Then Theo’s name was announced for the eulogy.
I had forgotten he was supposed to speak.
He stood.
The whispers followed him all the way to the microphone.
Now he was staring at the coffin.
He pulled the microphone closer.
“About six months ago, Jack and I were watching this terrible movie in his room.”
A tiny smile appeared.
“He said it was a classic. It was not.”
A few of Jack’s friends laughed softly.
Theo continued.
“He’d just gotten back from another scan. His parents weren’t home yet.”
I looked at Daniel.
I remembered that scan.
The results had been bad.
Not hopeless. Not officially.
But bad enough that the doctor had started using phrases like “next-line treatment” and “managing expectations.”
Theo said, “Jack asked me if I’d speak at his funeral.”
The air left my chest.
Daniel sat down.
Theo looked toward us.
“I told him to shut up.”
His eyes filled.
“I was mad at him for even saying it.”
Then he laughed through his tears.
“I told him, ‘I’ll speak at your funeral when you show up to mine wearing a dress.'”
Several people smiled.
I didn’t.
I already knew where this was going.
Theo continued.
“Jack said, ‘Fine. Then you have to wear one to mine.'”
Theo looked down at the red fabric.
“I told him absolutely not.”
He paused.
“Then he said red.”
My hands began shaking.
“Specifically red. Because he said black makes me look like an undertaker.”
Someone behind me laughed and immediately started crying.
Theo’s voice weakened.
“I told him there wasn’t going to be a funeral.”
He stopped again.
This time he couldn’t hide the tears.
“I said he was going to get better.”
The room was completely silent.
“He said, ‘Probably.'”
Theo wiped his face with the back of his hand.
