The Life of a Louisiana Punk Rocker, chapter 1

Bye, Pop, I thought to myself as they lowered my father into the ground. See you in a few years. I tried so hard to hold back the tears. I had to. My little brother was standing right next to me. I couldn't let him see me like this.

The wind blew his hair, making it look like the moss on the trees on the edge of the bayou where we were. The sun was setting now. You could just make out the pelicans sitting on the algae-covered water.

Mom stood on my other side. Her head was bowed. I new what she was thinking. She was thinking back on the years when Pop was still around. The way that she had always told him every morning how much she loved him. That wouldn't happen anymore.

I felt the tears coming on as the choir sang "When I Get Where I'm Going." Pop had never wanted us to be sad if anything bad happened to him. But how could he expect us not to? He was a good, strong, loving man. Despite his stubbornness, he was a fantastic father.

I looked out into the crowd of family and friends. His parents couldn't be there. Grammy had refused to come. She couldn't bare it. She wanted to pretend he was still alive.

When the service was over, I didn't know what to do. I mean, how where we just supposed to go home and forget all about this? I didn't want to leave. I felt a tug on my black skirt. "Lilly?" my little brother, James asked, "Will Daddy ever come back?"

I knelt down and hugged him hard. "No, Jimmy," I said, "Daddy's never coming back. But we'll see him some day in heaven. Just you wait."

He smiled a faint smile. "Yeah," he said, "Some day."

The ride home was an awkward silence. We were about halfway home when Momma said, "Wow, that was a beautiful service. Didn't you think so, Tiger?" She calls me Tiger. My real name is Tiger Lilly. Everyone calls me Lilly. Except her.

"Yeah, Momma," I said from the back seat of the van, "It was beautiful."

We pulled into the driveway. I got out of the car and walked inside and grabbed the phone. I punched in Robby's number. Robby's been my best friend since we were four. He's always been there for me. Especially now. "Hey, Lil," he said when he picked up on the other end, "What's up?"

"Nothing," I said, "Just got back home."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Thanks so much for coming. Momma was really touched."

"Hey, no problem. We're practically family. It's like my dad died."

"Yeah, he really liked you."

"You don't sound to, well, how I thought you'd act."

"And how's that?"

"Sad. Depressed. You know."

"Believe me, I've been feeling it."

"Let it out."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I have to hold it in."

"Dude, that's really unhealthy."

"I know, but you know with Jimmy and everything..."

"Oh yeah. Right. Sorry."

"It's okay. Tell you what, I'll have a nice long cry when Momma takes him out today."

"Good."

He laughed a little. I hung up and flopped down on my bed. I looked up and stared at the poster of Green Day tacked to my ceiling. Jeez, I thought, Billie sure has some green eyes.

My eyes darted around the room. They landed on an old family portrait on my desk. I walked over and sluggishly picked it up. The whole family was smiling. I looked at Pop with his short black ponytail and slightly yellow teeth. He smoked. That's not why he passed, though. It was a car crash. He was only 38.

I walked over to the closet and kicked my shoes off. They thunked against the wall. Then I thunked on the floor and let myself cry.