Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game (11 page)

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 sobbing 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.

Yeah, it was true in the last few weeks that Jake
appeared to be changing, but it would be hard for me to say I saw
some ‘spiritual warrior’ in him.

Pastor Dan continued on. “I’ll never forget the
smiles he brought to the faces of the children on the Pediatric
Oncology floor, or the pride he felt when he helped rebuild homes
in Mississippi damaged by terrible storms.”

I turned back to Alex. “What the hell? He told me he
went to Mississippi to hook up with this college girl he’d met
through Jason,” I whispered.

Alex nodded. “Same here.”

I didn’t dare look around at the other guys. I knew
they were all experiencing the same “WTF?” moment I was, and if I
saw their faces, I might lose it and start laughing
hysterically.

Admittedly, in the last six weeks Jake had suggested
he was turning over a new leaf. Making a vow to give up drinking
and partying was one thing. But to work with sick kids on the
cancer floor and rebuild homes in Louisiana was completely out of
my realm of understanding and belief.

Pastor Dan did manage to hit upon some “truthful”
things about Jake. He mentioned his gift at sports, his charming
smile, and his ability to make girls swoon. I guess saying swoon
was as g-rated as Pastor Dan could make it. I guess deep down he
knew that Jake was a manwhore, but I’m pretty sure he would never
admit it. I’m not sure why he ever let a guy like Jake spend so
much time with his very unworldly daughter.

“And now, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson have asked my daughter,
Maddie, and myself to sing
Go Rest High On That Mountain
.”
Pastor Dan motioned behind us where I assumed Maddie was
sitting.

At the mention of Maddie’s name, I straightened up on
the pew. She came by me in a cloud of Noa perfume. I waited to see
who would be joining them on the piano or guitar, but no one did.
They sang the entire song A capella, and it was amazing. Their
voices blended with such harmony that you felt like you were
listening to seasoned professionals—not just a preacher and his
kid. As a musician, I was floored, as a grief-stricken friend, I
was totally moved, and as a red-blooded male, I was moved in an
entirely different way by Maddie.

By the time they finished, the chorus of sniffling
had returned. “Now we shall move on to the Rolling Hills Cemetery
where Jake remains will be interred,” Pastor Dan said.

The funeral director motioned for the congregation to
rise. Then he motioned for us. We all quickly hopped to our feet
and started down the aisle. As I glanced at the faces, I was amazed
at all the different groups of kids who had shown up for the
funeral. I’d heard Dr. Blake had made an announcement that all
students attending the funeral would be excused without penalty. I
don’t know if some of the kids were there truly because of their
feelings for Jake or if they were really there just to get out of
school.

As we came out of the double doors, sunlight blinded
our eyes. Even though I was outside in the fresh air, I still
couldn’t get the sickening sweet smell of funeral flowers out of my
nose. We were ushered to the car the funeral home provided for
us.

The moment we pulled into traffic, Blaine cleared his
throat. “So, uh, that was a nice funeral, wasn’t it?”

All of stared at him. I guess he was one of those
people who couldn’t stand silence. I decided to take pity on him.
“Yeah, it was.”

“Noah, I gotta ask something,” Andy Hiller said.

“What is it?”

Andy looked at the other guys before he responded.
“Uh, did Jake really do all that stuff that Pastor Dan said, or was
he trying to make Jake sound better—you know cause he died?”