Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game

by Katie Ashley

  “No, he was mine!” Avery countered, grasping at the urn. The two pushed and shoved back and forth. Suddenly, the urn went flying through the air.

  It smashed against carpet. “Jesus Christ!” I yelled.

  Jake, or what was left of Jake, lay scattered along the carpet.

  Mr. Whitfield rushed into the room. “What in the hell is going on in here?” he demanded.

  Everyone refused to answer him. His eyes widened in horror. “My God, don’t you kids have any respect for the dead?” he questioned. None of us said anything. “All right, everybody out! Now!” he growled.

  Presley and Avery hung their heads in shame as they scurried from the room. I could imagine this was going to be quite the gossip tomorrow at the funeral. Of course, only Jake could manage not only to blow himself up, but also have a catfight over his remains.

  Jonathan and Jason met me at the door. “Dude, what the hell happened?” Jason questioned.

  “A bitchfight,” I mumbled.

  “Huh?” Jonathan asked.

  “Presley and Avery were fighting over Jake, and somehow his urn was—broken.”

  They both glanced past me to where their brother’s ashes colored the floor. “Damn,” Jonathan murmured his eyes widening in shock.

  “Yeah, Mr. Whitfield isn’t too thrilled with us, so I’m not sure how well we’re gonna be able to ‘sit-up’ with Jake tonight,” I replied.

  Jason shook his head. “Well, everybody’s pretty exhausted and overwrought, so it’s probably good it got canceled.” He shuddered as he looked at Jake’s ashes. “Well, maybe not because of that.”

  I exhaled a defeated breath. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  As I strode across the parking lot, I shook my head. God, could this day get any worse? Not to mention I still had to make it through the funeral in the morning. I fought my gag reflex at the very thought.

  When I got home, the house was dark. I knew Mom had delivered two babies the night before, so she’d probably crashed early. I eased open the door in from the garage, trying to be as quiet as I could, so I wouldn’t wake her up.

  Suddenly, I heard music. Mood music. I noticed candlelight flickering in the living room.

  I skidded to a stop in the living room doorway. “Holy shit!” I cried.

  There on the couch in all their naked glory was my mom and Greg. I turned around and tried to flee, but instead, I ran face first into the antique armoire. “Fuck!” I cried.

  “Noah!” my mother screamed. With my back turned, I heard her scurry to grab the throw off the back of the couch to cover up.

  At the sound of a thump, I figured Greg had fallen off the couch. I heard him furiously throwing on his pants. As soon as I heard a zipper, I whirled around.

  “Mom, what in the hell are you doing?” I demanded, even though I was fully aware of what she was doing.

  “I-I thought you were going to be s-siting up with Jake tonight, and it was one of the few night Greg and I were both off,” she stammered. Even through the dim light, I could see her face was flushed with embarrassment.

  “Yeah, well, sitting up turned into a fiasco, and I decided to come home.”

  I glanced over at Greg who refused to meet my gaze. I snorted. “Sorry to have interrupted. I’m going upstairs to bed now, and I promise I won’t be coming back downstairs until hell freezes over!”

  Without another word from my mother or Greg, I whirled around and stormed up the stairs. I rushed into my room and slammed the door. Slowly, I slid down the frame and into the floor.

  I fell asleep on the floor in my clothes.

  ***

  The next morning I woke up to a gentle rapping at my door. “Noah, it’s eight o’clock. If you’re not up, you better get a move on, sweetie,” Mom’s muffled voice urged.

  I opened my eyes, and then I immediately snapped them shut. I couldn’t believe today was my best friend’s funeral. If that wasn’t bad enough, my mind raced with the prospect of having to sing. I covered my eyes with my arm and let the emotions wash over me.

  The events of the previous night played over and over in my mind. I couldn’t forget the image of Jake’s urn smashed on the funeral home floor. Nor could I forget the image of Mom and Greg getting busy on our couch. Damn, I loved that couch, too. Now I’d never be able to sit on it again.

