The Book of Joe

Falls. “Hey, Joe,” he says, leaning over to shake my hand, “I’m really sorry.” We haven’t spoken since that night at his house, and he must know that Jared and I have still been spending time together, but if he’s still upset with me, he’s keeping it well concealed.
    “That’s a nice gesture,” I say, indicating Brad’s basketball jacket. “Wayne would have appreciated it.”
    Brad shrugs. “It’s a tradition.”
    A few more random guests file in over the next few minutes. I recognize Paul Barrow, Wayne’s doctor, and Dave Sykes and Stan Rydell, two guys who’d been in our class back in high school, and a small assortment of men and women who are either colleagues of Mr. Hargrove’s or fellow parishioners.
    Wayne had requested a small ceremony for just family and a few friends, so after a quick whispered conversation with Mrs. Hargrove, Father Mahon ascends the altar and starts flipping through his prayer book. I remember how Father Mahon used to do a little dance when he called a strikeout, lifting his knee high into the air and then lunging forward with his fist as he yelled, “Steerike three!” I look over at Brad and see that he’s smiling. He turns to me and mouths the words steerike three. I nod and we smile, like brothers.
    Two solemn men in matching mustaches and black suits wheel the casket down the aisle and bring it to a stop at the front of the sanctuary. Wayne was adamant in his refusal to be embalmed, and thus a closed casket is the only real option, which is fine with me, and judging by the relieved expressions on Carly’s and Brad’s faces, I think they feel the same way. Only Jared frowns and seems mildly disappointed, having come with the intention of glimpsing his first dead body, of confronting death and his own notions of mortality.
    Just as Father Mahon is about to begin, there is a sound from the back of the church and we all turn as one to see Coach Dugan come striding down the aisle, his weather-beaten basketball jacket on over a white oxford and a wine-colored paisley tie. He walks to the front of the room and holds a brief, quiet discussion with Wayne’s mother. After a moment she nods, and Dugan steps to the foot of the altar and conducts a shorter discussion with Father Mahon. Apparently, Dugan’s jurisdiction extends to the church as well, because the priest nods and smiles, and Dugan turns and walks back up the aisle. Our eyes meet for a second, and I’m surprised to see him nod in a friendly manner. I nod back and then feel like an idiot when I realize that I’ve inadvertently intercepted a smile intended for Brad.
    “I know that Wayne requested an intimate ceremony,” Father Mahon announces. “But there’s been a slight ... wrin kle. I explained to the coach that this service was intended just for family, and he pointed out - rightly so, I think - that by broadening our definitio n of the word family, we can ac commodate this change without the danger of doing Wayne any disservice. As a matter of fact, I’m sure he would have been quite pleased.”
    “What’s going on?” Jared whispers to me.
    “You got me.”
    “Look,” Carly says.
    We turn to the back of the church, where Dugan has propped open the double swinging doors, and suddenly a virtual parade of men in blue and white Cougars jackets begins filing through the doors. Their ages run the gamut, from men in their sixties to kids who are probably on Dugan’s current roster. The older men walk with the same peculiar gait my father owned, each step informed by bowed legs and ruined knees. They have their funeral faces on, grave, awkward expressions that bespeak a deep-seated discomfort, not with death itself but with being in the presence of the bereaved.
    The younger boys look uncomfortable but grimly determined, and you can see the fire of Dugan’s instruction in their eyes. Gradually, amid the sound of groaning floor-boards, creaking benches, and the deep rumble of their collective shuffling, the current and former Cougars fill the pews until the church is at capacity. Standing by the back doors, overseeing this somber procession, is Coach Dugan, his expression impatient and severe, as if he’s ready to inflict forty laps around the church on the entire squad if they don’t get it done right the first time.
    And now the entire rear of the church is a standing sea of blue and white, and however contrived the whole thing might be, there is something grand and majestic in it,