Sunny and beautiful, with a warm spring breeze carrying the scent of cherry blossoms. My first funeral, I thought. It should be gloomy out, foggy with a cold drizzle of rain. Mom didn’t want me to go to the funeral. She was trying to protect me. I’m not sure from what. I told her that Hillary, Sandy, and all my friends planned to be there. So there was no way I could stay home. True, I kept having nightmares about Al. Who wouldn’t have nightmares after finding a friend strangled in an alley with a skate shoved down his throat? But I didn’t think that going to the funeral would add to my horror—or my nightmares. In a way, the funeral might close this sad and frightening chapter of my life. At least, that’s what I hoped. As I dressed for the church, pulling on my dark skirt and buttoning my black linen blouse, I had no idea that the horror was just beginning. I rode with my parents to the church. Mom and Dad didn’t know Al’s family that well. But they felt they should attend the funeral since Al had been my friend.
