Here’s the Church and Here’s the Steeple

FUNERALS SHORT

Funerals.

I haven’t been to many. But the few I have been to were fairly interesting. Including my dad’s.

I didn’t cry.

I mostly just stared. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Which gave me the hiccups.

I found that out about myself. If I leave my mouth open for too long, I get the hiccups. Signature hiccups. They sound like a short, high pitched yells. Its great to have that sound come involuntarily from your mouth and echo throughout a church in the middle of a prayer.

So there I am sitting front row and center. Best seat in the house. And I’m hiccuping. And I’m watching people. There were so many of them. They were even lining the walls.

I don’t like closing my eyes during prayers. I never have. Even when I was younger and a fair amount more religious, I refused to close my eyes while praying. Luckily most people do, which gave me excellent freedom to turn around and witness all the people. So many damn people.

Here’s the church, and here’s the steeple.

Open the door and see all the people.

All the people putting on a magnificent show. The whole funeral was a show. An elaborate production at that. Center stage was my dad’s sister.

When I was nine my dad and his sister got in a huge fight. I don’t even remember what it was about, I just remember crouching in the kitchen with my cousin listening to them yell. The insults were flying left and right and my cousin and I were just staring at each other in wide eyed wonder.

My dad and his sister weren’t on speaking terms for the rest of his life, even though, a little to his credit, he tried apologizing to her. But it was no use, she was bound and determined to hate his whole being. She couldn’t even be in the same room as him.

But at his funeral? It sure did look like she missed him a whole lot. She was bawling, deep gasping and everything. Weeping her guts out about how much she was going to miss him and how great of a brother he was. No mention of their falling out. No mention of hating his total being. I understand crying out of remorse for an inability to forgive her now dead brother, but she made it seem she was crying for her best friend lost. Her dearest brother.

It was just so hard on her. Her dear brother. Look at her, center stage, stealing the show. Look at the tears and the mascara streaming down her face. Look at her bloodshot eyes.

Now look at me watch her in disgust.

Not only was she bawling and gasping, she was taking pictures with the casket. Pictures. With the box he was going to be buried in. Where were those pictures going? Framed on the wall?

She was part of the reason my eyes were wide. And part of the reason my hiccup causing jaw was slightly dropped the whole funeral.

I share blood with that woman. Some of the same blood that flows through her crazy veins flows through mine as well. That’s when I made the official decree nailed onto a tree in my head that biological ties hold no significance to me. My family is my choice. None of that blood is thicker than water bullshit. Blood, water, all the same consistency to me.

What a magnificent show that funeral was.

It reminded me of when I was little and I went to the funeral of one of Dad’s friends. The man had drank himself to death. There was no mention of the flaws and demons the man obviously had during the whole service. He was a saint according to all the stories told. I talked to Dad about it afterward and all he offered me was, “everyone is perfect twice in life; when they are born, and when they die.” An appropriate summary to his own funeral.

Perfection is the furthest adjective from my mind when I think of my father. But now, in death, not a flaw in sight. All anyone talked about was perfection. How well he did everything. How well he managed everything in his life. No mention of the failed marriage. The broken relationships with his family. The extensive debt.

The impressively extensive debt.

In the middle of his odes to perfection, my dad’s cousin liked leading long, drawn out prayers. I suspected it was strategy. The longer the prayer, the less time left to think of anything real to say about dear old Dad. No matter, it just gave me more time to turn around and look at everyone. There were so many people in that church. They were even standing up in the back. When I found a person cheating, peeking like I was, they were usually the ones against the wall, the ones I didn’t recognize. The late comers who I imagined had met my dad maybe once and mostly came out of curiosity or to say they went to the funeral of the guy who crashed a plane into a lake.

Maybe they didn’t even know him, never even seen him. The over sized mug of his face propped next to the casket was their first glimpse, or second if you include the picture in the paper.

What a great picture in the paper. Smiling aviator standing beside plane intact next to a picture of same airplane mangled in water. Wonder what they thought about Dad from his picture? His eyes seemed friendly enough. His smile seemed genuine. They could probably never guess from the picture what nasty things could come out that mouth. A mouth capable of shooting out words like a shotgun. Fifty shots in a shell. Some of them missed. Some of them hit. Mostly just flesh wounds. Still hurt like hell.