  No son should ever have to imagine his mother having sex least of all see it. Yeah, I know she’s only thirty-five, and she has needs and all, but seriously. I didn’t know how I was going to look at her in the same way. I mean, all my life it’s just been the two of us against the world. I had the sneaky suspicion that Greg was hell-bent on wedging his ass into our family—our little alliance against the world.

  I slowly rolled into a sitting position and sniffed the air appreciatively. Something smelled good downstairs. My stomach growled. I decided to wait on my shower until after I got something to eat.

  When I got into the kitchen, there was quite a spread of food on the table. It wasn’t surprising that Mom had made my favorite breakfast of French toast. I peered around the kitchen for Greg, but I didn’t see him.

  I caught her gaze and raised my eyebrows. The moment I did, pain shot through my forehead. “Ow!”

  Mom hurried over to me. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” She reached out to touch my eyebrow, but I flinched away from her. Her face fell.

  I realized right then I could continue acting like a prick because of what I’d seen last night, or I could be a little more adult about it and move on. Deep down, I knew today was gonna be a bitch, and I’d need her—you know to get through it.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “You’ve gotta cut place above your eyebrow.” The moment the words left her lips, she blushed. I knew she realized how I’d gotten the cut. It’d come from running into the armoire to escape the sexcapade in the living room.

  “Yeah, well, why don’t you fix it, Dr. Sullivan?” I said, trying to change the subject.

  She smiled weakly and nodded. Then she hurried into the pantry for her medical kit. When she came back, she motioned for me to have a seat. I eased down in one of the kitchen chairs she got to work. Suddenly, I was laughing.

  Mom jerked her hand away and gave me an odd look. “What’s so funny?”

  “Remember all the times Jake got “hurt” while he was over here? I swear, there wasn’t a time he didn’t come over to play when we were little that he didn’t end up with some wimpy little cut or scrape that he needed you to ‘make better’.”

  Mom laughed. “Oh gosh, I’d forgotten all about that. As soon as he was old enough to realize I was in medical school, he was all about my healing.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think it was your healing he was interested in,” I muttered.

  “Noah!” Mom exclaimed, her face flushing again.

  “Oh come on Mom, you know he had a huge crush on you. I swear, Jake must’ve come out of the womb a little hornball!”

  Mom shook her head. “Well, I don’t know about that. I just used to think he needed a little extra attention, you know? Being the youngest boy with two very demanding older brothers. And Mr. Nelson certainly isn’t the most caring individual-”

  “The man’s an asshole.”

  “Language, Noah,” Mom warned.

  I snorted. “You know it’s true.”

  Mom grinned. “Yes, it’s true, but I don’t want you talking like that.” When Mom touched the alcohol to my cut, I jumped. “Sorry sweetie.”

  “It’s okay. Just stings a little.” I would dare admit that it hurt like a bitch. Once Mom finished doctoring my eye, I fixed a heaping plate of French toast, bacon, and eggs.

  With a pained expression on her face, Mom sat down next to me. “I’m so, so sorry I won’t be able to be with you at the funeral today, sweetie. I tried everything to get out of this C-Section, but I can’t.”

  “It’s okay,” I mumbled, through a mouthful of food.

  “Grammy will be there, and so will Uncle Mark a
nd Aunt Eva,” she informed me.

  All through my childhood, Grammy had been the ‘stand-in’ when mom couldn’t make it to things. But there were few times that I didn’t remember my mom being there. I don’t know how in the hell she did it, but she did.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I mean, you spent all of yesterday at the funeral home with the Nelson’s. I’m sure they understand, just like I do.”

  Her brows creased in worry. “I hope so.” Her expression then turned quizzical. “Are you nervous, you know, about singing?” she asked.

  “Yeah, a little,” I lied. She didn’t need to know I could practically hurl the entire contents of my stomach up at the thought.

  “You’re going to do great, Noah,” she replied. When I didn’t answer, she patted my hand. “It’s going to be fine, sweetie. I know it’ll make Mr. and Mrs. Nelson very happy.” I shot her a look, and she smiled. “Well, maybe Mrs. Nelson at least since the Asshole probably won’t care one way or the other!”

  I laughed. “Nice language, Mom.”

  With a wink, she replied, “I try.” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Better hurry up and eat. You need to get ready.”

