it was raining.
Her family brought in elaborate mahogany benches for this funeral with deeply etched patterns in different cherry shades and as we sat through the procession the wood sat quietly warping in the downpour. I was sitting alone. Alone: separate, apart, or isolated from others... isolated is a better word. It has the implication of untouched. No one wanted to come near me. They didn't know what to say. I suppose I wouldn't either.

"I'm sorry your girlfriend killed herself."

That doesn't really have the best ring to it.

... It was raining when I met her.

ACT I
She was sitting at the corner booth of New Hartford's restaurant in Roxbury. Hartford's was grimiest shit-hole I'd ever had the displeasure of entering, but it was also the only restaurant within twenty miles of Roxbury High and the only option during lunch.

She was alone, she had positioned herself away from the crowd. Body tilted so she faced only the decaying wallpaper. That didn't stop countless guys from coming to talk to her. Each time a new suitor would approach her she would pull her body closer to the table and cross her legs toward the wall. She never spoke. And whether angry or exasperated each one would give up eventually. She was concentrating on her book; Othello in paperback with a picture of a pale lifeless Desdemona on the cover.

I ordered my food. As I waited I couldn't help but wander towards her table, I had no intention of talking to her, but it wasn't illegal to look. Her face was heart-shaped her skin a shade between olive and ginger snaps and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with uncooperative curls busting from the tie. My eyes slid from her face down to her neck and collarbone and I easily let my eyes slide further… further… down... down…

"Were you looking at my breasts?"

I was caught so off guard that I questioned whether she'd said anything at all or if it was just an interception from my guilty conscious. I wasn't sure until she bookmarked her page and looked at me expectantly.

"No, I ah... I just like your shirt.... your shirt, my sister has one just like it."

She quickly reached to her belly button and zipped her jacket to her neck "So tell me then… what's on the front of my shirt?"

"Well, it... it was-" my fumbling was interrupted by an unexpected sound; laughter was bubbling from her stomach. "Well I knew it was blue," I grinned.

"Cecile," she said.

"What?"

"That's my name: Cecile."

ACT II
Her mother sat in front of me, her tears were soiling the lapel of the guy next to her. My bet was this man had never even met Cecile. He was just a funeral accessory thrown on after her mom found a matching handbag.

"I should have known," She wailed.

I'd been hearing that a lot lately, the same words were echoed from every family member, acquaintance or person who pretended to know her for airtime on the channel 7 news.

They were all dumbasses. Cecile was one of the most hopeful people I'd ever met. If anyone suspected her to commit suicide they were the ones that needed psychiatric evaluation. But now that she was dead they all thought that the time she said she was tired or wanted to be alone was an indicator. They just didn't know her. No one knew her like I did. Her mom was now practically sitting in this guys lap, her daughter's funeral- just another hook-up party. I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked back, "Hey Rebecca, you alcoholic bitch. Why don't you stop dry humping this nice gentleman and show some respect for the death of your child." I smiled and sat back in my seat.

She glared at me "Soloman, I know your upset right now, but it is not okay to take your emotions out on me."

I laughed, the funeral attendees leered at me, and Rebecca didn't seem to know what to make of the situation. She turned back around and pretended to focus on the minister now walking to the podium. I realized that people didn't deserve life. Deserve: to merit or be qualified for, that's not the right word… earn. People didn't earn life; it was simply given. The only thing that anyone can control is death. Death was deserved.

I finally looked up,Liza was reading the eulogy. Liza, who Cecile called her best friend, was average sized, well shaped and remarkably good-looking. In her dark skin her features looked carved and delicate. Unfortunately, she had the personality of a pit viper and I hated her quite feverishly. Liza knew she was beautiful and felt perfectly at home criticizing every move Cecile made. Cecile's appearance was a reflection of Liza's desires. Ironic, considering Liza was so jealous of Cecile. Cecile was the only person who could ever compete for attention at a level even close to her own and for that she kept her enemy closer.


----


Cecile was sitting on her bed, weeping. I walked into the room. She didn't see me at first. I watched her there obsessively wiping her eyes with a tissue and checking her reflection.

"Oh my God, how'd you get in?" she said finally looking up, startled.

"You left the door unlocked."

"No, I didn't," she said breathing heavily through her tears.

"Don't worry about it, okay. Just tell me what's wrong."

I sat down next to her, pulling her body on to my chest. Her bawling made her body shudder lightly on my chest.

"Liza hates me," she whimpered.

"Liza doesn't hate you." I responded in the most sympathetic tone I could muster.

"Yes," she paused trying to catch her breath. "Yes, she does, she told me today that I deliberately dismantled our friendship.'"

"What? You can't dismantle anything, you're too clumsy."

"Hey!" she exclaimed playfully hitting me, she seemed to relax a little.

"Okay, okay I'm sorry, what happened?"

"Kyle dumped her."

"So ?"

"So, she blamed it on me, she said I was trying to seduce him."

I could feel anger raging in my chest, "Is that true?"

She looked stunned, "No, Sol, I love you. I barely know Kyle."

Momentarily I felt comforted, but before I could stop it another feeling was forming. "Well, then you're fucking stupid for caring about her," the words were unfamiliar and icy on my lips. She looked damaged. Renewed tears made a flood that reservoired silently on her t-shirt as she stared down at her knees.

I reached for her arm she pulled it back. "Don't touch me." She was barely audible.

Regret quickly seeped in and I was scrambling for a recovery. "I'm sorry, I didn't- it's only…Cecile, the only reason I said that is because you should have a better friend than one who blames you for every problem in her life."

"I'm not blind- I know you hate Liza, but haven't you noticed she's the only friend I have, and she has been for fifteen years and there are good things about her she's funny and my mom likes her-"

"Ha, your mom-"

"Please, don't start she's my mother and I have to survive in her house."

"But you're so much better than her, and I know the only reason you don't have any other friends is because they're in awe of you. Liza is the only bitch who was crazy enough to try and compare to you- and she fails miserably."

She smiled sheepishly, "I wish I was the angel you think I am."

I smiled back. "I know that you are."

She was looking down, reached into her shirt and pulled out a necklace that held an intricate silver band. It looked distorted under the light.

"Do you see this ring?" she asked

"Yeah, of course, you always have it."

"My dad gave it to me… it was the only thing my mom let me keep of his after he died. She wanted to erase his memory from the house. One day though, I'm gonna give it to you- when I don't need it anymore.”