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Ricky's funeral was on Monday.
His parents had been saving, planning for this. They knew they'd have to bury their son young, they just didn't know he'd die violently, thrown from a roller coaster that derailed. They thought he'd die slow, in a hospital bed. They thought they'd get a chance to say goodbye.
Penny managed to make it out of the hospital in time to attend. She sat in a wheelchair, near the front. There were a few kids from school, but not nearly as many as Penny thought should be. Ricky hadn't had many friends, she knew, because no one knew how to listen to him.
His parents smiled at her when she wheeled herself to the front to leave a small bundle of marigolds on his grave. It was a good grave. Ricky would have liked it. It had a little cat's head on the bottom, surrounded by stars and a crescent moon. Richard Potts. Rest In Peace, Ricky. Forever a spaceman in our hearts.
The tears rolled down Penny's cheeks as Ricky's father delivered the eulogy.
"Ricky was a bright boy, trapped in his head. He had a wide imagination and he loved to look at the stars. I remember how much he would talk, as a little boy, before the disease took over. He wouldn't stop talking about alien, and cats, and space. He knew every constellation he could see from his bedroom window by heart. Ricky would have liked the way he died. I think he always hated the idea of fading away. He would have liked the idea of being remembered. Thank you for remembering him."
Penny hid her face in her hands as she cried. Ricky deserved a chance to say goodbye to his parents. He deserved a chance to see the stars again.
That night, she stared at the sky, looking at the stars that decorated the sky. She didn't know the constellations, but she decided that the brightest one, the one west of the moon, was Ricky.
"I hope you're doing okay, Ricky," she whispered. "I wish I could've gotten to know you better before you..." Her voice cracked and she shook her head. "Rest In Peace, bachelor man."
Ocean's was on Tuesday, and it couldn't have been more different. It was beautiful, Penny would give it that, but Ocean would have hated it. All of the attendants wore crowns made of wildflowers. Penny had accepted the one Ocean's mother offered her, and it sat proudly on her blonde hair, but she wanted to scream, to make them listen. This wasn't what Ocean would have wanted.
There was no gravestone, and it didn't take place at a funeral home, or even a cemetery. No, it took place just outside of Uranium City, in a little orchard of trees. Penny would find out later than every tree corresponded to a member of the group. Every child, on their fifth birthday, planted a tree, and once they died, their name and date of birth and death were carved into their tree, their ashes sprinkled into the soil beneath it.
Ocean's tree was one of the smaller ones, a spruce tree maybe six feet tall. Evergreen. How fitting.
There were no students in attendance, Ocean hadn't exactly been popular or well-liked, but it felt like every hippie in town came. They sang, they played the drums, and Penny watched, swallowing her bitter anger.
Ocean's parents knelt in front of the tree and poured the ashes that used to be their daughter around the truck. Penny could hear them crying, saw their tears water the tree, and her heart ached.
The group of hippies sang one last song, and then left, leaving Penny alone to limp up to the tree. She swallowed, laying the bundle of blue star blossoms at the roots.
"I'm sorry you didn't get the funeral you would have wanted," she whispered to the wind. "But they did love you. And they do miss you." She wiped her eyes hurriedly. "I don't think I liked you very much when you were alive. I thought you were stuck up." She giggled wetly, tracing Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg - Beloved daughter. "You kinda were. But I wish I'd tried to get to know the real you. Thank you for sending me back. You were a nice girl, Ocean. I'll miss you. I'll make sure the town remembers you for more than being a know-it-all."
The wind picked up for a second, and Penny swore she heard a soft "thank you" as she walked away.
Noel's funeral was on Wednesday.
It was still catered by Taco Bell, but Penny managed to convince his mother to play a song other than Beautiful, telling her that Noel really preferred Queen (she didn't know if it was true, but it felt like a better choice).
There were a few more people from school than there were at Ricky's funeral. Noel had been friendly with plenty of people, even if most of them saw him as the gay kid who got in trouble for making a dick joke during a nativity play. Still, they came, and Penny was grateful for that.
His gravestone was much smaller than Ricky's, but still lovely, jet black with roses across the bottom. In Loving Memory, Noel Jonathan Gruber. He would have liked it, Penny decided.
Noel's mother delivered the eulogy, and she barely made it past the greeting before she broke down crying and Noel's older brother took over.
"Noel was made for so much more than this town," he read, offering his mother a tissue. "He loved performing, and he was always fun to be around because he was always putting on a show. Noel never cared much for fitting in, he was happy to be himself and didn't care who saw him. The world was a little bit brighter with Noel in it, and we thank you in helping us to mourn him."
