Beneath the Weight of Sadness by Gerald L. Dodge Read Free Book Online Page B

pulled away from me forcefully and put her hands to her face and wept.
    The people behind her waited patiently for her to stop. When she did, she said, “I’m sorry, Amy. I wish I could bring him back right now.”
    But before I could say anything she was already in Ethan’s arms, her face buried in his shoulder.
    They both cried softly as Ethan patted her back and said, “Oh, Carly, Carly. What will we do?”
    But it couldn’t erase what I felt and knew. I knew the truth, and Carly did, too, and that was all I needed to go on with this whole service. And as I stood there nodding to people, allowing them to kiss me on the cheek and hold me, I thought that in the past I would’ve gone to God for help to get through this. How absurd that seemed now. What did people think he would do? Hadn’t he already done enough? Hadn’t he already made all crimes his own so that people would remain cleaved to him as the sole provider of benediction?

Carly
    Four days after Truman’s death
    I should’ve been standing up there with them. Truman would’ve wanted that, I think. But I understood why they didn’t have me there. I understood. Both of them were so brave and I was such a coward, standing in that line crying the whole time, no one understanding the great ocean-like wave of grief I felt every time I thought of Truman dead; every time I thought of his murdered body. The closer I got to them and the casket the more dread I felt. If I could, I would’ve turned around and left. But my father would’ve never let me do that. My mother couldn’t come. She was too upset. She said she could not see the Engroffs with that poor, lovely Truman in that casket behind them. She said she would go to the funeral so that she could stand away and in the open space.
    I am a coward , I thought, as I moved forward in the line and closer to Truman, closer to the truth we both shared and no one else did.
    Truman and I used to talk about death sometimes and it always seemed so distant. It was as if we were talking about it on an intercom from different rooms. We talked about whether there was a God. Once, I asked if he thought God would be just a force present in all of human history. Truman said a presence for all living creatures, not just the shitty humans. I pretty much agreed with him. Why just humans? Why not all things that live? We’d smoked a little weed and the gargantuan thought of all that had lived before us and would live after us was so weighty that I just started to laugh. Truman said my laugh was infectious and it made him laugh, too.
    But now I think of all the times we talked about death when we smoked, and even when we didn’t smoke, and I wonder if Truman had some premonition about his own death. He wasn’t exactly morbid, but he was alone much of the time, especially as he and I saw less and less of each other. It was true that when I scored a little weed he would be the first one I would go to. Tommy hated when I smoked; he said it was disgusting and for people who were weak, and it was much more fun being around Truman anyway.
    I knew he went to see friends in New York, like Logan Marsh, who’d graduated the year before and was two years older than Truman and me. He said he felt more comfortable in the city where there were people like him. He wanted to go to NYU after he graduated.
    “I can’t get into Columbia like my parents,” he told me one rainy afternoon when I’d gone to his house after not seeing him for a few weeks.
    Truman had already told me he was gay. It made sense to me, especially after that one time above his garage. I’d felt so empty for the longest time after that. I wanted only to be with him and he’d not allowed me near him for months, as if he’d been disgusted by what we’d done. I had to reason it was just Truman being fucking Truman, but then I think he sensed how hurt I was and so he told me.
    I didn’t believe him at first. He wasn’t anything like what I had always viewed as gay,