Randy was sandwiched between Zac and Isaac on the way to the church. Isaac had been late getting to his mother's house, and he looked like walking death. His eyes were sunk in and ringed by bruises. His suit was wrinkled and disused. His hair was pulled back in a limp ponytail. He didn't look at Randy at all. Zac, on the other hand, was prattling away. Everything he could think of to say about Taylor. Randy listened to his dirge half-heartedly. She couldn't remember a word he'd said once the town car had pulled to a stop. The church had already been filled by family friends and acquaintances. She'd heard that many fans were attending as well.
The closer family members were led through the back. Randy had been asked to ride and sit with the family on the occasion; Mrs. Hanson had told her that it was because in a year or two she would have been Taylor's wife and really and truly family. She had every right to be seated with the Hansons. They were taken to the left wing of the sanctuary, which was concealed from those in the main part of the chapel. So close ahead, in front of the pulpit, was a coffin made of dark wood sitting on a bier. A preacher, seeing that the family was seated, began the sermon.
Randy managed to tune the nasally preacher out. Instead, she was trying to see the framed photo, which rested upon the coffin, along with a mound of flowers. The golden frame glimmered under the lights, and caused a glare on the picture. She wondered which picture they had used. Taylor had never had a school picture made before, except for once about 10 years before at that international school. The picture had been of poor quality, even as far as school photos go, and it would have been too old. Would they have used a picture from a photo shoot? It occurred to Randy that the Hansons probably hadn't even thought of that; it would have been entirely too artificial.
So which picture was it?
The sound of an organ filled the church. A soft voice lifted up from somewhere else in the church. It was probably someone in the right wing of the sanctuary, which was also disclosed from public view. The voice was beautiful, however, and it drew her attention away from her concern of the photo on display. "Many night's we've prayed, With no proof anyone could hear, In our hearts a hopeful song, We barely understood, Now we are not afraid, Although we know there's much to fear, We were moving mountains, Long before we knew we could."
Zac chose that moment to lean over and whisper to her, "The movie this is from was one of Taylor's favorites."
"The Prince of Egypt?" Randy asked. She remembered Taylor's obsession with the movie. She'd never fully understood why he liked it. After all, it was a cartoon version of the Bible stories he'd heard his entire life.
"Yeah," Zac replied.
"There can be miracles," the lady's voice chimed, "When you believe, Though hope is frail,
It's hard to kill. Who knows what miracles, You can achieve, When you believe, Somehow you will, You will when you believe."
Suddenly the voice changed. "In this time of fear, When prayer so often proved in vain, Hope seemed like the summer birds, Too swiftly flown away, Yet now I'm standing here, With heart so full I can't explain, Seeking faith and speaking words, I never thought I'd say."
"Who is singing this?" Randy asked.
"Two fans named Jackie and Heidi who we met in the very beginning. They have really been nice, and we made sure to call them everytime we went to New York. We're really good friends with their brother, Aaron. You remember Aaron, don't you?"
The recollection of Aaron, the wonder-blond, almost made Randy smile. On the one trip she'd made with the Hansons, it had been a joint vacation with her family. They had gone to New York, and Aaron had been a focal point of humor throughout the entire trip. So these were his sisters? She remembered him mentioning them.
"There can be miracles, When you believe, When you believe, All hope is frail, It's hard to kill,
Who knows what miracles, You can achieve, You can achieve, Somehow you will, You will when you believe." Zac fell silent, and Randy paused to listen to the remainder of the song.
"They always happen when you ask, And its easy to give into your fears. But when your blinded through by your pain, Can see your way through the rain, Hold still, resume your voice
Cause help is very near," one voice rang, sending shivers through Randy's limbs. The voices joined in unison, rising to the rafters. "There can be miracles, When you believe, Though hope is frail, Its hard to kill, Who knows what miracles, You can achieve, When you believe, Somehow you will, Now you will
You will when you believe."
It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the finale to proceed. The voices lifted one last time, "You will when you believe." Randy felt sobs clutching in her throat. The whole room had a feel of surreality. In a moment of panic, she thought she might suffocate. However, air finally made its way to her lungs, and she gasped for air. Tears were running down her cheeks. Someone had stepped forward and removed the flowers and photo from the casket. The lid had been pushed back.
Taylor.
The thought was fleeting and painful. Her heart was being wrenched in the hands of some unseen force. She buried her face in Zac's shoulder. She could feel him sobbing beneath her, his broad shoulders trembling. Crying could be heard all through the room. Somewhere, someone was wailing. The air was thick with agony. Nobody could survive this kind of emotional torture, Randy thought. How could they possibly?
She slowly pulled away from Zac's sleeve. From where she sat, his face was visible. His skin was sallow and plasticy. His eyes were shut tight, and his hair combed away from his face in an unfamiliar style. His whole face had sunk in, it seemed. The collar and tie of his suit seemed to strangle him. Oh God, how could this be a tradition? It felt so morbid to sit and watch the corpse.
