I buried my brother on a Thursday. 

In the early overcast morning, as if my brother had planned his burial for his favorite conditions. Clarence was always a planner, organized in ways I could not even begin to understand. It had always appeared to be chaos, or as he put it, controlled chaos. 

The funeral was nothing short of that. 

I thought I knew how funerals worked when Clarence and I had buried our parents nine years ago or when we had buried our grandfather three years after that. People would sob and console you, only to move on and go about their day, leaving you completely alone. Some faces you would never see again. But this was different. 

Everyone here seemed to know and love my brother more than I did. How was it that I could experience imposter syndrome at my own brother's funeral?

Looking back on the last few years, I had no right to be upset over it. I had been the one to walk away, pack my things and leave to go to college without looking back. I couldn't remember the last time I had heard Clarence's voice. 

These people knew him, knew the person he had grown into since our parent's passing. People who had witnessed him grow and develop into the adult he was becoming—something I hadn't even bothered to try and be a part of. Clarence left this earth as suddenly as I had left him, and if that didn't feel like some twisted form of poetic justice, I didn't know what was. Karma was a bitch, but was it really Karma to blame when I had made that first move to leave him behind?

Strangers' faces passed by, saying their condolences and hugging me despite probably never hearing my name before consoling themselves in the seats of the funeral home. 

Strangers who most likely thought I was a psychopath, for I hadn't shared a tear the entire service. But Clarence's death didn't feel real at all—an image of him appearing at the entrance of the funeral home played in my mind, some silly prank of his or some terrible nightmare. Four funerals in the span of less than a decade—and that of my immediate family—none of it felt real. 

"God, this is depressing," someone said behind me, leaning in close to add, "Anyone who knew Clarence would know he'd rather this be a party. A celebration, not a dramatic sob fest."

Almost imagining my brother before me, the person wore a similar half-smile. Behind it was a somber yet calm look in his eyes, as if he, too, had endured plenty of funerals over the years. "Cody Lim, yes?"

I nodded, unsure if I could even trust myself to speak. 

"Ezra Davey," the young man introduced himself, extending his hand. His funeral attire was at least a size too big on him, most likely borrowing his father's suit—no one expected to be attending a twenty-three-year-old's funeral. "We spoke over the phone."

With a chaste nod, I shook his hand. The sound of his voice slowly became familiar. The brisk phone call had distorted the tonality in his words, but it was still distinct enough to recognize. "Clarence's friend."

A half-smile appeared, quickly turning to a frown as he glanced around them. "His roommate, too."

The distinction didn't seem to make a difference. That is until I remembered the other half of the reason for taking the trip out here. As Clarence's only surviving family—a cruel fact at the age of twenty-five—I was expected to gather his belongings and handle the will. That is, if he had left one. All of which would be at his apartment, or rather his and Ezra's apartment. 

"You must've known him well," I managed to say. "I'm sorry for your loss."

It could've been how the morning rays peeked through the trees, but his eyes welled. "I could say the same to you."

I glanced back at the people in the seats, most chatting. "I'm starting to think I didn't know him at all."

"There's a lot to digest, I'm sure. Clarence was an enigma, still is." Ezra pursed his lips. "But as his brother, I think you know more than I do."

I doubted that, but like I didn't know these people here, I didn't know who Ezra was to Clarence. It was likely that Clarence considered Ezra a brother, one better than I had been. 

Another family I didn't recognize offered condolences as they walked past Ezra and me on their way out. Once out of earshot, I asked, "Friend?"

"Close," Ezra said. "One of his professors. Though he made friends with most of his teachers."

"He could make friends with anyone."

He nodded. "That is very true."

Sadness laced his words as if caught in a memory of my brother, causing my chest to tighten. Here I was, acting like everything was fine, when for Ezra, his whole world likely shattered with Clarence's death. It was easy to forget that most people our age haven't experienced death and loss to the same extent as Clarence or I had. 

"You don't have to stay here." I couldn't imagine this was easy for Ezra, even if having his company here was nice. "You could just send me the address, and I'll find my way there."

"And leave you here all alone?" His expression steeled. "Left to be guessing who these stranger's faces are?"

"Believe me, I'd rather avoid being in this place longer than necessary," I said under my breath as another guest walked by. She bowed her head before walking toward the exit, clutching her purse like a lifeline. I looked back over to Ezra. "I imagine you'd need time to grieve alone."

"I couldn't imagine being anywhere else right now," he said, his eyes drifting to the portrait on display. In ways, it encapsulated exactly how I remembered Clarence, the youthful smile that many of our childhood friends had described him as a goofy golden retriever. In other ways, a part of me felt this picture was just a mask, and the real Clarence was someone I had no privilege of knowing. And by Ezra's tone, I was at the crossroads of entering Clarence's world or leaving it all behind me after this week. 

I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat as my eyes trailed to the casket behind the framed portrait. "Because he's right there?"

He tilted his head. "Yes, and no. I'm glad that we could...see him one last time, but, at the same time, it hasn't been easy to return to an empty apartment. At least here, I have someone to talk to."

"Even though that someone is someone you've only just met?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on Ezra's face. "All the more reason to stay and chat. We've got the whole week ahead of us, don't we?"

In hindsight, a week didn't seem long to handle all the paperwork, items, and everything that needed to be addressed. It seemed impossible to pack up a twenty-three-year-old's life in just seven days, let alone make decisions about belongings and finances. But Ezra did bring up a good point. And while I would've loved nothing more to run out of this building and ignore all responsibility, I owed it to Clarence to at least understand the man he was becoming. And while opening up and learning about Clarence through him, Ezra was the closest person he had. 

While he most likely wouldn't have all the answers, it was a start. 

"Tell me about him," I said, returning the faint smile.