in the end

One thing I don’t know why. it doesn’t even matter how hard you try. Keep that in mind to remind myself how I tried so hard.

Things aren’t the way they were before. You wouldn’t even recognize me anymore. Not that you knew me back then but it all comes back to me in the end. You kept everything inside and even though I tried it all fell apart.

I tried so hard, and got so far, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.

I slept in this morning, got up and threw on my state band shirt, grabbed a breakfast bar, and ran out the door. As I drove to school I thought about the dream I had had. Erin had come to school and plopped down into her seat for class, like nothing had happened. We all stared at her, no one wanting to be the one to ask if she was dealing with the death of her brother OK.

When I got to school, I noticed teachers pouring into the auditorium and closing the doors. I walked on, noting this strange fact and grogily walking on. It was so strange when I walked into my first class. Hardly anyone was there, and no one spoke. When our teacher came back from the meeting about UJosh, she was still crying. She spoke to us about our beloved Joshk, and we all cried. She pushed back our tests as far as she could, and tried her hardest to keep her voice steady while she talked about Josh.

Second period history was boring enough to drive you insane. Third period Algebra II seemed so trivial next to death. I ate lunch, suddenly realizing I was hungry. We hated to walk into the band roomk, but we did. There weren’t many people in the yet. The first thing you notice is silence. Silence. Insane, deadly silence. The band room is NEVER silent. It’s not alowed. Someone has to drum, 5 of them, and someone has to tinker with the zylophone in the pit or SOMETHING. A handful stood next to the speakers, listening to gospel music and singing. It was about how the storm was passing… Tracy started crying, and so did I. We read Josh’s obituary, and we cried. Pins with a picture of Josh were handed out, and we cried. When finally the bell rang for class to start, there was silence. What were we supposed to do? Mr Schmitt, our new assistant director, began. He spoke of Josh, and other kids told stories. About how happy Josh always was, how he always made the best out of everything. His jokes and pranks and amazing wit. Faye talked about when Josh was in diapers. In a few minutes no one else would speak. I stood with Tracy and her Eric and Lacey, bawling. Theresa stood with us and looked at the ground. She never cried. a Sister from a church talked with us for a long time. At the end of the period we stretched out on the floor and talked.

In Sociology I wrote about Josh. In Chemistry I talked about Josh with some friends. In German I was ready to fall apart, we all were. The teacher gave us ice cream and told us jokes.

Tomorrow is the visitation. Wednesday is the funeral. Half the school will be in that little church. We have to go to school the first 3 periods, then we’re excused for the rest of the day.

Last night I was looking through my yearbook. Josh was on Student Council, and there’s a picture of him out in front of the school with other members, all bundled against the November wind, and crying. In the picture Josh is unvieling the plaque for Amy, one of the girls who died in his class. They unvieled plaques and planted trees that morning for the 3 missing from their class. I cried so much when I saw that picture. Because now we’re going to do that for Josh. There’s already a scholarship under his name started, and the football team signed his old football.

Sorry for all of the typos. This keyboard is broken.