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Do you remember when we first met? You asked for a kiss and I told
you to pour me a drink first. We were at Andy's party. His parents had
gone away so he invited everyone round, first making sure the ornaments
had been cleared away. But he forgot about one didn't he? That china
ballerina that used to sit on the mantelpiece got knocked off. He spent
the rest of the night in the kitchen with a tube of superglue, poor
git.
I don't think you were drunk when you came up to me, unless you were
hiding it well. You were wearing that blue shirt. The one with the palm
trees on it and the top button missing. You fetched me a drink and from
then on you remained mine.
Your eyes always twinkled in the sun. We'd be talking then all of a
sudden a flash of blue would blind me and I'd remember how much I loved
you.Did I ever tell you that?

I'm staring at the man sitting in front of me. The back of his head is
bald and he's combed a few, lonely hairs from the left side of his head
to the right. I don't know who he is, but then I've never been good at
recognising comb-overs. I decided I didn't want to sit at the front. It
would be like I was on show and I didn't want that. I'd rather I wasn't
here at all but if I hadn't have come people would think it was weird.
I'd give anything for Harry Potter's invisibility cloak right now, or
just a big rock that I could peep out from. If I clutch hymn book
tightly enough maybe no one will see me and I can imagine myself a
million miles away. Like sitting on the moon perhaps. How far away is
the moon? That's the sort of thing you would know, but you're not here
to ask are you?
I can hear people crying as they carry you, boxed and ready, up the
aisle. The aisle that, for this hour only, won't be used for a wedding
or christening. Didn't you want to walk up the aisle some day? You
always were lazy. But you must be pleased, you've packed out the
church! I haven't seen a crowd like this since the the first showing of
The Phantom Menace.

The other week when we were down the pub, I was talking to Dave about
your surprise birthday party. He only bought me a drink because I'd
organised it all myself. Your jelous looks from across the bar were
quite unnecessary. If you'd have hung on, just one more day you would
have known that. We could have had a laugh. I could have told you
everything was ok. I hope you didn't do it because you were jelous. I'd
like to think that you'd have a better reason than that, and I'm sure
your family would too. Did you think about their feelings when you tied
that rope to the tree? Did you think they didn't love you, and that
their grief now is all fake? I'm sure it is.When your mother is sitting
in the lounge at night, in the dark, in the silence, I'm sure she's
only doing it for effect. Your brother too is acting when he sits in
his room, hitting the back of his head against the wall, over and over
again.

I can't remember if it was windy that night. I don't know whether you
were cold or just numb. Did you sway as the breeze blew and kissed your
open eyes? How long were you there before your mother found you, her
baby, 1978-2001? I guess none of that matters now. Not as long as
you're happy. Remember that your happiness is, and always has been the
most important thing.

The vicar's saying his last words now. I look down at my hands and see
that my nails have left marks, like half moons, in the leather bound
hymn book. I can feel people's eyes on me, looking to see if I'm crying
and frowning when they see that I'm not.

Do you remember our first kiss? I took a swig of my vodka and pulled
your face towards mine. You tasted of beer. Your mouth was warm and wet
and you filled me with happiness. Did I ever tell you that?