I watched some of the audiences eyes studying the picture. They probably thought it was odd I was turned around in the pew staring at everyone, but being the daughter of the guy who’s death vaguely reeked of an elaborate suicide, I figured I was forgiven my odd behavior and honestly I didn’t care. They all made me a little sick. If they didn’t know him, why did they come? To bask in misery? Or did they come to make themselves feel better about their own lives? ‘At least my dad didn’t crash his plane into a lake.’ These were the people who stare at car crashes on the side of the road in wonder, not sadness. These people make me sick.

They were just looking at me, pity dripping from their dopey eyes thinking to themselves, ‘Poor girl. Her father left her all by herself. She must be in shock. She’s not even crying.’

Yes. Shock. But not for the reasons they’re thinking.

I was having a staring contest with a little girl four rows back when I was snapped back to sanity by the people around me standing up.

Done already?

So now we put him in the ground. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Grandma grabbed my hand and entwined my arm in hers, pulling me close to her body. I looked up at her. Yes, up to her; I did not inherit any of the height gene.

She was the one who walked to my car when I pulled up to the airport. I will never forget the look in her eye when she told me in an even voice that her son, my father had just smashed his plane into the lake less than half a mile from the airport. The only words I could choke out were a question I already knew the answer to, ‘is he okay?’ I saw the sorrow wash over her eyes as she shook her head and let me fall into her arms. There were no tears gushing down her face when she walked up to me, even though it would have been completely understandable. She held her tears back so she would be composed. She wanted to be the one to tell me and she refused to be a mess when she delivered the news. She didn’t shed a tear until she held me tightly as I gasped and cried in her arms. She was strong and proud. The tears we shared that day were the only tears I had ever seen the woman cry.

How did those other people come out of her? How did I come from one of those people?

My grandma led me into the aisle behind the pallbearers, still holding tightly onto my arm. I looked ahead of us to notice four out of six pallbearers were dear Auntie’s children.

That thing had to be heavy. Big beautiful cherry wood box. The best money can buy. I really don’t see a point though. Its going to be in the ground for the majority of its existence, a joy to nobody’s eyes. Well, I guess Auntie needed something pretty to take pictures with.

The idea of a casket made out of old boards nailed together appealed to me. Or maybe in dad’s case, a casket made from parts of the plane he died in.

Laid to rest with the great big beast he loved. Funny how he finds ways to destroy the things he claims to love.

We walked behind the pallbearers out the doors and into fresh air. It was unusually cold for a summer day. Overcast and a little windy. I wasn’t dressed for the weather. Grandma pulled me closer when she felt me shiver. I turned my head to look behind me and saw Eliza and Peter walking behind a group of people directly behind me. God bless them. They were both looking directly at me with identical looks on their faces. Eyebrows wrinkled and lips pursed. My calm exterior wasn’t fooling them. They were waiting for me to explode.

Wonder what they would do if I did. Wonder what they would do if I screamed and ran away from this horrible group of people. Just took off running for dear life. I think they would run with me. They would most definitely run with me.

Dear Auntie walked up beside me and looped her arm in my free one. I looked at her with disgust. She didn’t notice. She was occupied with holding her soaked hankie to her face and squirting out tears to wipe them away with.

I looked back at Peter and Eliza. They were staring at dear Auntie in similar expressions of disgust.

Welcome to the family Peter and Eliza. Don’t worry about her. She’s no relation. Unless you count blood, and well, who does that anyway?

I climbed into the back of the limo behind grandma, wrenching my arm from Aunties death grip. I placed myself next to the window forcing Auntie to climb around me.

I smiled to myself and looked over at Grandma. The same white blue, corners turned down eyes in my possession were staring back at me. Studying me. I looked away. Let me study my surroundings for now, not myself. I don’t have the energy for me right now.

I turned my gaze to the window. When we pulled out of the church parking lot I saw a row of cars with their flashers on lined up behind us. Dad had a nice line up. Lots of shiny new SUVs and such.

I thought about asking the limo driver to play another one bites the dust. We could open the windows and blare it for all the cars in the death parade. I imagine Dad would have loved that. I can see him smiling at making a mockery of a funeral.

Strike that, I don’t want him smiling.

When we got to the grave site there were a fair amount less people in attendance. I looked around and actually knew the faces I was looking at. Grandma led me to a row of chairs right by the hole they were going to stick him in. I got front row and center again with Auntie on my left trying to grab my hand.

If she doesn’t stop doing that I swear I’m going to smack her.

I looked around the crowd some more. All of them huddling close, some of them shivering in the oddly appropriate cold day. And then Auntie reached for my hand again. I smacked it.

Did I just hear Grandma try to suppress a chuckle?