  The talk of the funeral had completed wiped out my appetite. I laid my fork down and pushed my plate away. “Yeah, I think I’ve had enough,” I said.

  Mom nodded. “Okay then.”

  “Thanks for fixing my eye.”

  She didn’t blush quite as much this time. “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh yeah and for fixing breakfast.”

  “Once again, you’re welcome.”

  I smiled at her and then hopped up from the table. I headed upstairs to take my shower. After I got out, I eyed the black suit my mom had laid across my bed. If it’s possible to actually hate a piece of clothing, I did that suit. My mom had bought it when my grandfather died. That was the only time I’d worn it. Now two years later, I had to wear it to Jake’s funeral. Who would have ever imagined? Of course, I’d had to get new pants since I kept shooting up. Another reason for Mr. Nelson to think I was a total fruit since what self-respecting 6’2 kid didn’t play basketball?

  Asshole.

  When I slid the jacket on, I cringed. Like most guys, I guess I’d never really dealt with my grief over Granddaddy’s death. I’d stepped up to the plate and been a man—you know, the strong, stoic one who everyone could count on, not the grieving grandson whose heart was shattered in jagged shards. My mom needed me desperately since she’d gone to pieces after Granddaddy died. As I slid on my tie, I tried to remember if I’d shed one tear since he died. The harder I tried, I still couldn’t remember the last time. I could feel the sobs rising slowly from the pit of my stomach—the same kind that had overtaken me at school. But I wouldn’t let them—not now. I had to keep it together.

  I could almost hear Jake’s voice echoing through my head. Fuck dude, I’m really touched at this emotional shit-storm you’re going through just for me. Who knew you’d turn into such a sentimental pussy over my death? You’re one step closer to growing a vagina!

  Those thoughts brought a welcomed smile to my lips and a burning pain through my chest. Even though Jake ragged the hell out of me, I missed it—I missed the jokes and teasing at my expense. That was just who he was—as Grammy would say, ‘It was all part of his charm.’ I paused in straightening my tie to rub my chest. Glancing up at the ceiling, I nibbled on my bottom lip for a minute. “Hey man…Jake…if you’re up there and you’re listening, I could really use some help to get through today. I wanna do right by you—I mean, your funeral is the last thing on earth we all can do for you. So give me a little of your swagger to tackle today, okay?”

  Silence echoed back at me, but I slowly began to feel lighter—like peace was chasing away the heavy feeling. I cocked my head and grinned up at the ceiling. “Thanks man.”

  I then hurried out of my bedroom and pounded down the stairs. After giving Mom a final kiss and hug, I hopped in my Jeep and headed to the funeral home. Instead the of the mini-panic attack I braced myself for when I pulled into Whitfield’s, a sense of calm washed over me and stayed with me through the next two hours before it was time to start to the church for the funeral.

  Even though Jake had been cremated, his parents had selected eight guys to be honorary pallbearers. It ended up being Alex, me, Bubba-Sean and Ryan, and several of the football players. We each had a blood red rose on our lapels. We rode in a separate car behind his parents and brothers. As we got ready to pull into the church, I had never seen such a crowd. Cars were even parked along the highway. I shuddered at the thoughts of all those people—all those people I’d have to sing in front of. But more than anything, it was all those people I had to try to keep a hold of myself in front of.

  The car pulled in the front of the parking lot, and we all hopped out. The funeral director started lining up the family members, and then he positioned us in front. I drew in a deep breath as he threw open the double doors.

  The sound of everyone rising to their feet rumbled through the church like distant thunder signaling a storm on the horizon. As we moved towards the opened door, the aisle to the church altar stretched out endlessly before me. Jake’s urn sat on a pedestal at the top of the altar. It was bathed in multicolored light from the stained glass windows and surrounded by baskets of flowers. I could practically hear Jake’s voice in my ear. “Damn, makes me look kinda fruity, don’t ya think?”

  Pastor Dan started in first—somber-faced and outfitted in his black mourning robe. The pallbearers were to go next. From all the way outside, I could hear the weeping. That same weeping had remained a constant ringing in my ears for the last forty-eight hours. It closed in around me, shrouding me in darkness.

