Eulogy

by Thomas Kearnes

Just another dead faggot to scrape off the road. That guy I sometimes fuck when his boyfriend's tied up at work left me a voice mail the morning after it happened. I just looked at my cell phone like it didn't belong to me. Then I started my day. What, you want me to call you clever? Marvel at your fiery escape? Fuck that. You were just another coward barreling through the city at two in the morning, crying, terrified, totally freaked the fuck out about those flashing blues and reds rushing closer. You're damn lucky those church musicians had hitched a trailer to carry their instruments. Otherwise, it would've been a poor family of spics, not their drums and guitars and speakers, that went KA-BOOM when you rammed into them.

Fucking Christ, you were always weak. You said whatever the other guy wanted to hear and then smiled like some demented old bitch forgotten at the raisin ranch. You thought you were so goddamn smart. Bet it never struck you that maybe all those guys you were bullshitting didn't give a rat's ass what you had to say. They just wanted to bend you over and pound your ass like you owed them money. Or they wanted a bag of tweak. Go ahead and smile, you fucking nelly. If you're looking down from Fag Heaven, take a bow while those fudge-packers gawk up from your open grave and applaud. I'm not at your grave. I don't give a shit where they toss your bones. After the church service, I drove home and drank a beer. Best goddamn one I've ever tasted.

It's a motherfucking riot, your miserable last goddamn hour. You were at that tragic club, the one at the far edge of the city, far away from any of the breeders, slamming back whiskey and soda since ten that night. You flirted with the cuter, slimmer boys and told yourself maybe, just maybe one of them might fuck you proper. You traded ugly gossip with your buddies, your pals, all those boys you were convinced would help you out if it came to that. I know because I was standing with my back to the wall, watching you, sipping my beer.

Don't think I've forgotten what you said about me. How the hell was I supposed to know you don't mix tweak with ADHD medication? You were so fucking compassionate and sweet when you sat with me, waiting for my high to bottom out. But then you're pimping out my misfortune so those cuter, slimmer boys will forget what a fat little queen you are. You think I liked being your fucking anecdote? You like it now that you're mine?

You got too drunk, as usual. The bouncer plowed through the crowd of polished, waxy boys and grabbed you by the arm. You were so goddamn lit, I doubt you grasped what was about to happen. You two slipped out the side exit, and like fucking magic, all those boys you'd been courting began their chatter. Now you were the stupid faggot who lost his shit, not me. Not anymore.

You were stranded in the dusty, unpaved parking lot. Did you cry? Did you wait for a friend to come take you home? How long did you wait, you stupid sissy? How long did you wait before you realized no one was going to leave the club for your sorry ass? What would you've done if I'd crept outside and watched? Bet your whole porn collection you would've acted like we were fucking best buddies, and you would've begged me for a ride home. Please, you'd say. If I get arrested again, they'll lock me up five years, at least.

But I stayed inside. Hell, so did everyone. You slung open your car door and collapsed inside, waited for the world to stop spinning. You told yourself it was no big deal. You'd been blasted driving home hundreds of times. But just two miles down the highway, you saw the pulsing police lights and heard that too-familiar siren.

Snake eyes, motherfucker!

I guess you thought if you kept driving, you'd think of some way to elude them. I'd love to know exactly what moment you decided to just end the goddamn farce. Drive straight into the first vehicle you found. The moment you chose death.

Did you realize you were going to die alone, pretty boy? That NO ONE sat beside you. Your family, who never knew shit about you. Your friends, who dropped you like a rotten fruit. You didn't even have yourself. You'd sold yourself so often, so easily, maybe the decision was a snap. After all, what was there to really lose?

Ka-boom! Flames and smoke and metal. You're gone, baby, all gone.

I watch the updates on TV about the crash. The head spic of that musician family says he forgives you. He hopes you're in heaven. Fucking Christ! Friends leave messages on MySpace denouncing the news people for turning your death into a scandal. If anyone else thought you'd killed yourself on purpose, I never heard about it. But you fucking coward, I know what you did!

I'm going to the club this weekend. You know where I'll be. Back against the wall, beer in hand. Maybe someone will mention you. Maybe not. But I'll never forget, you miserable man-child. I'm not letting you go in peace. You and me, we're together now. Because I know. Drive until you run out of gas, drive until you run out of road. I won't let you burn.