I take a step up to the podium.Deep breath.
Daryl was a great man.
There's a dilemma in my head so I stare down at my hands.
I neglect to say he never had the chance to grow into a man.
That opportunity was stolen from him by a group of wannabe men in too big dress shoes
Which is ironic because they undressed him before they beat him.
I make eye contact.
He was my friend. My best friend. He even asked me to read his eulogy for him.
So..here I am.
Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead like accusing judges with condemning gavels.
I don't tell them what else he wanted me to do.
I remember that conversation vividly.
Hey Bree, he says.
His big brown eyes are reflecting sorrow even with a grin on his face.
Bree, he says in all seriousness. And i know he's being sincere.
I brace myself for his next words.
I don't wanna die straight.
I wanna die the same way I lived behind closed doors.
Don't let them bury my secrets the way I did.
He got me to agree and I swear that nigga was psychic because three months later and here we are.
When I agreed I didnt consider the fact that id be standing in front of his shattered mother and hard ass father.
I didn't consider that Id be standing in front of his widowed but not widowed girlfriend.
You'd think theyd come up with a name for that- someone who loses a partner.
She's gonna hate me.
They're gonna hate me.
How dare he put me in this position?
His mother- the woman who helped raise the both of us; my own secondary mother- meets my conflicted eyes with encouraging ones. Its almost as if she's sending me a sign.
She trusts me.
Daryl was always a happy child.
I should know, we did everything together for sixteen years.
Choke back tears.
Be brave.
He was sixteen years young when his life was stolen from him but it seemed that he was wise beyond his years.
And he trusted so deeply.
It amazed me how much faith he could have in humanity.
Fight the guilt.
He trusted me to say what needed saying here tonight.
Meet the eyes of his father.
Choke down the bile.
Well the truth is..
Meet the eyes of his girlfriend.
I can't do it.
I can't tarnish their image of him.
I turn my back on the podium.
I'm not as brave as him.
Revealing this won't bring him back.
Dying wishes are just fantasy lands anyway.
They're like the rainbow you think will lead to the pot of gold.
They're always disappointing.
Rainbows.
Daryl's favorite color was rainbow.
He said it was a medley of everything good in life combined into one arch of perfection.
He used to joke around that he was the ultimate rainbow.
I step back up to the podium.
Deep breath.
There's a dilemma in my head so I stare down at my hands.
I make eye contact.
Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead like accusing judges with condemning gavels.
She's gonna hate me.
They're gonna hate me.
His mother- the woman who helped raise the both of us; my own secondary mother- meets my conflicted eyes with encouraging ones. Its almost as if she's sending me a sign.
Choke back tears.
Be brave.
Fight the guilt.
Meet the eyes of his father.
Choke down the bile.
Well the truth is..
Meet the eyes of his girlfriend.
Daryl was gay.