  I just wanted out.

  I wanted to turn and run just like I had that day in the counselor’s suite. I was under water again—fighting to reach the surface, fighting for air, and most importantly, fighting for life.

  A hand on my shoulder jolted me out of my thoughts. It was one of the funeral directors. “It’s time, son,” he whispered.

  I nodded but putting one foot in front of the harder turned to be harder than I thought. Alex, who was walking beside me, gave me a little tug on my suit sleeve. Finally, I was able to lift my feet and start the march down the aisle.

  The first pew on the left was reserved for us. The funeral director moved the red velvet rope blocking it off the same way a bouncer would at a club. Jake’s parents, brothers, grandparents, and slew of aunts, uncles, and cousins would be sitting on the right side.

  Once all the family had filed into the church, Pastor Dan motioned for everyone to be seated. He gazed into the crowd and cleared his throat. “It is with heavy hearts that we come together today to say farewell to Jacob Anthony Nelson. Jake is survived by his father, Martin, who always supported him on the sidelines of sports and life.”

  “Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

  Alex shot me a look.

  “His loving mother, Evelyn, who…” I tuned out as the nerves overcame me. After the opening introductions and prayer, I was up. A sickening knot twisted in my stomach. I wasn’t ready for my first real performance to be in front of almost a thousand grief-stricken mourners. I tried to remember my mom’s reassuring words, but in the end, it didn’t help.

  “Now, I’d like to ask our associate pastor to lead us in prayer. Let’s all bow our heads.”

  I lowered my head, but it was a sham. I twirled my guitar pick anxiously between my fingers. I must have been pretty jerky because Alex leaned over and put his hand over mine. I didn’t realize I was practically bouncing the entire bench.

  “Amen,” echoed throughout the church, and I jerked my head up.

  “And now Jake’s best friend, Noah Sullivan, is going to sing Jake’s favorite song,” Pastor Dan said.

  I practically bolted up from the bench—overcome with nervous energy. A hush came over the mourners as I strode across the pulpit. For once the cacophony of sniffling and sobbi
ng ceased, and the sound of my shoes tapping along the floorboards echoed off the walls. Easing down in the chair, I propped the guitar on my thigh and adjusted the microphone. I drew in a ragged breath—trying to fill my lungs and steady my already out of control nerves. The irony that I was singing a song by a band who had lost members in a fiery plane crash wasn’t lost on me.

  As I strummed the opening chords, I could almost see Jake in my mind—lighter in hand and a wide grin on his face. “FREE BIRD!” his voice screamed in my mind.

  I pinched my eyes shut—fighting back the tears. I willed myself to focus on the chords—they were the only things keeping the melody and my sanity in check.

  “If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?” I sang. While the words flowed out of my mouth, I detached from the crowd and even myself. I wasn’t singing in front of a mass audience. I was somewhere else like in a weird out of body experience. It was truly freeing, and it was the only way I think I would have ever gotten through that song.

  After I finished, the last chord still echoed off the walls. It was kinda an awkward moment because I don’t think people knew what to do. Should they applaud? Wouldn’t that be disrespectful? In the end, I just eased the guitar back onto the holder at the edge of the pulpit and went back to my seat. Alex gave me a reassuring smile and thumbs up sign. I mouthed a quick thanks.

  After I got settled, Pastor Dan stood up again. “I’ve been asked by the Nelson family to say a few words about Jake. You know, it’s never an easy thing delivering a eulogy, especially for one so young. Jake and I came to know each other under some interesting circumstances,” Pastor Dan paused and smiled as a murmur of laughter rang through the crowd. Everyone remembered that a drunken ride on a lawnmower had brought the pastor and the hell raiser together.

  “But I have to say the Jake I knew was quite a remarkable young man. During those two years, I saw him grow and change. He was truly evolving into a spiritual warrior.”

  I slowly swiveled my head to look at Alex. He wore the same dumbfounded expression on his face as I did. Did Pastor Dan know the same Jake we did? Jake a spiritual warrior? He was more a Viking warrior—you know, pillaging and raping through villages. But with Jake, all of his women came willingly.