• I always hate these types of affairs, as I well should or there would be something deeply wrong with me. I sat in my light long black dress. The chapel was unseasonable hot, even for Florida. Mother fiddled with my hair as she held back a fresh batch of tears. I looked over at Bartholomew. That tragic expression on his face made me want to hug him. He loved it when people hugged him, but that was mainly because the desist also loved hugs.
    We should have come to help him. The day of his death I was compelled to tell all the funny stories about him to my friends when I hadn’t known anything was wrong with him Most would say it had been coincidence but not my family. My mom had had a dream that night that we were all here at grandpa’s church but he was mysteriously absent and then the grim reaper came to laugh and gawk at us. That was when she woke and got the call.
    The man in the coffin was one of those people who loved everyone unconditionally. He always had a smile on his face, a prayer on his lips, and a small teddy bear in his pocket. He was ready to cheer anyone, anywhere, at anytime. But this man was different, a cold unsmiling shadow of the big teddy bear we all had gathered to honor.
    The pastor who presided the sermon had also known him well. I could tell that behind his words he was also fighting back an urge to cry but for some reason I remained numb. Wile everyone around me cried I sat motionless, thoughtless, feeling less.
    When they had given me the news I went to my calming place and expected myself to start sobbing but hours passed and nothing came. I had cried for road kill, I had cried for old ladies I had never known, why couldn’t I cry for him? This man that took me as one of his own grandchildren. The man that sent me childish cards for every holiday. The man who taught me to swim. The only man I had trusted to teach me. I loved this man but for some reason the sorrow didn’t come.
    What was wrong with me. Had I grown so accustomed to pain, death, and sorrow to be numb to it now. Was there something deeply wrong with me that I didn’t know about. Was that stupid school therapist right when she said I was crazy.
    Bart broke down in sobs. His mother told him to go outside. I followed him. I had a feeling he couldn’t be trusted alone just yet. Bart was the deist’s real grandson. He was just like his grandfather, in both look and personality. They had told me that Bart hadn’t talked to anyone about it yet. When they told him he just locked himself in his room and wouldn’t let anyone in. This Bart was new to me too, he didn’t smile, his eyes were always wet, he kept his arms crossed instead of out for another hug.
    He didn’t notice me following him. He walked down to the water’s edge and just fell onto the bank. He put his head in his arms. Tensely I approached him and sat down next to him. I put one arm around him. He slumped his head onto my shoulder. I just wanted hug all the sorrow out of the little teddy bear but I restrained myself waiting for him to make the first move.
    “I just don’t know anymore…” He said softly.
    “I know what you mean.” I assured him.
    He shook his head. “No you don’t. You didn’t know him like I did. Everything reminds me of him…” He started rambling.
    “I know what you mean. That night I couldn’t sleep until I put every bear he ever gave me away.”
    We sat quietly for a wile. Slowly, practically without my notice, Bart stood up and threw his funeral jacket in a tree. I smiled at him. He smiled weekly back.
    “Are you seriously thinking what I think your thinking?” I asked.
    “Are you thinking what I think your thinking?” He asked.
    “I think I am.”
    “Race you there!” He said as he dashed down to the dock loosing his dress shirt in the process.
    I chased him down to the dock. When I caught up with him he was reeling in grandfather’s motor boat. “Do you have the keys? Does it have gas?” I said apparently the only one of us who was thinking this was a bad idea.
    “Of course,” he said simply, “Watch your step.”
    He held the boat steady wile I gracefully jumped onto the boat. He jumped on making the boat shake off kilter. “Where are you kidnapping me to anyway?” I asked.
    “To the sand dunes… or maybe grandpa’s tavern.” He tried.
    “Sorry to burst your bubble but we can’t go to the sand dunes or the tavern. There are crocks and if there isn’t then people will recognize us. If we go to the tavern then we’ll be stopped by cops under the bridge and even if we aren’t we’ll be stopped at the door because we’re both under aged.”
    “Oh, screw you,” He said pulling the keys out of the cooler and starting the engine.
    He stopped, “What’s the matter, Evil Kenival?” I teased.
    “I-I’ve never driven it without Papa TeddyBear. I don’t know how to get out of the harbor.” He admitted.
    “Well then turn it off. I got a less risky idea.” I suggested.
    We retrieved his clothes and he chased me down through the streets. I lead him threw grandfather’s orange grove. Picking the fresh fruits down as I went along. By now I was sure he had caught on to what I was doing. We looked down at the dark waters below. I dropped one of the oranges down and a huge crock attacked it. Bart laughed choked. He stood dead still watching me.
    “Come on, this used to be your favorite thing!” I demanded him. He just shook is head at me. It made my blood boil. “Damn you Bart. What’s the matter with you?” I tried to throw a citrus at his head but missed by a mile sending it also tumbling into the dark waters to the crock‘s mouth. I started jumping around like a two-year-old having a temper tantrum.
    Bart abruptly pulled me in a hug. “Stop jumping you’ll fall. I don‘t want you to die on me too.” I could see fresh tears in his eyes even past my own that seemed to be coming out of nowhere.
    “Don’t cry, DollBaby.” I heard grandfather’s voice say. I was sure I was hallucinating. I hugged Bart closer. I knew