The denial twist

A long day of many happenings resulted in a ten minute break before dinner translating into this.
I couldn't think of a decent title, but bear with me - I'm sick.
---

I know what you'd say if you were here.
"You're alienating people again.”
I’d nod at you cavalierly. “Hmm. So?”
You’d stare at me, pretending to be shocked for my benefit. “So? Stop it.”
“Why?” I’d ask, all innocence and wonderment.
“You’ll die alone,” you’d warn.
And I'd say - "We all die alone, anyway. What difference does it make?"
You'd glare at me, in that disgustingly scrutinizing way. "You'll have no one at your funeral. No one will care that you're dead."
"Isn't that kind of the point of being dead? People stop caring. Not like they did anyway. They'll have one less thing to pretend about. Good for them."
"Stop trying to be a cynic."
"I'm not a cynic."
"I know you're not."
"Then?"
"Don't change the subject."
"Okay."
"Okay."
You’d fiddle with your keys thinking how foolish I was.
How foolish this conversation had become.
You’d ramble on then; upon some capricious topic to fill the silence you thought was empty.
I was always kind of surprised you never picked up on that.“No one’s going to spread your ashes when you die,” you’d suddenly spring at me, right in the middle of our heated debate about something or the other.
Sigh.
“Why not?”
“Because of all the people you’re leaving behind.”
“The wind would scatter it.”
"Over the garbage dumps of Bombay.”
“Sounds appealing.”
“You’re like 50 Cent’s music.”
“Ew, why?”
“All talk, no meaning.”
You’d be leaning back lazily staring at passing cars, acting nonchalant as if you hadn’t just insulted me beyond belief.
I’d glare and say, “I’m insulted beyond belief.”
You’d make some comment about how you spoke nothing but the truth.
I’d roll my eyes, you’d laugh.
Lalala.
“Don’t tell me your heart doesn’t twinge even slightly at the thought of your own person-less funeral. I don’t buy it.”
“My heart is made of surgical steel.”
“Yeah and pigs have wings.”
“It’s crazy the kinds of things that biotechnology can do these days.”
“Escapist.”
“Loser.”
“Die alone-er”
“That’s not necessarily true.”
“What d’you mean?”
“My parents and brother would come.”
“What if you’re the last to die in your family?”
“You’re a weird boy.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Who says things like that?”
You’d loll your head back in that lethargic way and shrug.
“Sorry. It’s all the testosterone.”
We’d settle into silence again.
“You’d be there.”
“Where?”
“At my funeral. To gather my ashes and speak stuff about me and everything.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Nothing actually. But you’d probably be there.”
“What if I die first?”
“Yah, right.”
“You’re a weird girl.”
“Look who’s talking.”
"Don't steal my lines."
“Calvin says that he’d have more friends if only people weren’t so mean.”
“Calvin is a genius.”
“He is.”
“I’ll probably come.”
“Where?”
"To scatter your ashes.”
“RSVP not needed if you drop dead first.”
"That would be a situation. Thanks. You're very kind."
"I am not."
"Right."

- At least that’s how I assume it’ll go. I have no real way of knowing.

“It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.” – R.E.M.