Blue skies, but the sun is not shining. Warm day, but inside feels cold. That is what many people feel on a school day of May. A few students are too sad to attend classes, being among the first several to learn of the latest events. In particular, a funeral parlour but a few buildings away from said school has a ceremony and wake. As scheduled, the service begins at eleven a.m.

One particular boy having recently turned eighteen remains vigilante, pestering the many to waltz in, dressed casually, to turn off their cell phones and whatever other devices they are carrying. This boy has a girl his age accompanying him. Like him, she makes sure that no one will be looking at or playing on their devices. Even like the cafeteria, the entering crowd comes off as the overused cliché of the jocks and the nerds.

The people to fill the auditorium—the red-carpeted floor having church pews for seats, dark red walls, and a low stage with a brown podium and black symbolic coffin—were teenagers and teachers. Even the principal was there. Only when the host, a minister, tests the microphone, the talking crowd starts to quiet down. Told to be stubborn, he announces, “Silence, please. We are about to begin. If I can have your undivided attention." He adds other meanings of the request until there is only silence. With patience not needing to be tested, he gives the introduction.

What two particular teenagers hear from the host and minister are all too cliché. Empty words from what every funeral host says. For this ceremony, to decorate the symbolic casket, there is a printed photo of a teenager with short jet-black hair surrounded by lilies. There are two other hosts, those two teenagers, who cannot wait to be given the floor.

Together, the boy—whose build is average, has brown hair, and is clad in a black suit, black shirt, and black tie—and the girl—clad in a long-skirted, long-sleeved and open-back black dress, her shoulder-length blonde hair rippled, and having a slim build—stride toward the podium, holding hands. In stark contrast, the boy, named Mark, is stern, and the girl, named Annette, looks like she could cry at any second.

Mark speaks, “Whatever reason you're here, change it. This is a place to respect the recently deceased and their families. This time and place is not about you. It's not even about me; it's about whom we came to mourn, Truman Keuhner.

“Truman and his dear sister knew what the world is like. It took something fucked up for them to realize that the real world doesn't give a shit about you and real life is unfair. The same is said for me. Truman and Nettie were treated horribly as little kids. At a time when I was afraid of the worst things to happen to my parents, they saved Truman and Annette. Before then, all that they had was each other.

“If it weren't for my parents to save them from the ones to fuck them up, I would've never got to open up to my best friend, let alone his loving sister. I would grow a burning resentment for my dad, blaming him for my mom's death, but he gave me two people I can sympathize with.

“I remember meeting them in grade nine. On the very first day of high school, I sat alone during lunch. Only on the second day, I noticed Truman and Nettie sitting alone together. I would watch them for the next two weeks, wondering why they preferred the corner of the cafeteria as I did. It was in the third week, I finally joined them during lunch. Little by little, we would talk, and we would open up to each other. Truman and I would start brawling. I didn't fault him for snapping; he thought likewise. So, we would keep up with personal sparring, and that's how I started bonding with two great people."

The boy pauses to catch his breath. He continues with more sadness than information, “They would eventually tell me why they hate the world, which made me feel like trash. They were under tyranny and abuse of two people who were supposed to give love and support. They took it well when I told them of my mom, the cop, dying in action. She never got to see my dad become a detective. Then, that piece of their past caught with Truman and Nettie…"

He feels his eyes well up, but keeps up with his sternness. “It always seemed that no force could tear these twins apart, but it happened. To those of you asses gossiping about the abuse victim killing himself because he couldn't take anymore, fuck you. He didn't die by depression; Truman Keuhner, my best friend, died doing what he thought was right, and his instincts served him. The two monsters to make him and my girl what they are, deserved what they got."

The tears finally fall. “This day is about Truman. To me, no one in the world can replace him as a friend or as a brother. He was smart and he was brave. If your parents went through an ugly divorce, if one or both parents of yours are dead, if your house is foreclosed on, or if you've been abused—don't think the world gave up on you. We need to stand together; we are stronger that way. Let that be what Truman has taught you." Annette squeezes his hand at that last statement.

The pair shift. Annette mutters a quip: “I don't know how I can top that." She holds a paper that she had unfolded on the counter. She looks at it, thinking of what her boyfriend has just made a point about.

She looks up from the paper, to speak into the microphone. “Mark is right about everything. He had a lot of philosophy in mind, but those are emptier words than the introductions. Before I met Mark and his family, Truman was all I had, and all he had was me. No one likes what comes to them. No one likes being beaten up for no reason. No rape victim deserves slut-shaming.

“As twins, Truman and I had a strong bond. I loved him. Even long since we were put in a foster home, we never let our guards down and spent more time watching each other's backs than on anything else. Like Mark, we had a wall built around us. Thanks to him, that wall broke. Truman knew Mark to take crap from nobody like we do."

She continues with a choke. “Truman and I spent most of our lives in fear and picking fights. Mark welcomed the challenge, which made him want to be better. The first time Mark invited Truman to his house, I overreacted. It was the first time I would be alone. Then, when he invited me to his house the first time, Truman must've felt the same way. Like Truman, I also opened up to Mark's sister, who would become my best friend. We became like a tribe—two families bonding."

Her voice cracks a little, but she holds stoic. “Almost four years of Truman being close to Mark, and me being close to Simone: those might have been the best days of our lives. When Mark and I started dating, Truman took it so well. I always thought that my brother and I were inseparable, but it was death that made that happen. I will miss my brother more than anyone else in this world. I hope to think of only the happy memories of him, the best brother ever." Despite having held firm throughout, she now must let the tears fall. Mark hugs her and rubs her back, crying as well. He walks with her off the stage, holding hands again. When together, they can help each other through the mourning.