Don't Fear The Reaper

{i. baby, take my hand}

❝Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints. It takes and it takes and it takes.❞

-'Wait For It', Hamilton

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It's been 3 months since my best friend in the world died.

At his funeral, everyone cried. For weeks and weeks after, people kept doing supposedly nice things for his memory. They retired his number on the football team at school. They put up a plaque outside the gym to memorialize him. They kept giving me flowers. Roses and zinnias and mums and poppies. But no amount of bouquets are going to bring Will Nyquist back.

Still, I make it a habit to bring fresh flowers to his grave at the Eternal Garden Cemetery, a few blocks down from school, once a month. This month - August - the flowers are pure white calla lilies, a stark contrast to the quickly browning nature around the town.

I hold them in one hand, my other hand stuffed in my jacket pocket. Autumn has come early to Ashdown, and even though it's only August 29th, I'm forced to bundle up like it's November. The coat I'm wearing is Will's old letterman jacket, dyed in the black and red colors of "The Forever State Champions... The Ashdown Jackals!" At least, that was how they always announced them at football games.

The first football game of the season is this Friday. My lone remaining friend, Macy, is going, but she's a cheerleader, and after the game she'll probably hang out with my old friend group - the same friend group that promptly dropped me when Will died. I can't tell for sure, but it seems as if they were only nice to me because of him. Or maybe I'm just overthinking it.

I make my way through the rows of crooked, eroded tombstones to the back of the cemetery, where Will's grave is. The Eternal Garden is backed up to a large, brick wall, covered in ivy and lined by reddening shady maples; near the edge of that wall sits Will's final resting place.

Unlike many of the stones around it, Will's grave is new and sleek, the grass just now finally filing out. My flowers from the previous month are gone, but, then again, they're always gone by the time I turn up. It's probably thanks to the cemetery's maintenance crew, who I assume take the bouquets once they've wilted.

Slowly, I kneel, the leaves beneath my feet crunching. My hands are shaking, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but it's no use. The flowers fall from my weak grasp to land lonely in the dirt. If they make a noise, I don't hear it. I'm too lost in thought.

At first, I wasn't the only one to leave him flowers, or to visit his grave, but now it's just me. For being someone everyone claimed to love so much, it seems they've gotten over him awfully quickly.

Before I know it, tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes. The words on Will's gravestone - "William Reid Nyquist. 2000-2017. Gone, but never forgotten." - start to blur. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands, trying desperately to stop crying before it turns into full on bawling. This happens every time I come, but I come anyway, unwilling to give up on the love of my life.

Suddenly, I flashback to my last conversation with Will. It was in his car, on prom night. I'd just gotten into a fight with the queen of our friend group, and we were deciding whether we should go to the dance on our own, or just split and go down to the New Haven River.

"It's up to you, baby," Will said. He had his tawny hair slicked over like he was going to a USO party, and he wore a red bow tie to match my crimson dress. His eyes, which were a deep hazel, were glowing with joy as they glanced to me. "I'm happy with anything, as long as I'm with you."