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After a long line of speakers wanting to share poignant stories of how Mr. Clark affected them or changed their life for the better, Gil grips the side of the podium and leads us in a moment of silence. Then he says, “There’s someone else who would like to say a few words. Mr. Christiansen?” He steps aside, signaling me to come up.
“What?” I’m shaking my head. I barely knew Mr. Clark. If not for that last conversation before I left for Seattle, I wouldn’t know him at all.
Out of the sea of people, Juni’s head rises above all. Her eyes penetrate mine as her eyebrows knit together. “What are you doing?” She doesn’t even mouth it but says it for everyone to hear.
While I panic sweat in this pew, Gil grabs the microphone again and says, “Now is your chance to say how you feel, Andrew.”
Why’s he doing this? He’s the one who told me to—shit—make it count. I thought he meant for me to decide when that would be, not to be forced into it.
With everyone staring at me, I stand and walk slowly up the aisle. When Rascal sees me, he yaps and springs from his blanket in front of the casket to run to me. Tail wagging, tongue hanging out the side, and freshly washed by how his fluffy fur makes him look round.
I bend down and catch the little fellow. This time, I don’t mind his slobber all over my chin. At least someone missed me.
Juni is seated again, and when I pass, I hand Rascal over as a peace offering. She takes him and holds him to her chest. He barks once more, but she’s able to quieten him down as I step behind the podium. Looking at this packed house, I look down to try to gather my thoughts. Remembering what Mr. Clark told me, I step forward.
Here goes everything.
“Hi, I’m An—I’m Drew,” I say, raising my hand. “I, uh, apologize for my lack of suit. Just came from the airport. Thought I’d say a few words off the cuff, if you don’t mind.” I hear a “go on” and “the floor is yours” from audience members. “I didn’t know Mr. Clark well. We lived in the same building, one floor apart. But I knew Rascal, and I had the honor of hearing a story of his a few weeks back. One about his wife.” People start shifting in their seats, looking bored. I clear my throat and grip the sides of the podium for support. “I’ll never forget that conversation because although it was brief, it was memorable. He said that life is not just about collecting stories but about making memories worth sharing one day. Since that conversation, I’ve realized that with my current life trajectory, I won’t have a story worth telling to my grandkids other than I went to work and came home. That’s not living. That’s not worth telling anyone.”
I look right at Juni and make it count. “Juni, you woke me up from the sleep I’d been in. We haven’t known each other long in the scheme of a lifetime, but I like creating stories, memories with you better than working seventy, eighty hours a week. I like when you wear your hair on top of your head, and it’s a mess. I like the hard time you give me when I give too much of myself to the company. The green of your eyes first thing in the morning and the pink of your cheeks after we make love match the leaves of the rose Calathea.”
She’d been steady in her expression, keeping it neutral until now. That pink I mentioned colors the apples of her cheeks, and the lines from sadness soften. Her gaze had stretched into the distance, but now her eyes are set on me.
I continue, “Mr. Clark was a wild man from what it sounds like, but it worked for him. I’m not sure I could get away with the same, but I think he’s leaving a good motto to follow. He also said to stop wasting your damn life on things that aren’t worth retelling. Don’t wait for the perfect moment and stop beating around the bush. Solid advice for everyday life. Ah, a rhyme,” I add, feeling the heat of embarrassment sink its claws in me.
This time when I look at Juni, she holds three fingers in front of her chest. With a proud nod, a full smile appears. I don’t know why she’s proud or why she’s smiling, but it gives me hope that I’m doing something right, so I keep rambling. “I’m not sure how Mr. Clark knew the right thing to say the day we met, but this stuck with me the most. He said, if you love her, tell her. I promise the only regret you’ll have is the time you wasted without her. Fuck, that’s good stuff.” Giggles ripple across the crowd. “Oh, sorry. Anyway,” I start again, one of Juni’s favorite words rolling off my tongue as if it’s one of mine as well. Looking at her with tears in her eyes, the light that shined in them that first day I met her has returned. “I love you so much, Juni. I don’t want to create stories with anyone else but you.”
