Back when we were in middle school, we used to go running together. When we couldn’t go any farther, we would flop down on some neighbor’s lawn and catch our breath. Then we would just talk and laugh. We laughed a lot.
That’s what I miss, his friendship.
RICHIE MCGILL
I don’t know, I miss a lot of things. Mostly I miss how the guy lit up a room, or at least the way he did before he lost his leg. You can take that however you want, but the dude was a force of nature. You kind of felt proud that he’d picked you as a friend.
CHEYENNE BELLE
Everything.
HARBINGER JONES
Funeral homes are weird places. They’re little factories for honoring the dead. Johnny’s service was held at a place near our old high school; it was a long, low white house that, on the outside, looked inviting. One of the ways death tricks you, I suppose.
The wake was a scene. I mean, Johnny was insanely popular all throughout school, kind of like Ferris Bueller. When we went on the road and then when he lost his leg, the legend of Johnny McKenna only grew.
When I first walked into the room and saw the open casket at the far end, my stomach turned. The rest of the room seemed to blur at the edges, the whole thing collapsing into a kind of wormhole that led straight to the coffin. It took me a minute to get my bearings.
Rows of chairs had been set up like people were coming to see Johnny play one last show. There were pictures of him scattered on end tables next to the few upholstered chairs and couches. His keyboard was set up in a corner, with a pair of his old running shoes underneath. That bothered me a little. Johnny played the keyboard only because he couldn’t wear those running shoes anymore. The symbolism was all screwed up.
Richie, Chey, and I had come to the wake together. Richie looked sharp in a new suit, while I stood there swimming in an ill-fitting gray two-piece with a skinny tie and pointy black boots. It was the same suit I had worn under my gown at our high school graduation. I was the only kid not smart enough to figure out that it didn’t matter what you wore under your gown. Most everyone had worn shorts, and supposedly one kid, John Emmett, had been naked. Chey looked beautiful at the wake, like she always does, in her skirt and blazer. Though she did remind me of Jo from Facts of Life.
Like Scarecrow and the Tin Man protecting Dorothy, Richie and I each hooked one of Chey’s arms and took our place in the line of mourners, waiting until it was our turn to approach the casket.
You always hear people say how dead bodies at wakes look peaceful. Johnny didn’t look peaceful. He looked dead. The color in his cheeks was only there because someone had applied makeup, and his eyes were taped shut. The suit he was wearing didn’t fit any better than the suit I was wearing.
I just bowed my head and told Johnny how sorry I was and that I hoped he was somewhere where he could run. As much as he loved music, Johnny’s soul was connected to running the same way my soul was connected to the guitar. I didn’t know what else to say or think.
Cheyenne started to cry pretty hard when we saw Johnny, and Richie and I tried to pull her away, but she stopped us. She reached into a small purse she had slung over her shoulder and gently dropped something in the casket. It fell to the side of Johnny’s body, so I didn’t see what it was. I never asked.
I’d love to tell you that it was more dramatic than that. That one of us made a speech or broke down or did something grandiose. We didn’t. We paid our respects like everyone else, and we moved on. The moment demanded more, but there was no more to be done.
After saying our final good-byes, we followed the other mourners, like a morbid sort of conga line, to see Johnny’s parents. His mother was barely holding it together as she greeted and hugged the people in front of us, an older couple, maybe some aunt and uncle of Johnny’s. The four of them—the couple and Johnny’s parents—talked for a moment that felt like a year, and then it was our turn.
Mrs. McKenna looked at Chey, Richie, and me with ice in her eyes. I thought for sure she was going to take a swing at me.
She did just the opposite.
Johnny’s mother, the woman who had so detested us, literally fell into our arms, all six of our arms, and started wailing. She was saying something but was so upset I couldn’t make it out at first.
“Thankyoubingsugofrnds” is what I heard. I could only mumble, “I’m so sorry,” as I held her. She sucked in a big breath, and then her words resolved themselves.