I returned to my seat.
Daniel was crying openly now.
Theo stood at the microphone again.
He looked at the paper.
Then he folded it. “I actually wrote a eulogy.”
He lifted several pages from the podium.
“Seven pages.”
A voice from Jack’s school friends said, “Jeez, Theo.”
Theo laughed.
“Exactly. Jack would’ve hated it.”
He put the pages aside.
“So I’m not reading it.”
And instead he talked.
Not about cancer.
Not mostly.
He talked about the time they were 12 and accidentally broke our garage window with a hockey puck, then spent three hours inventing increasingly stupid explanations.
They eventually blamed a bird.
Daniel had asked, “What kind of bird carries a hockey puck?”
Jack answered, “A strong one.”
Theo told everyone about Jack cheating at Monopoly and insisting it wasn’t cheating because “the bank has insurance.”
He talked about the first day of high school, when Theo had a panic attack in the bathroom, and Jack sat on the floor outside the stall pretending they were skipping class intentionally.