I really can’t stand this woman anymore. I don’t want her sitting next to me. I’m the daughter. The one left all alone. I should get to chose who sits beside me.

I stood and turned around looking for Peter and Eliza. It didn’t take long, they were standing pretty close. I waved them over.

‘Auntie. I’m going to need you to get up. These chairs are for family only. Sorry.’

Her face was screaming shock.

‘Oh, don’t give me that look. You didn’t even like him.’

Auntie stood, along with all the other relatives who’s only now useless claim to being in my family was blood. Except for Grandma. She knew she made the cut. I waved Peter and Eliza over and filled the seats with them and a couple other people I saw in the crowd that were acceptable. The great Uncle who miraculously always remembered my birthday and the cousin who crouched with me in the kitchen during the epic Dad vs. Auntie fight. They all looked a little confused but I could tell they were pretty happy about being in the family.

End scene.

If only that really happened.

I did smack Auntie’s hand but sadly I didn’t change the seating arrangements next to the grave. It was a nice thought. Playing it out in my head was the only thing that got me through another ode to perfection. This time delivered by the preacher.

A puff of smoke out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I looked for its source and through a little gap in the crowd, a decent distance away, I saw a guy about my age sitting on a gravestone smoking a cigarette. His legs were propped up on a lawnmower sitting beside him. He was wearing jeans rolled half way up his calves, flip flops and a button up baby blue shirt, sleeves rolled up as well.

Did he not know it was cold outside? Odd. He looks familiar. Less odd, he is looking directly at me. Everybody and their brother has been staring at me today.

There was a shift in the crowd and he disappeared. I focused back on the big cherry wood box that held Dad. The box that held his dead body. With the closed casket I suddenly realized I had forgotten that he was actually in there. His lifeless body was encased in the casket before me.

Wonder what he looks like. How much could they have possibly cleaned him up after that crash? Why didn’t they cremate him? Why do I keep forgetting Auntie needed her pictures with the casket?

I stared at the massive cherry wood finish coffin in front of me. The huge box that was supposed to represent my father’s death.

What if he isn’t in there? He swam away from the crash. They subsequently never found his body, the thought of him surviving didn’t even cross their minds. They just told me they found his body to calm me or something. Not knowing they were taking part in Dad faking his death. I will get a call from him in two weeks asking for the insurance money. He’ll be back. My heart started to race.

“….. in the Lord’s name we pray. Amen.”

Grandma placed a rose on my lap and squeezed my hand. She stood up and put the other rose she had been holding in her lap on the casket. She paused with her hand on the cherry wood and then walked over to her friend Ruth standing on the inside of the crowd. They linked arms and started walking away towards the cars. Auntie stood up beside me and placed hers on the polished wood, with a wonderfully dramatic pause and then, yes, she kissed the casket and walked away sobbing.

So this is what we’re doing now?

I stood up and I placed my rose on the suspiciously closed casket, no pause. I walked over to Peter and Eliza. Eliza grabbed me in a hug. I let her hold me for a bit, but comfort wasn’t something on my mind at the moment. I had another agenda. Over her shoulder I looked at the gravestone that was previously occupied by mower boy, now empty. I pulled back from Eliza’s hug.

‘Did you see that guy sitting on the gravestone over there?’

Peter gave me a confused look and cocked his head. ‘Yeah, actually? He’s over there.’

I looked to where he pointed. He was sitting on another gravestone, still smoking a cigarette.

‘What is this, musical gravestones?’

‘Wait. Is that Oliver Crumb?’ Eliza said squinting her eyes.

Yes. That’s who it is. I knew him from high school. Good ol’ high school.

‘Didn’t he graduate a few years before us?’ Peter asked.

‘Yea. Two years before us, same as my brother. I’m pretty sure his dad owns this place.’ Eliza said.

‘Good, I need to ask him a favor.’

Peter still had a look of confusion on his face.

‘Wait here for a second, I need to tell Grandma I’m riding back with you guys.’

I said over my shoulder as I started walking over to Grandma. She was standing next to the limo with Ruth, talking in hushed voices. I avoided looking into the eyes that Grandma and I shared and instead looked at tiny little Ruth, and her concerned face.

‘Ruth, do you want to take my spot in the limo back to the church?’

Her look of concern increased and now had a dash of confusion.

‘What, honey?’

‘I’m going to grab a ride back with my friends.’

I glanced at Grandma, there were tears in her eyes. She nodded.

‘Don’t take too long, there’s food back at the church and you need to eat something.’

