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The girl in the photo on her wall blinked. Not really though it looked like it through the tears in her eyes. Jody was dead. Her best friend had died. Her little seven-year-old mind couldn’t wrap around that fact. She yanked the picture from her wall and ran to her dark secret corner. 	Sophia stared at the photo lying in the unpacked box. Two beautiful girls standing side by side drenched in summer fun. The memory of Jody’s death was still fresh in Sophia’s mind even after fifteen years. She remembered how the air got tight in her throat and how she couldn’t feel anything but sadness, and as if in slow motion her memory played back the day of Jamie’s funeral like a movie. 	The steeple of the church standing proud, all white and reaching out to God. From a bird’s eye view only the steel rod at the top is visible through the canopy of trees that have grown around it. It catches the sun throwing an impressive amount of light to the ground below. The gravel rocks crunch like chips as Sophia walks. Her mothers’ hand warm in her palm, like a tight hug. They stand at the bottom of a concrete ramp. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sophia. You don’t have to go you know, Jody knows you loved her even if we don’t go.” Sophia caught a slight sadness in her mother’s tone, although it would be fifteen years before she realized the sadness was something her mother was trying not to feel. “No mamma I need to go. I have to hug her brother and tell him what Jody said.” “Ok.” Her mother smiled, then grabbed the rail and started to walk up the concrete ramp. 	Sophia looked at the stained-glass windows of the “L” shaped building as they walked. When they got to the top they were stopped by the heavy wooden doors. The dark planks were solid and made a slight creak as Sophia’s mom pushed on them with their metal handle. As they stepped into the hall they shut the outside world out. The trees in their burnt amber glow, the leaves floating down from them like mother nature herself wept for Jody. The crisp breeze that brought relief in late September from the heat of the last dog days of summer. 	Jody’s mother stood dressed all in black, a bit of lace covering her face. The only color was the white handkerchief she held in her hand, and the flowers in the hall. The pastor stood next to her in his dreary robes and thanked Sophia and her mother for coming as he handed Sopia’s mother a piece of paper. Jody’s mom stared at Sophia, bent down touched her face with her black gloved hand and began to sob. She heaved her chest in and out, taking deep breaths before each sob. The pastor helped her stand straight again. It was then that Sophia noticed Jody’s brother. Dressed in his Sunday finest, Carl clung to his mother’s dress hem. Sophia started to step towards him when her mother gently pulled her in another direction. 	They walked sometime down a long red carpeted hall, lit by dull yellow lights. Sophia had continued to watch Carl until they made a very small turn down another hall then stopped. These doors were open, and as they stepped forward Sophia could see the small white casket sitting on a stage in the front of a grand hall filled with dark wood pews. &nbsp;Sophia’s mother walked a few pews up. “Scouch in sweetie.” Sophia’s mother let go of her hand and guided Sophia into the seat. Sophia never took her eyes off the tiny white casket. If she had she would have seen her teacher crying on her right. She would’ve seen the autumn season echoed in the rings of flowers. She would have noticed she was now standing on the other side of those stained-glass windows, and she would have seen they were not merely stained-glass, but scenes of Jesus watching over his flock. But to Sophia, in the see of dark walnut wood, only saw the brilliant white of the tiny casket. 	Sophia hadn’t even noticed Jody’s family walking down the aisle and sitting in the front row. She hadn’t even noticed the opening thanks. Even during the first prayer she didn’t close her eyes. All she could think of was her friend lying motionless surrounded by white satin, in that tiny white box. &nbsp; 	The pastor invited people to come up and share stories. Sophia focused on the box, and how the light seemed to shine only on it. Then her focus broke. Her teacher, Jody’s too, began to play the violin. It echoed in the giant room. With each sad note, Sophia could hear Jody’s proclamation. “I did it!” This was Jody’s favorite song. A song Jody worked hard on. She lugged that violin everywhere she went practicing each agonizing screech. One sleep over weekend Sophia became her audience and Jody played the notes flawlessly then ran to her mother. “I did it!” 	Sophia began to sob. Tears streamed like a waterfall down her face. She forced herself out of the pew and ran towards the casket. “STOP!” she cried then fell to her tiny knees. 	The music stopped. Jody’s mother kneeled beside Sophia. Placed her hands on her shoulders and whispered, “Why couldn’t it have been you?” 	The anger in her voice paused Sophia’s tears, and at that moment Sophia’s hurt was replaced with confusion. Sophia’s mom picked her up. Apologized to Jody’s mom and left. The teacher started to play again. Sophia watched the tiny white casket fade into the soft violin music through her mother’s hair, and she wondered. “Why wasn’t it her?” 	Fifteen years later, and Sophia can still remember Jody’s smile, her laugh, that song, and... Sophia picked up the photo and sat once again in a dark corner… she can hear those words. &nbsp;

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Stained-Glass

SDAM76

Sandra Deann Martin

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The Funeral

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Sandra Deann Martin

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