Penny liked Noel's family, she decided, and she offered them her condolences as she added the bundle of hyacinths to the growing mound of flowers.
"He was amazing to know," she told one of his sisters. "I didn't know him for very long, but I feel like I learned so much from him about love."
The sister smiled sadly. "He deserved more than this town," she said. "He wanted to go to France. Was trying to save up to move there after graduation."
Penny nodded. She felt like she must have run out of tears by this point, but they kept coming. She could feel the sobs building in her throat, and excused herself to find a quiet corner.
"Monique Chabot," she whispered. "Monique Chabot." She couldn't forget about her. If she forgot about her, then that part of Noel never existed, and that was unacceptable. "Rest In Peace, Monique Chabot."
Mischa's funeral was on Thursday, and Penny was one of the only attendants. No students showed up, no teachers either, and no one from the town. Just Penny, the priest, and Mischa's adoptive parent's. They glanced at her, confused, when she showed up, but she held herself up proudly and meets their eyes.
"Mischa was one of my best friends," she said.
They clearly didn't believe her, but Penny didn't care. She clutched a handful of peonies in his hands, a can of spray paint hidden in her skirt.
There was no eulogy this time, because no one in this stupid town knew anything about Mischa except the place of his birth and the method of his death. The priest said a quick prayer, one that Mischa probably would have hated, and Penny kept her eyes on the ground. Mischa's headstone was plain, just a rock with a name and date on it, really. He deserved so much more. Penny wondered if his mama was still alive, if she thought her son was alive and well and safe in Canada. It was better if she did. She didn't need to know his gruesome death.
She was the only one to cry at this funeral, and Mischa's parents left quickly after the priest did. Penny stayed, waiting until she was sure no one could see her before pulling out the red spray paint. Mischa Bachinski - Назавжди і завжди кохання Талії, син Тамари.
"I found Talia," she whispered to the grave. "I found her and I told her what happened to you. You were right, she was real. She misses you. We text sometimes, but google translate only does so much. I wish you could've said goodbye."
She sniffed. "You were so much more than an angry boy, Mischa. You loved so deeply and I wish your parents had let you show that."
Mourning Mischa Bachinski was a lonely hobby, but it was one Penny would gladly do for the rest of her life if it meant that Mischa could be remembered.
Constance was cremated too, but her parents held a small celebration of life on Friday.
It was easily the biggest turnout out of all the victims, with most of the school coming, teachers included. Penny easily blended into the crowd, but she kept a careful eye on Constance's family.
Her little brother didn't know what was going on, clearly, he was only a couple years old and he was happily giggling in his mother's arms.
Constance's mother had a brave face on, graciously accepting people's condolences, but Penny could see the red in her eyes. Her father kept his hand on her waist.
Penny took a deep breath, straightened the bouquet of daisies and walked over.
"Excuse me?" she said.
Constance's parents turned to her, and Penny knew they recognized her immediately.
"Oh, hello, dear," the mother said. "You were in the choir with our Connie, weren't you?"
Penny nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yes, ma'am. I just wanted to tell you-- Constance was so proud to be your daughter. She told me you were good folks and she was so happy that you raised her to love this town."
That broke Constance's mother and she nodded, covering her mouth to muffle her sobs. Her father reached out to take Penny's wrist, so gentle.
"Thank you," he said. "It means a lot to us. We were so proud to be her parents."
"She was the nicest girl in town," Penny said. "I loved being her friend."
He nodded, leading his wife away. Penny turned her gaze to Constance's urn and leaned the daisies against it.
"You were more than the nicest girl in town, Constance," she whispered. "But you were wonderful. Thank you for listening to me."
Penny turned and walked out then.
The day Penny turned 18, she got a tattoo.
A finch, an anatomical heart, a sunflower, a spaceship, and a sun. None of them bigger than a nickel. Mostly hidden if she wore long sleeves, like a bracelet around her left wrist.
The artist asked her about the meaning, and Penny told their story. She told the story to anyone who asked. Her children grew up knowing the names, and so did her grandchildren. She would not let her friends be forgotten, not as long as she had the power to stop it.
In the end, her friends were forgotten around the same time Penny was, when the last of her grandchildren died. Long after the Cyclone site became nothing but dust, long after their graves stopped being cleaned.
Penny died knowing she had done her best to make sure her friends were remembered, and she knew they were grateful for it. As she drifted off to sleep for the last time, she swore she heard them whispering and she smiled. Death didn't scare her anymore. She knew who she was and she knew people were waiting for her.