Focus. Mission.

I had to weave through some people on the way back to Peter and Eliza. Dodging the looks and even a hug, I’m pretty sure, from a Great Aunt with blue hair. Too bad she just tried to hug me, that blue hair gave her a decent chance at making it into my new and improved family.

When I walked up to Peter and Eliza they were arguing. Peter was the first to see me, he nudged Eliza and they looked up, ceasing their quibble instantly.

That’s not obvious guys.

I shrugged it off.

‘Lets go talk to Oliver.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Peter. Why do we do anything? Because we’re crazy. That’s why. I’m crazy. Follow suit.’

‘That made no sense, Dessa.’

‘Just come on, please?’

I started walking towards Oliver. He didn’t sit up when it was obvious we were walking straight for him. He just sat there, relaxed on his gravestone, feet still propped up on the mower. Like he was expecting us. Like he was expecting me.

Don’t kid yourself, Oliver.

‘Oliver Crumb?’

He sat up a little and smiled.

‘Yes, Odessa?’

How did he know my name? He was two years older in school and I didn’t remembering ever making eye contact before that moment. Oh, wait, of course. He knew my name for the same reason those people in the back were at dad’s funeral.

‘So you read the paper?’

Don’t give me that smile.

‘You work here, right?’ I asked.

He nodded, still smiling.

‘I have a favor to ask, Oliver.’

‘You want to look in the casket?’

I tilted my head at him, that wasn’t a request he was supposed to predict. He noticed my expression.

‘You aren’t the first who’s wanted a last look. You don’t need me, though. Those things don’t lock. Just open it.’

Eliza shivered. ‘Why would we want to look in the casket?’

‘I don’t know. To make sure he’s in there?’ Oliver said looking at me, still smiling, eyebrows raised.

Peter and Eliza chuckled.

I pursed my lips, then turned and started walking towards the grave. Luckily everyone had gotten in their cars and left by then. The cold weather and lack of preparation in everyone’s attire probably helped clear it out faster.

‘Dessa? What the hell?’ Peter yelled behind me.

Good. They’re all gone. Less audience to watch me lose it and open Dad’s casket. I’m losing it. I really am, aren’t I? Am I really going to open that lid? Yes, I am. I have to know he’s in there. I have to know that he’s really dead. Dead and gone. No phone call in two weeks. No thoughts in the back of my mind awaiting his return.

‘Dessa! What the hell are you doing?’

There it was. The big beautiful boxed bed, right in front of me. I put one hand under the lip of the lid and started to pull up. Imagine that, its heavy. I put my other hand under the lid and started to pull up again using my whole body. It started to move a little when Peter came from behind, encased me in his arms, snapping my hands to my side. The lid dropped what little I had moved it with a smack. An unexpected relief rushed through me. I struggled against Peter’s prison of a bear hug.

‘Let me go!’

He let go and I staggered away. I turned and looked at him. He was blurry.

Why is he blurry?

Oh God, I’m crying.

Still staggering backwards, my heel slammed the edge of a gravestone. I lost my balance and collapsed on the grass.

‘Fuck! Ow!’

I pulled my legs to my body and grabbed my injured foot, shoving my wet face on my knees.

Pain. There’s something real to cry about.

Peter and Eliza sat in the grass beside me, huddling close. I looked up at their blurry faces.

So this is what they would do if I exploded. Huddle around me and stare.

I shoved my face back in my knees and let out a sob. A noise that startled me. I looked back up at the box.

They’re going to put that thing in the ground and I’ll never know for sure whether he is in it. I have to know. He will follow me around for the rest of my life if I don’t know for sure that he is inside that casket.

I looked up and saw Oliver smoking a cigarette.

‘Are you kidding me? Another one?’

He shrugged. I wiped my face.

‘You want to do me a favor Oliver? You seem to be comfortable with the idea of opening coffins. Want to take a crack at that one over there? Tell me if my dad is really in there?’

He looked at me, eyebrows furrowed and smile dropped from his expression. I shoved my face back in my knees and let out another horrible sob.

I sound like a dieing animal.

I heard Oliver walk away from us. There was a long pause and then I heard the creak of the wood as he opened the casket. I shoved my face harder into my knees.

‘Is he in there?’

I heard the lid creak and close with a clap. I jumped to my feet. Too quickly. My vision went black and I stumbled.

God. I look ridiculous.

‘Is he in there?’

‘Him or someone who looks a whole lot like the picture I saw in the paper.’