Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

Janine understood then that she was running away from Bleak Creek, just as her mother had done so many years before. She saw herself becoming yet another person who sees a problem and then leaves town to let somebody else deal with it.

“Okay,” Janine said, wiping tears away. “I’ll stay.”

Donna rushed over and hugged Janine for the first time since they were teenagers.

“Aw, geez, you girls are making me cry now,” GamGam said.

“If I’d wanted to watch my soaps, I would have stayed at home!” a woman shouted.

Janine held tight to Donna. “Nice touch with the sign,” she said through tears.

“Thanks, bitch,” Donna said as dozens of cars continued to honk.

17

“I HATE IT here,” Rex said. “Alicia would hate it too.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Leif said.

Crammed next to each other in the next to last pew of the Shackelford Funeral Home, they were lucky to have a seat at all. The room was packed, a crowd three rows deep already standing behind them. Rex had never set foot inside what his family referred to only as the Competition, and while the olive green carpet and stained-glass windows of its chapel were probably purchased from the same wholesaler that the McClendon-McClemmons Funeral Home used, he couldn’t help but think it felt cheaper.

“These pews suck,” Rex said. “Probably fake wood.”

“Seems pretty real to me,” Leif said.

Rex glared at him. “Whatever.”

Leif was wearing a tight blue suit he hadn’t tried on since his Uncle Terry’s wedding two years earlier, and Rex was in the black suit he wore whenever he helped his parents out at funerals. It was wrinkled and slightly smelly, as he’d accidentally left it lying on his closet floor with other dirty clothes for a few weeks.

“It doesn’t even make sense,” Rex said, getting more fired up, his scooter leg jittering nonstop. “This should be happening at the church. You only do it at the funeral home when it’s small. Like for old people who have no friends because they’re all dead.”

“Shhh,” Leif said. He didn’t disagree, but it still felt disrespectful to talk that way as they publicly mourned their best friend. Especially when a lot of people were likely already judging them for getting Alicia into this situation in the first place.

“You want to know what I think?” Rex whispered.

“I already kno—”

“This couldn’t happen at First Baptist or even at my parents’ funeral home. Because then Whitewood would lose control of the situation. Here, he can do whatever he wants; he and Shackelford are like best friends. And so maybe there was actually a fire—or they made it look like there was one—but that doesn’t mean we’re not still right about everything else.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Leif said as he patted his right pants pocket, making sure Alicia’s button was still there. He’d been the one to take it home after Travis had given it to them, and Rex hadn’t seemed to mind. The little blackened piece of metal had been a source of immense comfort, making Leif feel like he was carrying Alicia around with him everywhere he went.

“And,” Rex continued, “the fact that it’s a closed casket only further pro—”

“I’m so sorry, homies.” Leif and Rex both winced. The last thing they needed right now was Mark Hornhat. But here he was, standing in the aisle hovering over them. In a tux, no less.

“Thanks, Mark,” Leif said.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

“Uh-huh,” Rex said, barely making eye contact. He’d been hoping that sitting down for the service would temporarily put a stop to the awkward condolences from classmates.

“Boykins is gone . Wow. It’s like, please don’t go girl .”

“What?” Leif asked.

“That’s one of my favorite New Kids songs,” Hornhat said. Leif looked away, unable to hide his disgust. “But really, I wish she didn’t go. I remember one time I was telling Boykins about my family’s three-story beach house, and she said the most hilarious thing. She was like—”

“Mark,” Leif said, somehow finding the fortitude to cut him off, “maybe we could talk about this some other time?”

“Oh.” Mark blinked at him in that Hornhat way of his. “Yeah, for sure. Hey, is there any room in this row for me to squish in?”

“Absolutely not,” Rex said.

“Okay. Cool, cool. Either of you dudes want an Airhead? I have blue raspberry or mystery.”

“No,” Leif said, desperate for Hornhat to walk away. “We’re good.”

“I’ll take one, actually,” Rex said, reaching a hand past Leif. He had an involuntary reflex for accepting free food, regardless of the circumstances. “Mystery sounds good.”

“You got it, dude,” Hornhat said, nodding and smiling as he passed over the long white package, almost as if he’d forgotten that he was at his dead friend’s funeral. His face went somber, though, as the mournful sound of an organ began. He turned and walked quickly up the aisle.

As Rex ripped open the Airhead, he looked to the front of the room, and sitting there playing the opening progression of “Blessed Assurance” was none other than Wayne Whitewood himself.

“No,” Rex whispered. “No way does this guy get to play the organ at Alicia’s funeral!” Whitewood was wearing a black suit and his white gloves, and looking very sad. Fake sad. “We should be at First Baptist right now, with Tanya playing the organ, like Alicia would have wanted. Man, I hate everything about this.”

“Me too,” Leif whispered back. “At least Pastor Mitchell is here.”

Seeing the genuinely distraught look on their pastor’s face as he stood up front, singing his way through the hymn, was sobering for Rex. Once the opening song was over, he could hear the sound of sniffling all around them. The loudest came from the front row, where Jean and Melissa Boykins were sobbing, Bill holding an arm around each of them, his mouth pursed stoically.

Pastor Mitchell walked to the podium, his George Michael beard looking especially well trimmed. “We are gathered here today to honor and celebrate the life of Alicia Michelle Boykins,” he said. “A vibrant soul who we’ve lost too soon. Far too soon.”

That was it for Leif. He quickly joined the rank of the criers, barely able to pay attention to a thing Pastor Mitchell was saying. Or what Bill Boykins was saying after him. (“All we wanted was to protect our Alicia. Keep her safe. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter…”) Or Melissa Boykins next. (“She was my hero. She’ll always be my hero.”) Or Alicia’s New Agey aunt from Oregon after her. (“Do you feel Alicia’s energy in the room right now? Because I sure do!”) He didn’t even realize that Pastor Mitchell had asked if anyone else would like to share a few words until Rex was standing and gently nudging him, saying, “Hey, we’re still doing this, right?”

They’d decided beforehand that they would go up and say some meaningful things about Alicia, but now Leif worried he’d be crying too hard to speak. He had to get up there with Rex, though. It was the least he could do.

When they arrived at the podium, Rex made eye contact with Whitewood, who returned a kind smile. Rex didn’t smile back.

Leif stared out at all the people crowded into the room, devastated that Alicia had exited this world being so misunderstood by so many in Bleak Creek. She would forever be remembered as a troublemaker whose bad decisions had resulted in her own death, all because of something that he knew was largely his and Rex’s fault. It hit him that he should say something to change their minds. To help them remember the real Alicia.

Leif looked to Rex as if to say I’ll go first, but Rex either misinterpreted or ignored the cue, as he leaned in to the microphone and said, “Hi, everyone.”