Chapter Eight

1.

Rory stood, wearing a dark blue dress, amid a small number of men and women in dark suits and dresses. Most of the people around her were strangers. And the people she knew, she hadn’t seen for a while.

“We commit this body to the ground, trusting in God’s mercy and everlasting love,” the priest standing before the casket said.

Overhead, a few smoky white clouds drifted across the bright blue sky. Birds, about a million of them, hung out in the trees bordering the cemetery and happily chirped as if people weren’t saying their final goodbyes to a family member a few feet away. Although hot, a light wind blew, pushing Rory’s blonde locks off her shoulders for a moment. The breeze reminded her that spring wasn’t quite through yet.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” the priest said. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.”

For the next part of Psalm 23, many mumbled along with the priest: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

Feeling inadequate at such parts during funerals, Rory always moved her lips and made low noises that sounded kind of like words. Yet she never memorized the verse, nor did she even know why people repeated it with the priest.

Far off in the distance, a truck traveled down Craven Road. The way its engine snored in the spring warmth, along with its hazy appearance as heat rose off the road, struck Rory with a moment of recollection. But whatever it was disappeared so quickly that she never fully grasped it. She thought this was called a Proustian memory, but couldn’t be sure.

Shaking these thoughts away, she took in the group of funeral-goers. Sitting before the open grave was a woman wearing dark sunglasses. The woman looked over at Rory then quickly away. That was fine with Rory.

“Into God’s loving hands,” the priest said, “we commend our sister, Kinsley Saunders. May she rest in peace, and may perpetual light shine upon her. Amen.”

“Amen,” Rory said. She left the gravesite soon after, well before anyone else did. The last thing she wanted was to talk to Kinsley’s mother.

She walked to the other end of the cemetery, stopped at another grave, and sat down beside the tombstone. It had rained the night before, and although the heat had dried the grass, some dampness remained on the stone. Taking a napkin from her little black purse, she used a hand still wrapped in a white bandage to wipe the letters on the stone dry. “IN MEMORY OF TYLER WALSH, BORN: MARCH 8TH 2006, DIED: MAY 14TH 2025, UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN.”

She sat with him for a while, shooting the shit, telling him what had been going on in her life and assuring him she hadn’t come to mourn Kinsley the person, but the friendship she’d lost.

“My stitches are coming out in a week, and I… I think I’m finally ready to go back to school. Oh, and I edited our Mad Max 2 reaction video and posted it. It got the most views ever. People really miss you.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she sniffled. “When I get home, I’m going to edit our Caddyshack reaction and post it on Monday. Then I’m going to retire the channel. Editing these last two videos has been really therapeutic.”

Before leaving, she gently placed her forehead against Tyler’s headstone and said, “I’d give anything to hear you complain about Hulu ads again. I love you.”