It Started with a Bet... (Watty Awards 2011)

47: A party, my brain says, but the words don't come out.

47: A party, my brain says, but the words don't come out.

"Trina, I'm so sorry." She's sitting on the bed, crying. I sit next to her awkwardly and put an arm around her. Tears are rolling down my cheeks, too.

"Haley, it was awful!" she says. "Everyone was just all sad and weepy, it made me cry and I barely knew him!" One of Trina's great uncles died last week, and Trina went to the funeral.

"But you should have seen my grandma, Haley. And my mom. It was so depressing! When I die, I don't want people crying at my funeral, I want them to smile." I think about it.

"Trina, people cry because they are sad. And then after they cry, they feel better." I gesture to the tissues sharing our bed. "Don't you feel better?" She shrugs.

"I guess. But Haley, when I die, I don't want a funeral."

"What?"

She shakes her head.

"I don't want a bunch of people to get to together just to cry over me. Fine, even if they were to do a funeral, I'd want someone to throw a huge party for me later. With lights and music and dancing and fun!" I look at her.

"Really?"

"Yeah! I don't want to make people cry all the time."

I think about it. I'm usually the one who pulls us into comedy movies instead of pathetic tragic romances. I'm usually the one who prefers to make people laugh than cry in drama class.

"I kinda like the idea,” I admit.

Trina nods enthusiastically, her enormous, shiny earrings bouncing up and down in her 12 year old ears.

"I know, right? Hey, Haley, can you promise me something?"

I look at her.

"What?"

"When we're super old like my granduncle, if I die before you, can you make sure they throw that party for me? And then I want you to be happy. I guess you just have to cry a little before you can set everything aside, but when you're happy, you won't cry." She extends her pinky out to me.

"And when we're super super-D-duper old, if I die before you, do you promise to do the same thing?" I ask. We solemnly lock pinkies and promise. Then Trina starts to giggle.

"Everyone's going to think we're crazy!" she falls onto her back against the pillows.

"Can you imagine the lawyer's face when he reads that in the will?" I add. We both start to giggle like idiot 12 year olds. Because we are idiot twelve year olds.

I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. Finally, I finally remember. Oh, God, what have I done? My hands are shaking as I go to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. A tired, hideous beast stares back.

Why? Why is the promise so different from what I remembered? Why didn't I remember the party at all? No...no, I had remembered. And now other memories I had pushed far, far away come back.

"Haley, is there anything you'd like to say about Trina at the ceremony tonight? I can stand up there with you if you need support."

I don't look at my mom.

A party, my brain says, but the words don't come out.

She didn't want a funeral, she wanted a party. She told me two years ago.