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Apr 15
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The Unexpected

Chrissy Smoked

Twice a year, a group of friends gathered in a coal-mining pocket of Pennsylvania—friends in their twenties with fragile identities, who didn’t know yet what would happen.

It’s been a whole year. And maybe I don’t yet know what words or numbers get close to outlining the shape or the depth of the hole where Chrissy is supposed to be, but how about this: None of those cigarettes out there, in the past 12 months, though every one of them got smoked by someone, not a single one got smoked by our friend Chrissy.

The funeral was up in Pennsylvania, and most of us made the drive. It was sunny that day, windy, and Chrissy’s wife’s long blond hair blew all over her shoulders and across her forehead but really what happened was she had bawled so hard and sharp in the funeral home that it moved your heart over in your chest six inches. But if you’re going to have a funeral, you may as well do it right, and so because Chrissy wrote songs and sang them, that’s what we wanted to do, too. And we wanted to drink, maybe even smoke a cigarette or two. Of course, no one smokes anymore, but all the same, hey, is... Continue Reading

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Apr 15
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