Randy felt her insides collapsing. There he was. That was her Taylor in that horrid, wooden box. He didn't appear to be his full size anymore. He was merely a broken body without a soul. No laughter, no jokes. He wasn't standing up and laughing at them all, was he? Randy's eyes blurred with tears of grief. He'd left her. Taylor had left her and he would never be back. He would never come ring her doorbell, and miraculously be okay. This was it.
One by one, people filed forward, coming to pay their last respects. People of all different denominations. She watched as some crossed themselves, as some cast their eyes heavenward, and as others merely wept and clung to those near them as they stumbled away. Hours later, it seemed, the crowd had diminished. Three people appeared from the right wing; one of them Randy recognized as Aaron. She assumed the other two were his sisters Jackie and Heidi. The two girls gasped, and held to Aaron. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he led them away.
Randy steeled herself for the last time she'd ever see him again, dead or alive. The row she sat on got to their feet, and she followed awkwardly. Her hands shook violently. She tried to ignore the other families, passing in front of Taylor and turning away crying hysterically. Her eyes were riveted to his face. Still sickly and pale, sunken and fragile. She stepped before him, her shaky hand reaching out to cover his. His skin felt cold and thick like clay. She ran her fingers along his, tracing the familiar lines and knobby joints. She leaned down to his face, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't see him, and kissed his cheek. Her lips tingled and burned and turned cold from the contact with his pasty skin.
She straightened up again and stared at his lifeless face. She turned away, tears rolling down her cheeks. Just before she ran from him, she remembered the matter of which picture had been used. She looked at the photo, which had been placed to the side. From within the gold frame and behind the glass was the face of a somber, slightly amused Taylor. The familiar expression of thoughtfulness shone on his face, and his eyes were cast downward at something below and slightly to the right of him. Something out of view. His finger was to his mouth, and a small smirk lingered there. She recognized the picture. The backdrop of trees in the summer. The summer just past. This photo had been taken from another, a small excerpt that had been blown up to fit the 8X10 frame. Taylor was sitting on the back of a bench, which you could not see. Sitting beside him on the seat of the bench was Randy. She was looking at the camera with her tongue sticking out and cross-eyed. It had been taken at Central Park in New York City.
She could still hear Taylor talking to her...
"That is the grossest face!" he cackled, his blue eyes sparkling as they crawled onto the bench. He sat up on the back, while Randy opted for the seat. She poked at his boots, and made the face again. "Ever since you picked up this new little trick you've been totally abusing it! STOP!"
He was referring to the fact that Zac had finally taught Randy how to go cross-eyed an hour before. Randy had walked around for the better part of the hour making funny faces for Zoe and Mac, who found them enthralling. The two were now running around in the grass, along with a sprinkling of others who had come along. Family and crew had taken to the city streets for the day. Central Park was the last stop before lunch.
Out of nowhere appeared a crew member named Jeff, who was helping out with photography. He had his camera out. "Hey, wanna take a picture?"
"No!" Taylor had said, while at the same moment Randy had cried 'yes'.
Jeff grinned. "C'mon, Randy. Let's see that gorgeous funny face," he coaxed.
Randy did it once, and the flash jumped out, causing Taylor to flinch. "Your face is going to get stuck like that, you know," he warned, leaning forward slightly and smirking. His finger went to his mouth, pointing to his nose.
"One more," Jeff told them. Randy made the face once more, and the camera snapped and flashed. Taylor burst out laughing while Randy blinked rapidly. Jeff had already headed off to harass somebody else.
"Those are going to be lovely pictures," he told Randy. "The kind of pictures you have to hide from impressionable children and grandchildren."
"Well, they'll be at your house probably, so what will my kids and grandkids have to worry about?" she asked. A hurt look impeded the happy appearance of Taylor's face. She saw it, and her eyes darkened. "I was just joking, Taylor."
"Would you ever consider having kids and grandkids with me?" he asked.
"Of course," Randy said, "Say in about 10 years and one helluva rock on my finger from now."
He laughed. "I will get you one helluva rock."
"You'd better," she'd snorted. "You can't say you don't have the money for it, 'cos I know what you do for a living."
"You're right," he said. "Being a male prostitute is a very profitable career."
Her mouth gaped comically, and she burst into laughter. "Very funny, Mr. Male Whore! What would your mother say?"
"What she doesn't know, can't hurt her," he said with a sly smile. Her cheeks blushed deep red. Of course he was alluding to his midnight romp to her room the night before. Certainly what their parents didn't know couldn't hurt them. If they did find out, it could be very painful, though, to Randy and Taylor.
"You've been a bad boy, Taylor," she told him.
"You've not been much better," he reminded her. He had somehow shifted behind her, because now his sandals were sitting on the bench on either side of her. He bent down and kissed her neck. "I haven't got any regrets, though."
"Me neither," she'd said. "I never will."
The world was quickly coming back to her. Zac was tapping her on the shoulder. She blinked and refocused on him. "What?" His liquidy brown eyes watched her.
"Can we leave now?" he whimpered.
"Sure," she said, and left with him. She crowded into the town car, and again found herself sandwiched between Isaac and Zac. Isaac was now hiding his face in his hands. Everyone was sobbing. Zac leaned against the window, concealing his face from the others. Randy stared from one weeping face to another, feeling bewildered and lost and so alone.