A Funeral Story

Here's a little short story for you. Let me know what you think and please check out my poetry in the other forum.

The cemetery was right off the freeway, just as they'd told us. We could see the roofs of cars glinting from the overpass as we walked through the front plot towards the funeral home. The graves were clearly marked, though not with headstones. Here, each had a marble placard embedded in the earth, inconspicuous enough except for the plastic tulips jutting from their affixed iron vases. I don't think tulips even grow in Texas. It was probably "too damn hot," as my brother put it, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He'd worn a suit--black, with a black shirt and tie as he'd seen in the movies. But upon seeing a boy his age walk past wearing boots hooded by a pair of jeans, he'd taken off the jacket and loosened the tie. "Why isn't anyone wearing black? Isn't that what you do at these f****** things? I mean we don't even know her and we're wearing black." This continued as we walked across the pea gravel parking lot towards the plot on the rear side of the home, the black dress shoes we'd bought the day before were already covered in dust. Then we saw this cart. It was about knee high, made of welded aluminum and resting on huge rusted casters. It was sitting there at the unmarked entrance to the rest of the cemetery next to an oak tree. It seemed too short to hold a whole coffin comfortably. Maybe the feet had to hang off the end.

"Are mom and dad gonna be cremated? Because this is insane." I nodded and looked out at the crowd gathering under a green awning in the middle of the field. It wasn't what I had expected. There was no rain but there were umbrellas, not black but yellow and purple and red, each trying to hide the face of some shadow. Funerals were supposed to be a bit antiqued, hazy around the edges. But the sunlight allowed no uncertainty. The awning was now a tarp stretched across four metal poles, shading the faux-wood casket that rested on some mechanical platform that must have made it easier to set it in the ground. The Family, they'd become a proper noun, were seated right in front of the thing, their faces reflected in its odd artificial veneer. They seemed almost below it, resting it on the napes of their necks.

As a reverendesque man made a few announcements regarding the reception in the funeral home, no ceremony had been held beforehand, my middle school Spanish teacher approached us holding an umbrella with an American flag on it. She asked me where I was going to college, what I'd be studying and then started talking about her children. Her Panamanian accent made me want to close my eyes. But she was the kind of woman who looked right at them the whole time, blinking was like losing a staring contest.

Then the man returned, a leather bound bible hanging from his finger tips. He said a few words and then invited a friend of the woman in the casket to say some things. The dead woman's mother was wearing those sun glasses with blinders on the sides, nothing could be seen of her eyes, but her mouth was taught, contemptuous. One of her granddaughters was staring at a brass cross hanging from a man's neck, the other examining her nose in the coffin, her grandson rested his eyes on his left knee, picking each piece of lint off of his new black pants. The young woman's words rose and condensed upon the ceiling of their vinyl encasement. Nobody cried. Then the man stepped forward again holding his Bible at chest level, his thumb jutting from the "o" in "Holy." He read a few passages, all seemed content.

Then he prayed: "Dear God, though today and the weeks to come will surely be filled with more questions than answers, give us the courage to continue doing your will and instill in us a sense of peace, knowing that one of your daughters has returned home. We all know she believed in you more than anything. And Father God, though this this day is one of sadness, it can also be a day of joy if you bring but one of those gathered here to your side. Bring them to the church, use them as you have used us. Make them tools do do your work for that is the greatest gift this side of heaven. Amen." A man with a guitar sang a song, his voice was small in comparison to the that of the man with the Bible, but people still tried to listen. No one had cried yet. Then one woman, suddenly choking, pushed her way out through the crowd which parted like blades of grass. She was wearing a pant suit, blue with gold pin-stripes, her hair cut short, shorter than mine. I watched her get in her car as a line formed to sign the register and greet The Family. I watched as they sat in their folding chairs, each covered in green fabric. The same shade of green as the sheet they'd used to cover the soil dug up for the grave. It sat there behind the casket, a swollen, rolling hill anxious to be returned to the earth.

I turned to start walking back to the car when a man driving a golf cart pulled up beside me and rattled off a lilting, inaudible question. "What?" I asked. "You gonna foot it or do you want a lift?" His name tag read Jerry Sim. The skin on his cheeks was the same shade of pink that middle-aged men turn when they've had too much to drink, but the whites of his eyes were pale, nubile. I shrugged and walked around and climbed in. I looked over my shoulder and saw my brother standing on the outskirts of the gathering, kissing his girlfriend right on the mouth as tears started leaking from the corners of her eyes. I wondered why I'd come. "You need any help, Jerry?" He was taken aback that I knew his name but then he looked down at his name tag and grinned. "Well, I've gotta set up The Family's table for the reception and they've brought in all sorts of flowers so if you wanna help me move 'em you're more than welcome to." "What kind of flowers?" I asked. He laughed. "I'm just setting 'em up but they're real pretty. Come have a look." I nodded, smiled, wiped my brow and we headed in. The golf cart bounced over the dry patches in the earth where it had hardened and cracked open. It was so dry I wondered if that casket would ever rot away. Bacteria wouldn't survive in soil like that.

We pulled around the side of the funeral home and as Jerry hopped out of the cart I noticed a little garden planted in a shady corner of the courtyard. "Do you like it?" he asked. "I planted it for my wife. She loves herbs but we ain't got room in our yard for 'em so I planted a few out here." I suddenly remembered my mother had grown rosemary in a pot on our back porch, I saw some growing on the far side of the garden. I walked over, pulled a few of the thin pointed leaves off, and rolled them in between my fingers. The scent was hearty, stubborn and I knew that Jerry loved his wife. He loved her more than anything. "Come on in and let's put out these flowers." I followed him, a childish smile on my lips.

It turned out the flowers were a mixture of lilies and irises all surrounded by vaguely tropical plastic foliage. Jerry whistled The Star Spangled Banner as he removed the plastic wrapping from each arrangement and let the watery scent waft about our noses. "Do you dig the graves," I asked suddenly. He stopped whistling but kept smiling with his eyebrows.
"Why, no. I just help out with everything else. I mean I used to, but they like to keep the younger guys diggin' and us older folks settin' up. Plus, this way I get to talk to the families. They think I'm real good at comfortin' people."
"What's the worst story you've heard? I mean 'bout someone dying." He kept smiling.
"Well, they're always terrible, but that woman out there, she's the first suicide I've had."
I realized I hadn't even known how the woman had died, I couldn't even remember her name. "Is it any different? Being she," I paused, "took her own life?"
"I think it's just a little worse for everybody." I nodded at the linoleum.
"You didn't know her that well did you?" I knew enough, but "no," I answered honestly.
"Well I'm sure you know some folks who did. The best thing to do is talk to 'em. Not about anything in particular. Just talk. Now, don't tell anyone I said this but I think the whole Bible act scares people a bit. It scares me. Really, the best is just to sit and talk and things will come and things will go and you'll end up back where it all started."

The flowers now covered the table, some water had leaked through the plastic pots on to the table cloth making strange, diaphanous indentions in the fabric. I patted them with a Kleenex someone had handed me as we'd walked up. Jerry pulled out a handkerchief and worked along side me. "I think you're probably right, Mr. Sim." Then the door squeaked open and the crowd from outside, laminated with sweat-soaked fabric, began murmuring across the room, finding seats and angles and utensils as they made their way through the buffet line. Jerry and I went last and sat down on the floor in the corner of the room. As I took a bite of my potato salad I looked up and saw Jerry with his hands crossed across his stomach whispering a prayer to himself. I joined him. "God is great, God is good, so we thank him for our food. By his hand we all are fed. Thank you Lord for our daily bread."