Untitled Story Part 1

So i've been writing on this story off and on for a couple of years now, and decided to post up pieces of it over the next week, to get a little feed back. If you are that type of person, please feel free to let me know any grammatical or spelling errors that you find.

My godfather, Bill Preston, had been a strange guy. His funeral fit that. He was popular, well-liked, with a good heart. There were people everywhere.

          Bill met my father their freshman year of college, at some party. They were instantly best friends. He was the best man at my parent’s wedding. Though he never married, he always had women around him. When my father died of a heart attack two years ago, Bill was there for mom and me. He helped her with the funeral, making arrangements, easing her burden. He helped me move into my first apartment when I turned 20, a few months after dad died.

          A week ago, Bill was flying his Cessna Skyhawk west over the ocean. Something he had done a hundred times. He said it made him free, soaring like a bird, away from the stresses of daily life. Mechanical failure caused him to crash into a small island 20 miles off the coast. I was heartbroken.

          I stood alone in a sea of people dressed in black. As I looked around, the faces in the crowd blurred together, until the only face I could see was that of my godfather. I started to sink to the ground. A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist and supported my weight, guiding me into a soft couch. I looked up into an unfamiliar face.

          He was handsome in an unconventional sort of way. Black hair hung softly to his ears, and his eyes were the deepest shade of blue I had ever seen. His bottom lip was pierced and his ears were gaged slightly. His black button up clung to his chest and upper arms, and was tucked into… wait.. were those pants leather?

          “Bryanna? Bryanna Campbell, right? Are you okay?” I refocused my eyes on his face, concern for me obvious in the depths of those dark blue pools.

          “Bry… Please call me Bry. I’m okay, I think. It’s just been a long week.” He sat down next to me on the couch, an arm still around my waist.

          “I’m sure it has been. Bill was your godfather, right? He spoke affectionately about you. My name is Kyle by the way.” He flashed a sweet smile at me.

          “How did you know Bill? There are a lot of faces here I don’t recognize at all.” I leaned back into the couch, conscious that his arm was still around me. I drank in his smell, and it was somewhat familiar, reminding me of my godfather.

          “We belong to a sort of members only group. We don’t talk about it much to people who aren’t involved. Bill was kind of a leader among us and we are very sad to see him go. But I know he died doing what he loved and wouldn’t have been happy to go out old and wrinkly, laying in a bed somewhere with only half the memories of his life left.” Kyle chuckled.

          I smiled at the thought. Bill always said that he wanted to be remembered as going out with a spark, something exciting. Bungee jumping and sky diving. Rock concerts and tattoos.

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