'She was my hero.' That's what I'll tell everybody. 'She was smart and could eat while lying down - something I was never allowed to do.' I'll say proudly. It will get a decent amount of laughter, even if it is pity laughs. 'She had all the cool stuff in her room. There was a stereo and a television and sometimes she'd let me lay down on her bed with her and we'd just chill. I've never been cooler than when I was chillin' with her.' I'll state as I smile broadly.

These are things I'll speak of at first. These are the memories I can talk about amongst my audience. Yes, I had this person in my life who was magnificent. This was a person I remembered fondly and was proud to call my sister.

What I do not and can not recall are the fights between her and my parents. I do not remember the hurting fists and the burning eyes. I do not remember the troubled adolescence of the male variety that snuck into her room at night and left early in morning so as not to be caught. I do not remember her purchasing the drugs and taking them, submitting herself to a power far beyond her control.

I don't remember any of this. I don't remember it so can't speak on it. How can I talk about that which I do not know? Which does not exist?

'She always wanted to finish school. She had a lot of goals and wished more than once upon a star.' That I can say. 'She loved our family dearly as we did her.' That's safe too.

I can't say she only called when she wanted money or when she was in some type of trouble. It's not right to talk about the trauma her life inflicted upon my niece, my mother, my father, my sister? me.

'Her smile was contagious. You could always tell that she was so full of life when looking at her smile. You could see her joy and her spirit in this world that can be so harsh.' People like hearing that stuff, don't they? They don't want to hear about her clammy skin, her hopeless eyes, her rancid body, or her soul crying out for an end to the torture. She could hide a lot in her smile.

'I know she would be happy seeing us all? gathered here?'

I don't know a thing she would be happy with. She wasn't content with her family's love. She wasn't content with opportunities to change handed to her on a silver platter. I haven't a clue as to what would have made her happy. I stopped knowing her when I was ten. That's when she really died. My mind killed her at least five times before, but I never thought I'd see it be permanent.

My hair looks okay. My black suit is newly dry cleaned and wrinkle free. My eyes are carrying the proper amount of mourning without looking hysterical. My posture is good; I'm not slouching.

I'll take one breath then two? then it's showtime. Then I acquire amnesia and speak about a person I didn't know, from a voice I won't recognize, through a body too used to faking it, and a mind frozen in its quiet guilt over being relieved that the wounds may finally be buried, and that the drama is over.

Ah? I'm being called now. One breath then two. One foot in front of the other. Movements from a body and mind that are half electronic.

"She was my hero?"

***

"What you said was really beautiful," they tell me. "She was very lucky to have a sister like you in her life. I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

It's the same thing again and again. Maybe one person will change a word here or there, but it's mostly the same. There's not a whole lot of originality at funerals, I've found.

The pattern doesn't even change when you're the mourning family. Things need to be prepared, people need to be picked up from the airport, the choices need to be made, but when you're sitting in that uncomfortable wooden pew, you're watching the same show as everybody else.

"You held yourself together really well during your speech," they say hoping that their words help me, but they don't. "Your sister would have been very proud."

I thank them, but hate their words. My sister would have been proud of me for lying about her?

No.

I don't think she would have been proud. I think she would have been thankful. But, maybe she isn't thankful at all. Maybe she wanted me to get up on that stage of death and tell everyone the truth. Maybe she wanted me to tell them what I really know about. Maybe she needed me to do that so that she would have peace.

But people don't want to hear the truth. Most of them know it already, but they don't want to hear it. They want to hear fake words, given from my fake memories.

I'll have to stand here until everyone leaves, listening to their words. It's no longer my time to speak.

This is another job I've been handed, because I can handle it.

Thanks Sis'.

***

"Oh, I didn't think anyone was still here."

That's right. When the reception is over the next one comes in. There's another party of mourners to take residence in the building. I wonder if this place ever wishes it was never built.

"I was just taking a last look around." I've got all the extra food packed away in my car. I've got all the cards of condolences packed away safely in a box. There's nothing left for me in this building. There was never anything here to begin with.

She has a platter of food in her arms. She's wearing a black suit that looks freshly dry cleaned and wrinkle free. She looks like her face has the proper amount of mourning without looking hysterical. She looks like me from three hours ago. She looks like a body and mind half electronic.

"Do you need help with that load?" It's a lot easier to carry when you're not alone.

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

This whole day has been an inconvenience. "It's no trouble at all."

"Did you just finish up here?"

An ending? Not in here. The end will come when we no longer have the ashes. "Yes?my eldest sister."

"Oh?my younger sister. I just got done with the eulogy then was sent over here."

"Our parents shouldn't be bothered with the details." There's a hierarchy in mourning.

"No. They shouldn't."

This day has been too long, and my brain has become too weak but I can still recognize a kindred spirit. "Did you lie when you spoke about your sister?"

"No one ever wants to hear the truth."

I remember when I was younger I was told the statistics of social problems in this country. Drugs and alcohol abuse was close to the top. I didn't want to hear the truth then.

More people are showing up now. Her day isn't over yet. She's just reached another phase, and I feel the most comfortable I have all day.

"Good luck with the show." There's no way I could stick around for two of these. "Here's my card if you need anything. You should give me call."

There's one more look and an understanding far beyond the here and now.

"Thank you."

The End