THE FUNERAL

i drove my fagbutt into the gravel outside the church and held my breath as i entered. sliding into a pue at the very back, i wondered if i’d made a mistake. 

i listened to the priest talk about him like he knew him. as he said the words ‘kind man’ i looked over at his wife. i’d never seen her with her hair down until this afternoon. she wasn’t crying anymore, just staring through the church wall, a sodden tissue breaking into bits in her clenched fist. 

after the fat man had sat down, the brother got up. my stomach churned, he looked so much like him, in the flesh. they both had their mother’s eyes and their father’s nose. 

he coughed the pain out of his throat and his speech started with a story about a time when he was nine and his brother was eight, and they were floating on a banana boat on a lake by their grandparents house. 

i’d heard that story over a pint of lager. i remembered how his eyes had started to sparkle when he told it, and i’d propped my chin on my knuckles smiled up at him. and at the moment that i’d heard it, i’d never in my wildest nightmares imagined that i’d hear it retold again like this. 

i kept my head down as they carried the coffin past me and out to his… grave. i knew i’d never be that close to him ever again. 

that night id visit him there. get down on my knees in the grass. i won’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. but i do take the silver ring off my left middle finger and place it under the flowers. i couldn’t bring myself to wear it any longer, and throwing it away or selling it seemed… like betrayal. 

but then again, isn’t that what it’s all about?

WORD OF THE DAY: Stodgy. “dull and uninspired; lacking originality or excitement”