Chapter 11: Doesn't Matter How You Feel, Life's Just a Ferris Wheel.

Everything in the closet still smelled like him. Every hoodie, every t-shirt, every pair of jeans. I pulled out a black skirt that I hadn't worn in years, and a black sweater and held them to my nose.
"Jase...are you ready?" Brendn asked, pushng the door open and sticking his head through.
"Uh...not really. Hold on." I changed quickly and finished my makeup.
Everyone's eyes were bright red and no one looked particularly amazing. I took front seat next to Brendon. Aleks and Ryan sat quietly in the back. Their canoodling had pretty much been put to a stop. I slapped the power button on the radio and Counting Crows flooded the car.

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog, where no on notices the contrast of white on white.
Between the moon and you, angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.

I walk in the air between the rain, through myself and back again.
Where? I dunno.

Maria says she's dying. Through the door I hear her crying.
Why? I dunno.

I sang along the entire drive, tears pooling in my eyes and eventually splashing down onto the cotton of my skirt. The blood drained from my face as we pulled into the funeral home parking lot.
"C'mon..." Someone whispered, taking me by the arm and helping me out of the car. It was Aleks. I let him lead me through the double doors and to the front of the room filled with people and pues and a coffin. I just stared at the cherry wood and cried some more. People approached me and attempted their condolances, but I ignored most of them. They weren't sincere. No one was. An old man stood behind the closed coffin and rambled about Spencer's accomplishments and family and friends and he'd be missed and God, but I didn't listen. Nothing was bringing him back. No amount of words or "I miss you"s.
I blocked out everything until we got back home, then I crawled into bed and curled up with a blanket. It smelled like Him too. Brendon laid down beside me and began to sing.

You know I don’t like you
But you want to be my friend
There are bodies on the ceiling
And they are fluttering their wings
It’s ok, I’m angry
But you’ll never understand
When you dream of Michelangelo
They hang above your hands