Cody’s P.O.V.
I walk into the church, wearing bright yellow and ignoring the stares from everyone here. I’m surprised there are a lot of people here. I don’t know any of them. In my bright yellow attire, people give me accusing stares, as they are as black as can be. To them, they are proper.
If only they know.
If only they knew that black isn’t the proper color for funerals, bright colors are. Peyton and I knew. I know. That’s why I’m here.
I ignore everyone and slip into a seat in the back of the church, fiddling with my fingers. I didn’t want to come, but I have to. I promised her.
I don’t break my promises.
The pews start filling in and I see her coffin at the front of the church, in front of the altar and a podium where I give my speech.
I find myself moving, standing, walking towards her. I know that seeing her body will hurt, but I need to see her one more time. They didn’t let me at the hospital, even though I begged them. I reach the coffin and look into it.
There she is, lying there in all her beauty. Her hair is gone, her eyes are sunken; the makeup can’t hide it, her lips are thin, her ribs are almost visible, but she’s mine, she’s my Peyton and I love that.
She looks like she’s sleeping, like she’s going to wake up and ask me why I’m late. She looks just as bit as beautiful as she did on the first day I saw her, the first day where I knew that I loved her.
She would call me stupid.
I want to touch her, but I can’t bring myself to ruin her perfection. I settle for whispering, “I love you. I’m here.”
I walk back to my seat and people are still looking, looking at me curiously and hostilely. I don’t look at them. I sit down and wait for the pastor to start his speech. He talks about how perfect Peyton’s life was, and how we shall all miss her and we love her.
He’s wrong. I’m the only one here that loves her. And Peyton’s life wasn’t perfect. She was, but her life wasn’t.
“Now we want one of Peyton’s close friends to come up and deliver her eulogy,” the pastor says.
I get up and make my way to the podium, where I stand for a second, surveying the crowd. They look at each other than me, wondering who I am.
“Hello,” I say neutrally. “My name is Cody Freder. I don’t know any of you, which means none of you knew Peyton.”
They titter at my statement, some of them looking angry and some looking like they want to interrupt me.
“I was the only one there for Peyton when she had cancer,” I say, meeting every one of their eyes. “I was the only one there for her. So none of you cared enough to visit her. She was alone. Until I came. I cared for her and I loved her until she died. I’m not going to sit here and tell you all about our love, because none of you would understand. It was a dysfunctional love and it is meant to only be shared with us.
“I am absolute crap at sharing my feelings, so it took me forever to make a move on Peyton. But I was a good debator, and so was she. We talked about so many things, love, death, suicide, but we didn’t talk about enough. There was never enough. But we talked about funerals.”
I point at my bright yellow shirt. “Peyton told me to wear bright colors to her funeral because she doesn’t want me to be sad. She was like that. She didn’t bullshit her way around, she told it to you straight. She told me her views, her opinions, and I loved to hear them,” I look at everyone. Some people are crying already. “We didn’t agree on much, but we agreed on one thing. We both loved the book Fault In Our Stars. We read it and the line in it that reads ‘funerals are not for the dead. They’re for the living’ is absolutely true.
“Peyton wanted me to celebrate her life, not mourn her death. Funerals are not for the dead. They are for us, and our selfish ways. They are for us to come together and cry together about how we loved the person that left, but we never talk about that person,” I look out at the crowd.
“Funerals should be a giant party, about us celebrating the person’s life, their accomplishments, their loved ones, their whole life,” I look out over the crowd, no longer talking to them, but Peyton.
“So Peyton, congratulations. You fought brain cancer, a tumor. You may have lost, but you had a long good fight. They told you you had six months but you only had four, and I don’t blame you for that. Those four months were rough and I hope I made them easier. I’m proud of you. I love you. And I kept my promise.”
________________________________________________________
Past two covers by @Diaster_Dia
