Black. I always liked the color, but now I'm not so sure. It seems kind of dark, doesn't it? No, that was a stupid question. Of course black is dark. And I like to wear it. But at the moment, I'd give anything to be wearing another color. I look down at my feet and catch sight of my little sister out of the corner of my eye. She's sitting calmly, hands folded in her lap. Hands folded on that damn black dress.

The priest's voice suddenly grows louder and I look up at him. He's reaching for the bread to make communion and starting to speak in Latin. Why is Mom making it like this? Wade didn't want it this way. Wade would have wanted a big-ass Buddha here instead. That would've made his day. And pink. We should have pink on. He always liked pink even though Mom said he shouldn't.

Wade had been different ever since he was very little. When I was born and my parents painted my room a disgusting shade of pink, he took to sleeping in my room. And as I grew older he always wanted to play with me and my friends, rather than the boys in his school. The boys at school hated my brother.

I was only two and already watching my brother being taunted. "What's your problem? Don't carry that stupid doll around! Isn't it your sister's?" The boys gathered around Wade, poking him for carrying around a doll. He had found it in a bin of Grandma's things. We went through her attic after she died.

"It...it was my Grandma's" Wade replied after a moment. "I took it so I could remember her."

"A doll?" the other boys scoffed. "Boys don't play with dolls!"

"But I miss my Grandma and I can't carry anything else around that she had." And then he was pummeled by a group of fellow five year olds.

I watch the priest bow to the cross mounted on the wall. He is muttering but I cannot hear him. The room seems to have gone eerily silent. Of course, its supposed to be quiet during communion. But this time it's a different quiet. Wade is not there making faces at me and making me laugh when I shouldn't. There is no humor in this room.

By the time I was five I was grateful for my brother. The boys would bike over to our house and track mud all over the floor. But if I ever came into the room, looking lonely, Wade would send his friends home and play with me. We often had tea parties with my stuffed animals in the dining room. I remember asking Wade why he let those boys be so mean to him.

"They don't really mean it, Kelly. They're just playing."

"But I've seen them hit you."

"It's play-hitting. They do it because I like you. They don't like their sisters."

"Or you" I added.

After everyone has taken communion, the service continues. However, I am no longer paying attention. The priest's words jumble and I find myself staring through the stained glass window. Quite suddenly the priest stops talking and everyone rises I take my sister, Jessica's hand and we all file out onto the patio. My Aunt Rose has hired the best caterer in town and all the food is set out on neat little white tables. My uncles come and put their arms around my mother, but she seems almost angry. I'm angry too although I don't think we're angry for the same reason.

At age eleven I began to notice that Wade was different. Upon entering middle school I was introduced to the insane world of boyfriends, girlfriends and break-ups. When I was in sixth grade, Wade was in ninth and not only had he never had a girlfriend, he never spoke of a girl affectionately. One evening while we were doing our homework I remember asking him about it.

"I don't like girls in that way" he told me.

"But why not? All the boys at my school do!" I insisted.

"I just don't, Kelly. I like other boys." I could not comprehend this. My brother was a boy...why did he like other boys?

It's a windy afternoon and Aunt Rose is darting from table to table to make sure none of the tablecloths blow away. That would be funny. Wade would have loved it if one of the tablecloths just took off and floated half way down the street. I am tempted to release a tablecloth just for the hell of it. But then Aunt Rose would probably disown me because she "put so much hard work into this catering business and you just throw one of the tablecloths!". Instead, I release Jessica's hand and she dashes off to join a few Sunday school friends who all bury her in one large embrace. I turn and head back into the church.

Wade left for college when I was fifteen. He went to a school down in Alabama. He was so excited. I helped him pack in the weeks before he was to leave. On several occasions I would break down in tears at the thought of my brother leaving me. And Wade would simply say, "Kelly, I'm not leaving you forever! I'll be back to visit for Thanksgiving and Christmas and all my other vacations. And you and me can go shopping!" The idea thrilled me. By then I had accepted my brother's sexuality and we often took trips to the mall together. I actually thought it was fun having a girly brother. None of my friends had brothers who would go shopping with them. Then again, none of my friends knew about Wade's sexual orientation.

I stop at the collage of pictures resting on the table in front of the altar. It shows Wade from birth until his most recent picture. I smile at the most recent picture. It was taken just a month ago. He and his boyfriend had come to visit. Mom wanted nothing to do with Wade since he brought home a boy so I joined them for a week-long trip. We traveled up to Manhattan. It was my first time there and I was completely thrilled. Wade's boyfriend was originally from NYC so he knew where to take us. We spent New Year's packed in Times Square and we watched the ball drop.

Wade and Jacob went back to college after our trip and I looked forward to their next visit. Jake had won me over with his quirkiness and wit. But that next visit never came. In mid-January Wade was killed. Those boys that had taunted him for so long shot him from behind. The doctors said he died instantly and felt no pain but that was little relief for me. Fortunately, the boys were arrested and are now awaiting trial for first degree murder. The police have a ton of evidence so its almost certain that they will receive life in prison if not the death penalty. My eyes well up with tears at the last memory.

"Kelly I'm not leaving you forever! I'll be back to visit for Thanksgiving and Christmas and all my other vacations. And you and me can go shopping!" I'd buy you a bulletproof vest, baby.

Author's Note: This is dedicated to anyone who has been either the victim of a hate crime or knows someone who was a victim. We need to fight for equality for everyone. No one deserves such hate.