks. "I'm not
gay."
"Bi?" I shake my head. "No, of course not. It's
just that, I like you, and usually when I like someone there's
something wrong, you know. Not that gay is wrong," I backpedal,
just in case. "It’s just a big fat reason why it'll never work
out."
"Huh, so mental illness isn't a big fat reason
for you?" He smiles.
I smile too, and we start walking slowly
towards the funeral parlor. I lower my voice. "So... are you a
virgin? I mean since you don't do it if you're not prepared to
procreate."
Schuyler sighs. "I started having episodes when
I was pretty young." He says. "No, I'm not a virgin but I've never
done it when I was fully medicated."
"Really."
He runs his hands through his hair, and I
notice how blond it looks next to the dark blue sweater. “The
church... I mean, when you're raised Catholic..." He doesn't seem
to know how to finish.
I take his hand. "Don't worry, Schuyler." I
whisper. We're getting close to the mourners now and I don't want
to be over heard. I look around. I'm becoming increasingly agitated
the closer I get to all these people who knew Madeline and maybe
know me. I wonder who's who. Should I walk up and talk to people?
Never my strong suit. Will they come up and talk to me? Also not my
forte.
"I spent the entire year I was seventeen
believing I was Jesus." Schuyler says.
"Whoa!" I gasp. I release his hand and wrap my
arm around his waist. Poor dude. What a let down. My problems are
silly. "Hey I'm gonna ask my shades to show me who... never mind
okay? Just ignore me for a second." I pull us to a stop about
twenty yards from the entrance. Most of the other people are
already inside. I clear my throat. "If you're listening, and I know
you are, please help me to know who to talk to." I say in a normal
tone. A lady in black gives me a look.
"She's praying." Schuyler says.
"We're Catholic." I nod. The woman smiles
politely and precedes us up the walk into the funeral
home.
Inside we are herded into a cream colored room
to our left. The place is full, but it’s not as packed as I'd
expect, considering the youth and relative beauty of the departed.
There's a podium at the front, next to a big glamour shot of
Madeline Cross. Schuyler and I take seats in the middle of the back
row. I feel appropriately dressed and almost no one looks at me.
There are a number of other women in my age range present. One of
them is a red headed girl with glasses who takes the seat next to
mine.
She looks at me solemnly. "I'm Amy." She says.
"I grew up with Mads."
I nod. "I'm Meegan. I only met her recently but
she made a big impression."
At this Amy stiffens. What did I say? She turns
her attention forward. We still have a few minutes before its set
to begin. I'm busy scanning the room for shadows, when the tension
seems to get the better of the girl and she decides to play
hostess. "Up front." She points. "That's Mr. and Mrs. Cross, Tom
and Sally, and the blond next to Sally is Mads' little sister Gwen.
They
He swallows. "I'm Catholic."
I don't get it. "I don't get it." I
say.
"We don't believe in birth control."
Whoa, I think, weird. "Ahh." I say. "And you
never plan to have kids."
Schuyler nods.
"Sounds to me like you're believing yourself
right into a corner there, honey." I hold up my hands, palms out.
"Not that I'm pressuring you. I'm just really glad you're here
right now."
He nods again, wide eyed. "Yeah me
too."
"Cool."
"Cool."
"So." I ask. "If I was normal, you'd want
to?"
Schuyler's eyebrows rise. "Oh definitely,
sure." Now he catches himself. "Uh... I mean..."
I roll my eyes. "Its cool, no worries." I shake
my head. "I'm glad you'd want me to have your babies if I didn't
see shit." I say and pop open the door. I get out leaving my bag in
the car.
"Hey!" Schuyler hurries around to my side. "Are
you mad at me?"
I pause to think about it. "No." and its true.
"I was afraid you were gay anyway, so I'll just pretend that you
are."
"What?" his voice squeaks. "I'm not
gay."
"Bi?" I shake my head. "No, of course not. It's
just that, I like you, and usually when I like someone there's
something wrong, you know. Not that gay is wrong," I backpedal,
just in case. "It’s just a big fat reason why it'll never work
out."
"Huh, so mental illness isn't a big fat reason
for you?" He smiles.
I smile too, and we start walking slowly
towards the funeral parlor. I lower my voice. "So... are you a
virgin? I mean since you don't do it if you're not prepared to
procreate."
Schuyler sighs. "I started having episodes when
I was pretty young." He says. "No, I'm not a virgin but I've never
done it when I was fully medicated."
"Really."
He runs his hands through his hair, and I
notice how blond it looks next to the dark blue sweater. “The
church... I mean, when you're raised Catholic..." He doesn't seem
to know how to finish.
I take his hand. "Don't worry, Schuyler." I
whisper. We're getting close to the mourners now and I don't want
to be over heard. I look around. I'm becoming increasingly agitated
the closer I get to all these people who knew Madeline and maybe
know me. I wonder who's who. Should I walk up and talk to people?
Never my strong suit. Will they come up and talk to me? Also not my
forte.
"I spent the entire year I was seventeen
believing I was Jesus." Schuyler says.
"Whoa!" I gasp. I release his hand and wrap my
arm around his waist. Poor dude. What a let down. My problems are
silly. "Hey I'm gonna ask my shades to show me who... never mind
okay? Just ignore me for a second." I pull us to a stop about
twenty yards from the entrance. Most of the other people are
already inside. I clear my throat. "If you're listening, and I know
you are, please help me to know who to talk to." I say in a normal
tone. A lady in black gives me a look.
"She's praying." Schuyler says.
"We're Catholic." I nod. The woman smiles
politely and precedes us up the walk into the funeral
home.
Inside we are herded into a cream colored room
to our left. The place is full, but it’s not as packed as I'd
expect, considering the youth and relative beauty of the departed.
There's a podium at the front, next to a big glamour shot of
Madeline Cross. Schuyler and I take seats in the middle of the back
row. I feel appropriately dressed and almost no one looks at me.
There are a number of other women in my age range present. One of
them is a red headed girl with glasses who takes the seat next to
mine.
She looks at me solemnly. "I'm Amy." She says.
"I grew up with Mads."
I nod. "I'm Meegan. I only met her recently but
she made a big impression."
At this Amy stiffens. What did I say? She turns
her attention forward. We still have a few minutes before its set
to begin. I'm busy scanning the room for shadows, when the tension
seems to get the better of the girl and she decides to play
hostess. "Up front." She points. "That's Mr. and Mrs. Cross, Tom
and Sally, and the blond next to Sally is Mads' little sister Gwen.
They
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