I remember the radio was playing the best song. It was the last day I saw Kyle alive.

I knew I wasn't his first. He'd had a girlfriend in Morro Bay, Julie something-or-other, whom he didn't like to talk about. Rumor was, he'd knocked her up and then abandoned her.

Of course, I'd known Kyle was a player from day one.

The song ended and another started. This one sucked, so I changed to another station. It wasn't long after that I heard the sirens in the distance. I didn't even connect them with Kyle, as he'd always seemed the type nothing would ever happen to. He'd always be charming, witty, ready with a lie on his tongue for the next poor girl foolish enough to believe it.

I don't remember what was playing on the car radio on the way to the funeral. I was eighteen and had never seen a dead body before. My stomach was tied in knots as I entered the chapel and saw his pale face lying there in the casket. He looked almost better than he had in life. Not a hair was out of place.

I'd heard the accident had been exceptionally ghastly, that there had been blood everywhere, that certainly there could never be an open casket funeral.

I couldn't help but wonder how long he would continue to look so perfect. After the brief ceremony, the casket's lid would cover his handsome face forever. The casket would be lowered into a vault lining the cold, moist dirt, and then the crypt would be sealed, heavy machinery placing its concrete lid on top. In perfect peace and quiet, the anaerobic bacteria inside his body would begin to consume it from the inside, releasing their poisonous gases and causing the body I once made passionate love with to bloat, to rupture, eventually to liquefy, forming a horrid soup.

I wondered whether Julie in Morro Bay knew what had happened.

I wondered what his mother would be thinking of as she lay in bed that night.

I wondered what song was playing on the radio.