Tears well in my eyes. I try to hold them back as they lower him into the ground. No luck. They flood my face with salty water. “Get a hold of yourself!” I tell myself, “You need to stop crying! Everyone is looking at you!” I could not. I let the tears stream down my face washing away my wall. The wall that used to guard me from hurting. Used to shield me from my fears, the wall which could only be broken by him. “He’s gone. He’s gone forever! He will never come back.” The thought makes my sobs grow louder. I am finally able to dry my tears as the priest says the final prayer, then we quietly parade out of the graveyard, making our way to our cars. Saying good-bye to my brother forever. Even though everyone around me says it wasn’t my fault, it feels like it. “Why did I have to live and him die? Why was I so stupid and selfish?” I yell in my mind. If I didn’t get so worked up over some stupid drama, then he wouldn’t have looked over at me. He would have still been looking at the road. He would have seen the ice in time. We would have safely made it around the ice patch. But, most of all, my brother would still be here. We would be at my jumping competition in sunny Florida. My brother would be in the stands. Watching. Watching me. Not the other way around. I wouldn’t be watching him being buried in the ground. My father drives us to the reception in silence. Stevie, my brother, was always the perfect child in my parents’ eyes; they tolerated me, most of the time. So, they were taking the death pretty hard. But, I knew differently. The comfort and hugs they gave me at the funeral was all just an act. They hate me. I was the disobeying child; I never did anything they told me to do. Mostly because it was wrong. I wasn’t a girly girl for my mother. I wasn’t a jock for my father. I am me and Stevie loved me for that. He was my family and I was his. We told each other everything. From my drama at school to his troubles at work. We take our seats at the restaurant. I know this place too well. It was Stevie and my favorite place to go together. I don’t want to be here. I hate the gloomy looks everyone gives me like I’m an abandoned puppy or something. I wish they wouldn’t look at me at all. I wish I was invisible. Then I could get away with crying without being ashamed. After we eat our dinner, people start standing up to talk about their experiences with Stevie. How great of a guy he was. “I knew Stevie ever since preschool,” some say, while others: “Stevie was a great man, a loving boy friend, and a great brother and son to his parents and sister. He loved his parents dearly.” “How do they know that? They are so off, Stevie hated our father. We both do. And our mother, well she wasn’t around much. She was either intoxicated or on the way to being. We were the family. Stevie and I,” I could not take it anymore. I stand up, knocking my chair over and storm out of the room. The tears come back and wash away my recently reapplied makeup. I don’t care. No o