“They sure did a shitty job,” John said, and I laughed despite the circumstances. I covered my face with my purse because I snorted and everyone turned to look.

“Look at him. Jamie would kill himself if he ever looked that fat. You know how he was.” He looked over his shoulder and sucked in, examining himself in an imaginary mirror.

There were pinwheels on the casket and fireworks, like he said he would want. At the burial, his sister passed around sparklers. “Oh, we need lighters! Does anyone have one?” asked an adult, and we all quietly chuckled. Everyone had a lighter because everyone had started smoking again.

Fast-forward a bit and there are maybe forty kids trekking over a hill, in their fancy black clothes and dress shoes. Sweat was rolling down our backs and our cigarettes were out. We shot bottle rockets into fields of dead grass. I lit a firework and I was lighting a votive candle.